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The leaf burns. It withers away into a skeletal frame, beneath that orange orb. She watches. From a window far away. She sees it. She feels it. No one picked it up. It fell from the tree and it died. No one expected much from it. It withers away into a skeletal frame, beneath that orange orb. A simplistic thing. A simplistic child. It grows without love and warmth and feels the color stripped from its body. Replaced with the blacks and the blues of nothing. It withers away into a skeletal frame, beneath that orange orb. It falls. No one picks her up. She screams. The forest is alone. People are around her but she is alone. She withers away into a skeletal frame, beneath that orange orb.