A Single Autumn Leaf
Today as I walked I home, staring at my feet, I decided to pause and pick
up a single, fallen leaf. This leaf looked so much like all of the others,
but as I examined it, it began to become clear to me that this leaf, one
among thousands, was special:
This was the worst leaf.
Mottled and gray, the leaf inspired nothing aesthetically other than a
sense of mild disgust. Having far outlived any utility for the tree, it
then did nothing but mar the landscape with its drab, uninspired features.
Whatever madness possessed the tree to breed such a stunted deformity is
beyond me. But it might not be fair to blame the tree; this leaf may just
be bad on its own accord.
I hate you, leaf. You are ugly, stupid and probably mean. You deserve your
torn edges and broken spine. I hope you decay, leaving nothing but your
dust to pollute my world. I will crumple you up in my fingers, and feel
your dead structure collapse in the cracks of my hand.
But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to soil my hands with your
blood. You'd like your death on my conscience. In your vanity, you might
even think that I would at one point question my act. You would be wrong.
I do not fear you, leaf. I am bigger than you, and I am probably stronger
than you. None of your kin will defend you, I am sure. I can call for help,
if I need to. I have big friends.
You are the worst leaf.
— Dan Norton (dan@flakmag.com)
