A thump was heard across the dusty, and abandoned home, as the last leaf fell down from the tree. It had been nearly 20 years, 20 years without anyone in this house, other than rats, birds, whatever wildlife you could find here. Suddenly, a stream of light, flowing from half opened the door and flooded the room with sunlight, brightening everything up. You could see the old books, from years ago, beds, where the people slept, and most importantly, the giant oak tree that stood right in the middle of the room.

A schreee suddenly echoed throughout the home, and a little boy walked in. He looked around 12, and had shaggy jeans, an orange t-shirt, and a face full of grief. He walked around the house, looking at old books and toys. He picked one up. It was a little race car, like one of the hot wheels we all bought as kids, and after looking at it for a few minutes, he stood up, eyes shedding tears like rain. 

He walked towards the tree in the center, making schreeks, and kreeks as he walked over the old wooden floor. Finally, he saw the tree. It was the tree that his great-great-grandpa owned. It was passed down many generations, to his great-grandpa, and finally to his grandpa. But instead of passing it down to his father, his grandpa directly passed it down to him. He could tell the tree was on its last legs, and would not last much longer. Carefully, he pulled out a carving knife, and started carving on the tree. Once he was done, the words “You are never truly dead until everyone forgets about you” sat on the tree.  

The boy looked at the words he carved for a few seconds, and walked away.