It’s the only tree for a mile in all directions. You’re determined to cut it down.

The drought has been terrible. Dust is cached into the wrinkles in your neck, you’ve completely soaked your top with sweat and the axe has barely bitten into the bark.

You’ve nurtured this tree from a cutting, but you haven’t been able to spare it even the bath water lately. The tallish sapling quivers as you take another swing. Now tears carve trails down your dirty face. You have a real affinity with this lone tree. You push damp hair from your eyes and swing again.

If you can’t get this done your siblings will be hungry, your brother won’t have light to study by and you’ll have to leave the village. It is time to sacrifice this brave young life. You face it though. When this last tree is used in a few days time you’ll likely to have to leave anyway.

Your axe thunks into the flesh of the tree again. It couldn’t hurt more if you were burying the axe in your own leg.