A lonely, gnarled tree stands in a cracked, dusty desert landscape under a cloudy sky.

On the other hand, or left hand in this case, was a patch of barren dirt, dust contaminating the air like a toxic fume. A singular tree stood in the middle, defeated. All the leaves had fallen away and all that remained was a twisted, crooked and wrinkly tree. It used to be a beautiful tree, curving down like a protective overlooker. Now it hung low, as if it wanted to sink back into the ground. Not a single living thing existed aside from that tree. A single touch and the fragile branches would disintegrate into ashes. It was the colour of burnt toast, something that no one likes. The ground was dry, not a single blade of grass grew, not even a dead one. See more