An Epilogue For The Beginning…..

She took her first steps tentatively. The dried leaves that covered the ground before her made no sound as she moved upon them. The white of her bare feet was a shocking contrast to the grey earth surrounding her. Everywhere she looked, the forest was barren and cold. It was the season of slumber and death. Winter. All around her, life lay imprisoned in a dormant state. Yet she, was finally free. The irony of it was almost laughable.

It was most curious that within moments of her release, she made her way back to these woods. Why return to the place where she had been captured? Surely, it was strange to search for clues of a past which was no longer attached to her? Strange it may be, but this place had been her home. She knew in her heart that she could not start over without first returning to the beginning. So here she was.

Drawing in a shaky but determined breath, she walked down the path before her. It was the same trail she had followed hundreds of times, though it felt as if she dreaming. She had lived inside this dream so many times, how could she tell what was real?

Then she saw it. The tree. Her loving, Weeping Willow. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of it. Half of it’s branches were gone, burned to nothingness in a fire that she had heard about but not seen. A fire that had not touched her skin but destroyed every possession she once held dear. Every childhood wish… Every secret desire….. Gone. Consumed by the flames of a world she had been forbidden to be a part of.

Memories came flooding back to her. Echoes of laughter, whispers of love, promises made, and broken. Events she knew she had imagined. Things only created in her mind. Yet the effect they left upon her soul was as real as the beating of her heart.

She stood there and stared at her tree, not really looking at it, but lost within the recesses of her mind. Finally, she sat. Leaning heavily against the willow’s trunk, she considered the blank paper and pen held in her hands. Such simple materials once held comfort and joy for her. Long ago, putting pen to paper had meant a passionate release. Now, she felt lost and fearful.

What should she write? Should she spin a tale about pixes and princes? Humble beginnings and happy endings. Through pain and seperation, love lasts forever. Never stop believing, kiddies. True love conquers all.

Or should she go down the more tragic road? One where every second of everyday is filled with pain and heartache? Tears are your nightly lover and dreams are filled with blood flow. There is no happiness in those stories. Only darkness and death await you. And everyday starts with a renewed form of old agony. No hope hides in those stories.

What should she write? She did not know. She had known both kind of lives. One of happiness….One of despair…and something in between. What was left to live for now? She did not know.

Six years. So much said. So much done. Everything has changed, but it is still the same. Waiting. Was she waiting? For what? A million lifetimes gone by, a million stories to tell. And still she knew she had not lived.

She smoothed out the paper, uncapped the pen, and began to write.

~M~