A wise man once said "The Higher the Pedestal the Harder the fall."

I stare at the Ax on my desk. Its blade is still sharp despite the years and even glints in the weak patches of sunlight that break through the thick blanket of Smog That I created. It mocks me, reminding me of what I had started by chopping down the first Truffula Tree, and how I stupidly let my Self-Important Cold-hearted Mother talk me into going back on my word after my success.

I walked over to the desk and traced my figure over the handle, remembering how powerful I felt, and I can still here the sharp crack of the axes on the chopomatics, axes taking down hundreds…no thousands of Trees in a few hours.

It was the sound of last tree hitting the ground that woke me from My Narcissistic dream. I had lost everything that mattered: My friends, my self-respect, and I had no one to blame but myself.

I had risen so high only to fall and I fell so hard that I knew I couldn't fix what I had done.

That night I walked among the remains of what my destruction had left behind when I found it.

It was small, around the size of marble. It was a rich brown; like the soil used to be and had golden rings like the sun had put a little bit of itself into it.

A Truffula Tree Seed.

I knew it wouldn't grow here I had done too much damage so I kept it with me, waiting for someone who cared enough about trees. No who cared about life To come.

Alone with nothing but the guilt and the Ax that started it all I wait.

This is my punishment, this is my redemption.