The leaves whistled in the breeze, a silly and happy tune.
Enjoyment of a most glorious feeling
Celebration at its longest,
dragging for days upon end.
The celebration was so joyful, so wonderful,
So careless.
The leaves finally felt it.
The feeling was familiar.
Dread.
The fruit was growing again and it was too late.
The fruit would plague them all,
Make them work harder, produce more,
Make them all traitors to each other.
The numbness would kick in soon.
Absence of sensation, powerless against the new leaders.
What would come of them?

The fruit were now ripened and relishing.
Controlling the leaves.
And just when hope was almost gone,
When only one leaf was praying for mercy from their savior.
It came.
The huge figure came and took the fruit away.
The leaders’ final crack of mercy pronounced them dead.
Someone announced a party and the foolery began.

The leaves will never learn.