The Lone Weeping Willow Tree
The shovel sliced into the frigid, drenched soil with a THUMP. Thunder was cracking, lightning was flashing, water was falling, but still the shovel sliced and sliced. The poor woman tied down unable to move or speak. Blood rushed out gashes that had been cut into her. She'd been treated bad, really badly but never like this. The man dragged the body to the newly broken soil as if a wolf dragging newly caught prey. The world weeped, cried, and screamed for the woman. Twenty years ago this happened, an abuser finally did the unspeakable, and buried a woman alive.
Before long, people said there was no burial on that chilling night, but it did happen. The proof, well there is a tree, the lone Weeping Willow, by the decade forgotten house. This tree can feel, it can hear, but most of all, it can see with its one green eye. In this place the only thing you can see is that eye glowing when it’s dark, a green star in the black blanket of night. It is one of the three things that is left from the woman, her eye, her soul, and her small Weeping Willow seed that has now grown into her.
The Tree saw a boy playing by her house in the brightness of day. What she would do to be like that again, free.
Why can't I be like him so free, so elegant, no worry. Why did the earth have to give me new life and not the sweet poisonous nectar of deaths tree. The free will to relax for eternity in the ever spacious, ever dark void. Why am I trapped to the loneliness of my prison, my captivity, my tree?
At last darkness rolled in, the air cool, small sprinkles of water dropped from the heavens so far away. A man strolled next to the Tree, eyes stinging with tears. The Weeping Willow knew those eyes as the fell onto her own. The man who gave her this misery, the abuser.
The abuser quietly sobbed and spoke, “Why?”
That question screamed into the Tree’s mind without thinking she exploded, “KILL ME, FINISH ME, OR I’LL DO IT MYSELF!”
“Why do you think I’m here, to taunt you, to hurt you, I’ve already done that,” With that he left into the blanket of black that was the night. The morning came swiftly after the long night of thinking.
Why could he not just kill me? He tried it before why, not again?
The young boy she had seen the day before was playing in front of the old house. Tears filled him. He had a gash in his leg pouring buckets of blood, as he reached and crawled towards the Tree. Glass from the house had stuck through him. The tree reached out to the crimson red boy’s leg.
“AHHHH,” the boy screamed into panic at the Tree. His heart pounding, blood spewing, and then nothing. The life drained out of him and he was returned to his mother, the Tree for ever.
“Sorry,” cried he Tree. Thoughts soon sprinkled into the Trees as the world cried with her and rain bounced to the ground. I guess I can’t help anyone.
Nights flew away and the Tree grew weak, her leaves began to fall and go white from the snow. The nights grew dark and no one was ever around. The thoughts of the boy, her son still lingered in the tree.
Finally, she saw him standing in the wisping snow with nothing but a rope. He walked towards the Weeping Willow, all the cold sifted into heat and rage. The tree reached out and grabbed her abuser with her twisted branches.
“JUST FINISH THE JOB AND KILL ME. END THE TORTURE!” the tree exploded. The abuser finally cracked from the guilt over all these years. The abuser tied the rope on the Weeping Willow, and made a noose.
He spoke softly with his final words, “Sorry.”