There is a tree standing in the middle of a field. It is all alone except for the grass surrounding it completely, closing in. A fence is distantly spaced around the tree. The sky darkens while the wind begins to blow. The branches sway slowly at first but quickly picking up speed until they are in danger of being ripped apart from their trunk. Water falls from the sky, so far above, only to harshly impact the tree. The stinging drops pelt the grass surrounding the tree. Thunder roars in response to flashing lights striking so close that you smell the nitrogen permeating the air surrounding the tree. The doors above the tree, high in the sky close slowly until only a trickle of water is left. Smaller branches and dead leaves litter the ground around the tree, having been torn off from the torrent. Thirst is quenched. Grass is flattened, offering the tree a respite. The fence remains the way it was before, although seeming closer to the tree than ever before. I am the tree. They are closing in on me. I stand alone.