A tree, leafless. Trunk turned charcoal by fire. Life, gone.
Beneath it, dead earth. Empty earth marking out a circle of death. Not even dead leaves to break the monotony of chalky, greying silt.
Nothing will grow near the tree. No wildlife will approach it. The clearing is a dead zone.
And that is why she chooses to go there. It is only fitting to be her last resting place.
She lies down, back against the tree. Closes her eyes.
No sound. No birds. No anything.
She waits. Waits.
Eventually, she stops waiting.
And the tree, the clearing, are lifeless again.