I sit there and study the small shrub. My eyes following each little branch. I thumb each leaf dipped in fear. I know I must destroy this tree. My problem is that I know not how to. I cannot confront the roots with certainty. I have snapped many branches. I have clipped many a leaf. The wood has such wondrous vitality. My hand trembles while holding clippers. I have tried ignoring this overgrown weed. I have covered the foliage with cloth. I have even blazed the leafage black. This only produces short lived respite. The soil will only spit out sprouts. Small fingers will reach out from the dirt. Leaves shall mimic flames bursting from a lighter. I viciously grab the tree and squeeze with all my might. The source of my nightmares is thrown. I hear the clatter of broken crockery. I hear the dull thump of the prone tree. I look in disgust as sap runs across my knuckles. I pray fervently not to find the tree on the table. When I open eyes my prayers are not answered.