A leaf? Yes, a leaf. A beautiful red and green leaf, freshly plucked from that tree over there. Aw, how pretty.

Oh look, how fresh, how wetly covered in dew! Its moisture is still intact. How very very pretty.

Draw it? Oh what a joke. I’d never be able to capture its crisp, fragile beauty on a piece of paper. Oh, how ironic, paper made of trees, pencil made of trees, leaves from other trees. I draw a tree on a tree using a tree. Oh how very, very ironic.

But oh, I am not a tree. I would waste the pencil-tree and the paper-tree by trying to make a leaf-tree with my crude, imperfect, human hands. But hey, look: a tree’s walking by. Maybe I can ask him for help. But no, that’s not a tree, it’s a man pretending to be a tree. How vulgar.

A wind? A girl walking by my desk. What is she doing? Oh, no, so many people, all walking by my desk! Stop, stop! Why? What’s going on? What, class is over? What class? But my leaf—No! Where is it? Where is my leaf? My beautiful, beautiful, red and green leaf? Where are you, who stole you? Who dares touch my precious trees? No, no, no, no, no – oh, there you are. Not injured, are you? No, I suppose. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have been watching, it was all my fault. I’ll never let you out of my sight again. Never never never never never.