Health And Safety
Entry by: Godai41
9th October 2015
The trees in front of the building looked healthy and sprightly and thrived even with the few streaks of sun that managed to make it through the edifices which surrounded it. Yes, they were, most of them, relatively short, delicate creations striving, yearning, to find light and sky.
The building super and assistants conscientiously watered them, gently sprinkling their turf with the precious drops. The usual signs warning dog owners to keep their canines away created the illusion that the seemingly healthy trunks, branches and leaves safely existed. Who knew what would happen next.
In the then quasi-undeveloped, un-commercialized environs people actually stopped to gaze at, softly touch, and, some, even talk to the trunks. Those gents and dames fully believed that a touch or two a day could send the trees’ nutrients directly to their human frames.
As the neighborhood began to thrive, prosper, commercialized people came and went more frequently. The trees, still somehow sufficiently nurtured, seemingly undaunted, survived, existed.
The storm came. Lights, refrigerators, sacred computers all turned silent. Candles in hand, the gentrified and not so gentrified groped their way up and down the stairs as necessary. No one mentioned or even alluded to the trees.
Sturdy, stalwart trees across the street and around the corner withstood the wind and hefty jugs of pouring rain assaulting them from all angles, all sides.
Terrorized, shaking, bending, bowing, two of the gaunt breed living on the same side of the street and facing the 1901 edifice had little or no defense. Healthy and safe for eras, they succumbed to the danger and, twisted, distorted, thrown askance, fell and were flattened against the paltry iron mini-gates supposedly assuring their safety.
Now mute stumps, they once lived as beautiful trees, so nourishing to see and touch.
Current residents, jaunting about, pointing out sights to transients, endlessly spouting, have “safely†concealed all the stumped remains of the once vital trees, so nourishing to touch, under garrulous flocks of gossipy red, yellow, sailor blue, and fleurs blanches no one sees.
The building super and assistants conscientiously watered them, gently sprinkling their turf with the precious drops. The usual signs warning dog owners to keep their canines away created the illusion that the seemingly healthy trunks, branches and leaves safely existed. Who knew what would happen next.
In the then quasi-undeveloped, un-commercialized environs people actually stopped to gaze at, softly touch, and, some, even talk to the trunks. Those gents and dames fully believed that a touch or two a day could send the trees’ nutrients directly to their human frames.
As the neighborhood began to thrive, prosper, commercialized people came and went more frequently. The trees, still somehow sufficiently nurtured, seemingly undaunted, survived, existed.
The storm came. Lights, refrigerators, sacred computers all turned silent. Candles in hand, the gentrified and not so gentrified groped their way up and down the stairs as necessary. No one mentioned or even alluded to the trees.
Sturdy, stalwart trees across the street and around the corner withstood the wind and hefty jugs of pouring rain assaulting them from all angles, all sides.
Terrorized, shaking, bending, bowing, two of the gaunt breed living on the same side of the street and facing the 1901 edifice had little or no defense. Healthy and safe for eras, they succumbed to the danger and, twisted, distorted, thrown askance, fell and were flattened against the paltry iron mini-gates supposedly assuring their safety.
Now mute stumps, they once lived as beautiful trees, so nourishing to see and touch.
Current residents, jaunting about, pointing out sights to transients, endlessly spouting, have “safely†concealed all the stumped remains of the once vital trees, so nourishing to touch, under garrulous flocks of gossipy red, yellow, sailor blue, and fleurs blanches no one sees.
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