Help! One of my very first assignments of this term to write a short story. No specifications, just a story. I started on this idea (which I'll show you in a minute), but I'm not sure where my conflict is coming from. Should it be internal or external? I need your suggestions! Please feel free to post comments as to what you think about the small start I have on this idea:


They’re always commenting on the view. They come up here, the wrinkled and the refreshed, the lean and the stout, the wide-eyed and the completely dull, and say, “I could get used it up here”. I’ll admit, it’s not a bad perspective. A quiet, grassy meadow amongst a colossal, panoramic mountain range is very ‘Sound of Music’ if you ask me. It’s a suitable setting for young romance or love lost, special family moments or distraught loneliness. It does the trick, and here I am smack dab in the middle of it all.
Rooted down for the last one hundred twenty-three years, I’ve watched four hundred ninety-two seasons come and go, along with thousands of people, each with their own tales to tell. I watched as these masses come daily, each one pacing, talking, sharing, and snoozing under my leafy shade. But soon enough, I’ve forgotten their faces and their stories, all becoming the same after a while. Maybe today will be different.
The same time the rooster crowed from down in the municipal valley, past my family of Oaks, over the dried up, sandstone-filled riverbed, the sun peaked over the summit of the most northern snowcap. As it rose into the blue abyss, I watched my dewy leaves drip gently on the ground below creating a puddle between two grainy roots: a perfect place for the birds and squirrels to bathe. As the warmth penetrated deeper into my bark, I could feel latest scratches carved by the inconsiderate ones. Sure, they felt to need to proclaim their latest infatuation, but it’s unnecessary to ruin a tree’s dignity. I waited for the first guest.
A young boy arrived soon after my shade passed over the eastern trail, along with a young pup no longer than my newest branch. Ah, the smell of adolescence and wet dog! After frolicking in the birdbath, the pup marked his territory on the only bare spot of my aging trunk, and the boy simply ignored this acidic deed, keeping his attention on the smooth stone collection he was angling into the back pocket of his torn overalls...