Giant Sequoia

My first memory of snow was one of wonder, like that feeling when you see or experience something for the first time. I had no question as to what was happening. Later I would learn that snow is formed by very low temperatures in the atmosphere, and the water precipitated by the clouds would form crystals and stick together. School would always take the magic out of things. Though it cannot take away the magic of the things you create from these things. Man has walked on the moon, that's magic.

I live in a small town called Buttler. Of course this is open to the obvious abbreviation 'Butt' and this was too tempting for local teens. It would welcome visitors to our small town, but when I say visitors I mean people passing through, whom I'm sure found the sign 'Welcome to Butt' hilarious. The town had about twenty thousand residents, which was divided into various localities where neighbours would know each other's business.

I had no friends and was excluded by most social groups. In fact I was happy not to play a character in a particular scene; I was just me. There were the sport types, geeks, swots, the popular clique, goths, emos, then there were the jobsworths who would always try to impress the teachers; the type that would later become prefects. Prefects are like a secret police to the service of the school, monitoring and reporting anyone who broke the rules.

Besides having no friends, I did find activities to fill the void of friends. I didn't get lonely as I had a favourite tree. This was at the edge of a lake and was a Giant Sequoia, normally native to California. It had a thick redwood trunk and green prickled leaves forming something like a bearskin hat, and stood as tall as fifty meters. It was originally brought here for decorative reasons when the city council decided to plant trees around a lake that had been dug out by hand using shovels sometime before the war. This is why the town got the nickname 'Spade Town'. It was a time when people would come together and create something amazing. There are no projects that come about in this age that do not involve a profit. The profit of the lake and trees was a peaceful escape from the built up concrete of town, not money.

This was now under threat. The local council had received a substantial bid by a private company to develop luxury apartments by the lakeside. The apartments were to 'fit' into the green space, although that is just some architect's dream, and a perfect addition to his portfolio. This was going to make the company a lot of profit; apartments by the lake, a balcony, white sterile rooms, all the modern technology, and for a price I couldn't even fathom making in my lifetime. The company assured the council that the project would only affect a small area of the park beside the lake.

As with democracy, the plan was to be put it to a vote. There are 26 councillors elected each year, though I was too young to vote. Even as an twelve year old I understood how the electoral system worked, and how bills are passed. I guess this is because I had no friends and would read a lot, mostly books above my years.

It was the day of the vote and I was particularly confident that most of the councillors would vote against the project. I wanted to go to the chamber to watch democracy in action but it was a school day and today we were learning about the spectrum of light. After school I eagerly went to the council chambers to verify the result. Then, “Is this a dagger I see before me”, Shakespeare was whispering in my ear. The vote had 14 in favour of the project and 12 in objection. Then I questioned democracy for the first time in my life, even though I was only twelve. What do the councillors gain by allowing this to go ahead? Then it became clear - it was money; our democratic system is corrupt, and politicians are bought and sold just like any other commodity.

Out of curiosity I went to the planning department to see the plans for the apartments and on what area of the park they were being built. The man at the desk was dumbstruck by this small boy asking for schematics. “Why do you want these plans?” he said. “Because it's my right” I replied much to the dissatisfaction of the clerk. He went away and into an office where I assume he was having a conversation with his manager. I got the impression that this had never happened before and there was no protocol for persons under eighteen looking to see documents. Eventually he came out of the office, to a filing cabinet and took out a manilla folder, photocopied the contents and then handed me the files. I love the smell and heat of paper that has just been through a photocopier.

I waited until I got home to open the file. Some things are better left to the safety of your room; a sanctuary where you can hide from everything. I opened up the plans on my bed, it was a fairly professional and a well illustrated schematic, I will give the architect that. It took me a while to get the orientation. Then Shakespeare's dagger went straight through my heart. The area of the development was to include my tree. The whole area would be cleared. What could I do?

Firstly I found the councillors that voted in favour of the project - this information is available at the council chambers. I wrote a letter that was both angry and sentimental; I never knew that this was possible until I thought of my tree. I didn't mention my age because I didn't think they would take me seriously. However to influence a councillor you probably need a lot of people to protest or a substantial bung of cash. I had neither of these; remember I had no friends, there seemed to be no other objectors and as for money, I'm broke. They didn't have a special tree. What could I do?

I remembered The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy where Arthur Dent lay in front of the digger to save his house. Despite his best efforts the diggers always win. My protests would be in vain. Not wanting to witness the falling of my tree, I visited for the last time and hugged the great redwood trunk that my arms wouldn't quite fit around. I brushed the greenery with the tips of my fingers and shed a tear that I didn't wipe, just allowed to trickle down my face. This was the last time I would see my best friend.

It is 3 years later now and I am fifteen, a pivotal year in the development of a teenager, what with girls and puberty. But this didn't interest me. I couldn't stop thinking about my tree – I had loved and lost. The apartments were fully occupied and enjoyed views across the park, though when you're on your balcony you can't see your apartment. To the rest of us proles the apartments were a blemish on what was a perfect park. What could I do?

Now I will come back to the snow, where I started, and that I now fully understand. Winter came and brought with it the most snow I had ever seen, probably about two feet. A sad incident happened around this time. A local councillor's son had went missing. It was juxtaposed to the sight of a rather well constructed snowman just across from his house. Then another councillor's daughter went missing, and the grandson of another councillor, all under the age of twelve. The disappearances continued and the curious thing was that a snowman would appear outside the house of every victim. The snowmen would appear one day after each child had went missing. People had taken this as a gesture of good will and hope, however the architect of the snowmen would remain unknown. 14 children had went missing in a period of about one month. The snow was still heavy on the ground and all of the snowmen were still erect, just as they were on the day they were built. It was agreed that the snowmen be a symbol, or a reminder, that the children hadn't been forgotten, just like a yellow ribbon on a tree.

Snowmen don't last forever though, neither do memories. Unless it's a person, or in my case a tree. As temperatures started to rise, the snowmen were beginning to melt and water saturate into the ground. The snowmen were losing their form and finally the truth would be known. A human head appeared gradually as a snowman turned to water and, as it had been frozen, the body was perfectly preserved. All 14 bodies were recovered from inside the snowmen, killed with that Shakespearian dagger through the heart as I had felt that day. A strange fact that the police had so far failed to realise is that all 14 children were relatives of the councillors who voted in favour of the lakeside development. You took my love away. What could I do? Yes, it was me.