“If I were a tree, I would have no reason to love a human.” – Maggie Stiefvater
Today am going to share sorrowful story of Spruce tree, which was cut down to satisfy need of our society. Lets hear what this tree has to say:
“Whispering in the sun, my leaves were enjoying the lovely weather and tweeting of birds. Soon I felt as if I was hit, I screamed in agony but no one listened. I fell on the ground, I had no idea what was happening, but then there appeared a man having sharp-toothed edge tool. People who were standing by me were calling it ‘saw’. Afterwards, I witnessed my other friends and neighbors falling onto ground as well. I was then treated in a way which I can not even explain. My branches were removed, and I was left with a log. 
My log was carried to a four-wheeled vehicle, I do not know what it is called. My log, and logs of my other friends were transported to a huge drum, which had a stabbing effect, because of the blades present in it. I felt as if my world was destroyed. Those blades were actually removing my bark. I was not aware why am I being tortured. I had done no harm, then why I was destined to this fate. After being debarked I had soothing effect as I was washed, I felt as if new life was given to me. For a moment I thought I was wrong, this journey was designed to reform me. But my joy disappeared, I was dragged to another machine, and this time I 
was chipped down. Can you feel the pain I had to undergo at that stage? No, you can not, because you are not a tree. You are the person, who caused me such distress. Wait, my story has not ended. I was then cooked in a digestor, with chemicals. You call it sulphate or sulphite. Does the difference matter? It could matter to you, but not for me. You know what is feels like to be cooked at high pressure? No, because you are not a tree. Digestion was done, to remove constituents of me, so that only cellulose remains. Why you care about cellulose, and not about me? If I die, who would provide you with cellulose? I was then beaten and converted to fibrous material. Journey from solid log to fiber, it is harsh- really harsh. Then my fibers were made even in length, in another machine, with some other supporting chemicals. I had a glue-like appearance at that stage, you call it pulp. 
After being strained I was passed on to belt, conveyor belt, where I was comforted. It was some how adventurous, with some ups and downs. I felt lighter in weight, as I was being dehydrated. My fibers, at this stage were entangled, and I had a feeling as if I was part of some thin kind of sheet having presence of small quantity of water. I, at this moment realized I was not alone, fibers of my neighbors were along me, and they were gloomy. We were then squeezed, and dried over rollers. I thought what could happen next? And then I was ironed, and rolled, transported again, and sold. But the tragedy did not end here, as I was rolled so I was cut into smaller sheets, and I was then sent into shops, offices, and homes. Whenever someone like tried to use me, I and my fellow neighbors had tingling sensation. We were being used for writing. Despite such ill-treated journey, I mourned over my fate when a boy read ‘Go green, save trees’, written just over me‘.
wethehumans 