Her Other Home - An original story
Her Other Home
She was a mysterious girl. A girl without a place where she truly belonged. Whenever you saw her in a crowd, you knew she didn’t belong. Like a moth trying to fly with beautiful butterflies. A moth had its own beauty, but it didn’t fit in with the beauty of others. No doubt the girl was pretty, but there was so much sadness behind her green eyes that it affected her image. She was seen as mysterious, depressed, cautious, and scared.
That day was the day she’d break her promise. Her heart told
her it was time. She raced out the door before anyone could realize what she
was doing. She hopped over the fence with such grace that it made you wonder
how such energy could come out of a dull girl like her. She ran swiftly, like
the wind, past the old oak tree that seemed to reach into the heavens. She ran
into the great forest, where light was scarce. You could hardly see where you
were going, light barely peeping through the tree tops.
That didn't stop her.
She ran as fast as a gazelle, seemed to fly like a hawk, so
fierce yet graceful. Her eyes seemed to be used to the dim lighting; it seemed
as if she had been here before. She stopped so abruptly that the forest seemed
to hold its breath. She hesitated, wondering whether she did the right thing
coming here. She seemed to make up her mind and went deeper into the forest.
She looked around for a while, and then seemed to find what she had been searching for. She went to a tree with the engravings: Our Tree. The words were etched in beautiful penmanship. Under that was the word: Always. It seemed to be written by someone very young, someone barely learning penmanship.
She carefully scraped off the green moss, and moved her
finger over the letters gently, as if one wrong stroke of her finger could cost
her life. She then sat against the tree, right under the engraving; she pulled
her knees to her chest, and sighed. For once in her dark life, she smiled. She
closed her eyes, put her head back against the tree trunk, and began to
silently cry. Memories flooded through her mind, memories of picnics and walks,
hand in hand, and she thought of her mother's spirit possibly looking down on
her. The spot was as meaningful to her as a home. It didn't matter that this
was just a tree; it was more than that.