Deep into the Forest, far beyond the reaches of Dust stood a Treehouse; hidden amongst the Oak trees. In the blossoming sunlight it stood watching the world go by, each day as it comes and by night another. It watched the brown pillars towering over the glazed flowers and the iced mountain tops, over the continuing daylight chasing the clouds across the landscape, and over the animals growing and changing into something majestic. The cascading Oaks hid the Treehouse in their shroud of Green, holding onto their dignity as rest of the Forest shied away. They knew more than they were letting on.
The little girl woke from her dreams sharp as the breath on her tongue. Her butterfly eyes opened from the dark, and she stood up and reached for her bow and arrow, walked towards the door, unbolted the latch and looked out onto the Map beneath her feet. She followed the animal footprints in the freshly carved Earth with her eyes and raised her bow to a shadow-cast Rabbit. She took a moment. She knew she had to do this. It would only take a few moments- moments that had already passed. There were never enough moments in the day.
From out of the great forest came a storm of hooves woven into rhythm like the patchwork clothes of the men that reigned on their backs. They thundered across the compassed floor and stole the paths the girl had left behind. Their telescoped eyes overbore the Forest and they left a lifeless pulse where they stood. She hid behind the Treehouse door and peered through the window out at the men. They looked and they talked meaningless language. The great purge began, the Forest helpless to stop them.
From the Treehouse the little girl saw two hawking eyes peer into the treetops, circling the swirls of green. She hid and she stood, and she watched him freeze the woods with his eyes, and from this she knew. It wasn’t time yet. She watched them claim the land then turn back away and return to the Dust.
Day fell to night as Summer fell to Autumn. The burnt umber leaves left their branches and went gladly to the ground. The Forest floating. The girl stood picking the last of the Sweet Berries when out of the Forest paths came the sound of horse hooves carried on the wind. It was at this time she knew. Looking out across the fields the Dust was clearing and new ideas were being founded, so it was time for her to go, just as he promised them. The horse rode closer, and out of the trees he came to her carrying every moment she had lost. He’d fought hard to bring his child home.
As the evening Sun sets on the Forest of Oak trees, overlooking the town of Dust- a little girl stood by her Treehouse. Amongst the last dance of the falling leaves, she looked at her father and smiled.
About the Author
I am a young writer studying for a place at university to read English Literature in September. My biggest inspirations in writing are Emily Dickinson and Aldous Huxley. I one day hope to be an Academic of English and to encourage more young people across the UK to start writing.
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