The Mirror Tree

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

“Everyone thinks of changing the world,
but no one thinks of changing himself.”

⸻

The Mirror Tree

Maren Hale had always believed the world was broken.
She said it every morning as she scrolled through the news:
“People are awful. Everything is getting worse. Someone needs to fix this.”

She said it again at work when someone cut her off in the breakroom line.
She said it in traffic when a driver swerved too close.
She said it when her sister forgot her birthday lunch—
“The whole world needs to change.”

Everyone who knew her agreed Maren was smart, kind in her own way, and passionate about justice. But she was also exhausted, angry, and convinced that change was something other people were supposed to do.

Then one November night, the world she hated so much twisted sideways.

⸻

That evening, Maren stomped through Briarwood Park, muttering at the sky. Her boss had blamed her for a mistake she didn’t make. Her mother had called to say she was “too sensitive.” And the man she’d been seeing had texted her a curt: We’re not a match. Take care.

She walked faster, hands in fists, until she reached the old oak tree at the center of the park—a massive thing with a trunk thick as a house pillar. People called it The Mirror Tree because if you stood in front of it, your reflection warped in strange, rippling ways.

She never believed in the stories, but that night she didn’t care.
She was tired.
She was angry.
She wanted the world to change.

“Fix everything,” she whispered to the tree. “Make people kinder. Make life easier. Make the world different.”

A sudden wind whipped around her, carrying red and gold leaves into a twisting funnel. Maren stumbled back—only to find the entire park melting like wet paint.

Then everything turned white.

⸻

Maren blinked. She stood in the same park, same path, same grass. But the tree?
The tree had eyes.

Not human eyes—shimmering amber lights embedded in the bark, blinking as though waking from a long sleep.

“You have asked for the world to change,” a deep voice rumbled, vibrating through the ground. “But tell me, Maren Hale—have you ever asked to change yourself?”

She backed away, nearly tripping over a root. “W-what? I just… People are awful. Everything is messed up. That’s not my fault.”

The tree’s bark shifted, forming something like a smile.

“Everyone thinks of changing the world,” it said. “But no one thinks of changing himself.”

“That’s some philosophical nonsense,” Maren snapped. Her voice trembled, but she stood her ground.

The Mirror Tree’s glowing eyes dimmed.

“Then let us see what the world looks like when everyone but you has changed.”

The ground under her feet cracked open, swallowing her in one silent breath.

⸻

When she landed, the world was… perfect.

At first glance.

The sky was a cloudless blue. Streets were clean. People walked with calm, measured steps. Every passerby smiled at Maren as though she were their favorite person.

“Good morning,” they said.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Can I help you with anything?”

Maren’s heart skipped. This was the world she’d always wanted—no rudeness, no anger, no tension. Everyone was polite, warm, helpful.

For the first hour, it was wonderful.

Until she started noticing things.

A woman at a fruit stand placed apples in a bag, but her hands trembled as if afraid to bruise the fruit. An older man swept the sidewalk with a strained smile that never touched his eyes. A teenager laughed too loudly, too sharply—as though forced to sound cheerful.

Every face wore a smile.
Not one smile looked real.

Maren approached a man sitting on a bench. “Are you okay?” she asked.

His smile tightened. “Of course. Everything is fine.”

She sat beside him slowly. “You seem… stressed.”

His jaw twitched. “Being anything else isn’t allowed.”

Maren pulled back. “Allowed? By who?”

The man blinked rapidly. “Everyone. No one. We all agreed the world should be better. No more anger. No more conflict. No more mistakes.”

His hands clenched around the bench edge, knuckles white.

“So we changed. All of us.”

A chill crawled down her spine. “Changed how?”

“We removed the parts of ourselves that cause problems. The world demanded it.”

Maren’s mouth went dry.

“You mean,” she whispered, “you don’t feel anything bad at all?”

“That would be wrong,” he said mechanically. “Bad emotions ruin the world.”

Maren stood up, heart pounding. She looked around. Everywhere, people moved calmly, politely, flawlessly—like puppets on invisible strings.

Then she noticed a young girl on a swing set, kicking at the dirt. She wasn’t smiling.

Maren knelt beside her. “Hi… are you okay?”

The girl’s lips wobbled. “I miss my real mom,” she whispered.

Maren froze. “Your… real mom?”

The girl pointed at a woman nearby wearing a bright, frozen smile. “That’s the one the world made her be. But she used to laugh. She used to get mad sometimes. She used to be her.”

The girl’s voice cracked. “Now she’s like everybody else.”

A heavy weight settled in Maren’s chest.

She had wanted the world to change.
She had wanted people to be kinder.
But this—this wasn’t kindness. It was obedience. It was erasure.

She backed away, breath shaking. “This isn’t right. Change shouldn’t look like this.”

The sky flickered like a glitch.

“So you disagree,” a deep voice boomed behind her.

Maren spun around. The Mirror Tree had appeared in the center of the playground, towering over everything.

“You asked for a changed world,” it said. “This is what it looks like when the world changes—but the individual does not.”

Maren’s voice was barely a whisper. “This is wrong.”

“Why?” the tree asked. “Is this not easier? Cleaner? Safer?”

“It’s lifeless,” she cried. “People need their real emotions. Even the ugly ones. We grow from them. Changing the world by forcing people to change isn’t real—it’s just controlling them.”

The tree’s eyes brightened. “So then, Maren Hale… who must change?”

Her stomach twisted. She looked down at her hands.
She remembered how she snapped at the cashier last week.
How she blamed her coworkers.
How she yelled at her sister.
How she punished the world for her hurt instead of trying to heal it.

She had been demanding the world change so she wouldn’t have to face her own reflection.

“I… I do,” she whispered.

The wind lifted suddenly, swirling around her like a storm.

“What would you change?” the tree asked.

Maren closed her eyes.

“I want to be someone who responds instead of reacts. Someone who listens. Someone who breathes before she speaks. Someone who tries to understand the world before she tries to fix it.”

The wind slowed. Her chest felt lighter, as though something heavy had been lifted.

The Mirror Tree’s voice softened. “Then open your eyes.”

⸻

She blinked—and found herself back in Briarwood Park. The oak tree stood silent and ordinary again, its bark rough and unremarkable. No eyes. No voice. No glowing light.

Just a tree.

The world around her was the same as before—messy, loud, flawed, human.

But she wasn’t the same.

She walked home slowly, noticing things she’d never paid attention to before. The dog that barked at her wasn’t annoying—he was just excited. The teenager skateboarding too fast wasn’t rude—he was just lost in his own world. The couple arguing near the bus stop weren’t ruining anything—they were trying to figure out how to love each other better.

People weren’t broken. People were trying.

And so was she.

When she reached her apartment, she paused before the door, drawing in a deliberate breath. She pulled out her phone and typed a message—not a demand, not a complaint, but something different.

“Hey… I know I’ve been harsh lately. I’m working on myself. I’m sorry.”

She hesitated—but she hit send.

The Mirror Tree’s words echoed in her mind.

“Everyone thinks of changing the world,
but no one thinks of changing himself.”

For the first time, Maren understood what it meant.

Changing the world didn’t start with grand gestures.
It started with her.
With small choices.
With the courage to face the parts of herself she’d ignored.

As she stepped inside her apartment, she whispered to the quiet room:

“I can’t change the whole world.
But I can change the part that starts with me.”

And for the first time in her life, that felt like enough.

⸻

Total Word COUNT 1402