It was inevitable that the trees would rebel against the human colonizers. Centuries of abuse, and the senseless slaughter of millions of their kind had left them with no recourse. Ignoring the problem hadn’t worked, neither had being nice, or trying to work with the humans. Diplomacy, for all intents and purposes, had failed the trees.

And so it came to this – a timber uprising, a woodland resistance. The trees organized, and fought back.

They broke windows with their branches, and crumbled foundations with their roots. Acorns strafed through air thick with pollen. Feral squirrels were dropped like tiny bombs from their limbs, and shade from their canopies was withheld in the heat.

But the colonizers had fire, cutting machines, and a real penchant for killing things. The trees struggled against their more seasoned adversaries, and soon their loses were too great. They were overwhelmed – they pulled back, they regrouped. Leadership debated options long into the night, but ultimately arrived at the uneasy, inevitable conclusion – tomorrow the war would be over.

Admiral Johnson went to bed that night smug and satisfied. The war against the trees had been unexpected, and at times challenging, but victory was assured. Tomorrow the trees would surrender. It was guaranteed – the forest had no moves left, and the human military strategy was air tight. He smiled. Tomorrow will be a good day, he thought. He took a deep breath, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

That night, while the colonizers slept, the trees held their position stoically against the dark horizon. Their canopies drooped imperceptibly as they turned off the oxygen.