Flash Fiction: The Memory Tree by Kate Murdoch

When the truck rolled into the drive, there was nowhere to go. I remained still and steadfast, as I had done for one hundred years. I had witnessed many things.

From the time I was a vigorous sapling, the world around me had provided entertainment. Lovers scaled my branches and sat entwined in the flat heart of me, their love so all-encompassing and fevered they did not feel the roughness of my bark.

Children hid behind the screen of my leaves and wrote in their diaries, or simply dreamt. I heard their thoughts tumble in circles, flurries of dust and particles of light. My presence soothed them. After a time they climbed down, their minds still.

A young man visited once, with a length of rope. I showed him the sunset and cocooned him with my essence. He did not jump.

The men encircled me, the roar of their chainsaws made my branches quiver. I held onto my memories as the first blade ricocheted then gouged my trunk. The sap bled and I stared at my last sunset, the mauve and coral streaks outlined with bright gold. The sun vanished beneath the horizon as I fell.


Published by

Visible Ink

Visible Ink aims to develop and publish a vibrant yearly anthology of emerging Australian writers and artists. We are wiping our sweaty brows to push the publication beyond its RMIT base and connect Australians to emerging writers and artists, giving voice to fresh ideas and untold stories. Visible Ink aims to get Australians turning pages again.