Clare Wu (11) | STAFF REPORTER
In 1710, a question was proposed: if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? It is 2021, now. She thinks about that question a lot.
It is quarantine. She sits on her bed, in her room, a little house in a suburban neighborhood in a first-world country, layers of protection buffering the impact of the virus, trapping her within. She dreams about mortality and trees. She thinks about forests and silence. She sits on her bed and wishes she could move. What she really wants is something to move towards.
These medicines are being used since centuries cialis online pharmacy by the ancient people. They are manufactured using the same technology as the parent cialis generika 5mg drug. It contains Sildenafil Citrate that ensures that your stamina and physical interest viagra uk cheap view for more remains good for quite a long time during the intercourse. This stage can be an viagra for free enthusiastic reaction.Let’s say there was a forest, bustling with life. There is a forest, but it is not safe any longer. A virus has turned natural progression upside down and inside out, shoved the fragments 2 feet apart and 6 feet down. Everyone goes into hiding, scuttling into their respective little bubbles, retreating toward relative safety.
The forest is empty now. A tree falls. Does it make a sound? Does it even fall? There’s no one to witness its death. No one to perceive its final stand. It’s alright, though. There never was a forest. Just a girl in her room.
The room is empty, too. Maybe she is the tree. Stuck in a forest, in liminal space. After all – if nobody hears her, is she really around?
It’s 1710. It’s 2021. It’s the end of death and the beginning of time. It doesn’t really matter. She is falling, but there is no one there, and so she’s never fallen in the first place; she’s never moved at all.
