Categories > Original > Drama0 Reviews
He had told her to wait by the tree with the apple hanging from it.
The forest became trees, and her eyes widened as individual details were picked out, her mouth opening in surprise and excitement at seeing the tree, with its bare branches and single apple hanging from a lonely stem. She clapped her hands happily, her face in a wide smile as she began to walk quickly down the hillside, her mouth open on a song. Her voice rang clear and true through the meadow she crossed, and as she entered the forest, her song never wavered in its melody.
Weil Sie die Spur nicht springen kÃ¶nnen, sind wir wie
Autos auf einem kabel und lebens, wie eine sanduhr, wird
geklebt die zu den Tisch niemand kann finden das Knopf,
MÃ¤dchen rÃ¼ckspult. So Wiege Ihr Kopf in Ihren HÃ¤nden Und
atmet... atmet nur
Ach atmet, atmet nur...
Her hand scraped on the bark of a high oak tree, and she paused in her endless wandering to look up and see the sky from the eyes of something small and insignificant compared to the towering power of the oak. She could only catch a hint of blue out of all of the green, and when another wind came, the blue was blotted out completely. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush and decided they did not like the blue, and added some yellow to the painting to turn it to green.
Some of the growth on the ground clung to her shoes, damp earth from a recent rain clinging to the heel as she went further onwards, step by step. She could recall the rain from the previous night, the way it had thundered, the rain whipping across the panes of glass in her house, the lightening crackling in the distance. It was a wonder that no trees had been splintered, she thought, and then immediately retracted that thought, seeing one tree to her left side.
It was splintered, jagged edges sticking out, ready to cut anything that dared walked toward it. Its mighty bough of leaves had heaved itself down to the ground sometime during the night and she could reach out and grab one of the leaves, feeling the dampness in her hand.
Carrying the leaf, she continued to stride onwards through the trees, reaching out and touching the bark of one after the other at different intervals, as if reassuring herself that what she was doing was the right thing. Was she really doing the right thing though? Did she even know what the right thing was? Everything seemed so twisted; everything seemed so upside down after she had met him, after he had taught her things. Things she dared not show anyone else, things she only dared to remember in the darkness of her room.
He was the one to teach her to look at the cup as half empty, not half full.
He was the one to teach her that misery always loves its company.
And he was the one to teach her that love and death went hand in hand.
And as soon as he stepped into her life, out went her optimistic attitude, like a moth being burned up by a flame in the dead of the night. It was swiftly replaced with a surly attitude, a defiant one to her parents, and a pessimistic one to her friends. It was then that she began to do things in the night that he had taught her, but she had never done before. Things that were not allowed, things that were considered unclean and vile to everyone around her.
And yet no one knew. No one knew her dirty little secrets, the ones she kept stashed under her bed as if they were boxes, ones to be opened up as if gifts in the deepest and darkest of nights.
And now he wanted to meet her by the tree. Oh, how her skin tingled in delight and anticipation, as droplets of water from branches overhead hit her in the face, made her curly locks damp, glistening with dew in the frail light. The leaves reflected off of her face, their forms casting shadows onto her that became denser and denser as she went on in the forest. She was so entranced with looking upward, up to the darkening sky in fact, that she almost didn't notice the tree, and would have bypassed it if it was not for the sight of it's gangly limbs and awkward placement.
It looked like something out of a twisted childhood's nightmare, with pale branches that looked like veins reaching up from the ground, and one single, solitary, dark red, apple that hung from one lone branch. It's tendrils of leaves curled around it, as the apple seemed to grow darker as she approached it, as if a bloodstain had begun to spread. Mein, she thought with a desolate sigh, and reached out to touch the apple. The trip here had made her tired, and yet, no matter how far she reached, or how much her hand stretched upwards, she could not reach the apple. That was fine though, she only wanted to look, to feel to touch, not to eat.
She set her bag on the ground beside the tree, but that was all she allowed herself to do for now. Instead, she began to study the tree, to examine it like a scientist might, to see how it could still be living, with no leaves what so ever on it, how the apple could be growing on it when no others did. She was no scientist, but she knew something was up with this tree, and she began to wonder why he had asked to meet by this tree, of all the trees in the forest. It certainly was one of the most noticeable, that was for sure, but other then it's stark bareness and the apple, there was nothing about it to distinguish it from a million other dead stumps in the ground.
Except, this stump seemed to pulse with a hidden energy, one that even she could tell as she backed away from it for a moment, as the tree seemed to sigh. It seemed to sigh, as if sad for her, as if it knew what her fate was to become, and it wished her to go home, away from the sadness before it overtook her. But she had no knowledge of what was going on, and so instead took a startled step backwards, afraid for a moment, before laughing derisively. It must have been the wind she concluded, yes, the wind made the branches rattle a bit; giving the tree the look of sighing when in truth it did nothing of the sort.
And so, taking a brace step forward, she took one more and sat down beneath it's bare branches, and looked up through the twigs it had placed at odd intervals. She could see the sky in the clearing that the tree was in, and it began to get dark as she waited.
And no one came for her as the night grew on, and her fears became more and more unlike fears, and more like the truth. No, she was not afraid of wolves, or bats, or things that could eat her in the night. Nor was she afraid of the dark, its dark tendrils curling around her, wrapping her up in it, until no light could pass through, until nothing could pierce the darkness that lingered in the forest, and in her soul.
The tears that she shed were for him, not for her. And it was then, that she was able to finally see through his lies, his deceitfulness, and his silver tongue. She could see that all he offered her was false hope; that he could not offer her what she really wanted, what she needed.
She found herself under the tree of false hope.