The Fairy Tree

Fairy Tree

The sun was on the brink of the horizon. Under the dim fairy lights, I used my blankets as a shield. I thought about the Fairy Tree. Silence gave me time to reflect on my life. It was peaceful. Painful. The Fairy Tree wasn't. Life was simple back then. My brain stopped racing as I realised there was something I needed to do.

Silently, I open my broken door, angling the handle in a way so I don't wake up my mum. The darkness of the corridor felt uneasy, lurking with memories of the past. I tiptoe down the stairs and carefully unlock the back door. The darkness of the night stretched out in front of me and I immediately stopped in my tracks. My mind instantly floods with thoughts. What if there is someone, or something, out there? It's been raining a lot recently, pretty much for 40 days straight. The air hits me immediately, the fresh, earthy smell flooding my porch. I can feel the cold biting at my bare skin, bringing me back to reality. It's never a good idea to go outside in the dark, especially when you live in the middle of a giant forest. However, the chances of something being in my back garden? Slim. The Fairy Tree is only a few paces away. I quickly grab a scratchy old jacket and throw it over me. It's my Dad's jacket, it feels comforting. I zip it up and it hangs loosely over my tiny frame. It's not the warmest, but I can feel the safety clinging to me. I hesitantly step out my back door, gently pushing it shut behind me, and make a bolt for it.

Within seconds, I'm at the Fairy Tree. A lump crawls up my throat as I look at the remnants of a place I once adored. Mist has entangled my garden, squeezing into every crevice. Stray strands of moonlight stretch down from the sky. It is completely silent, apart from the occasional hooting from the owls fluttering around in the distance. Even in darkness, this place is beautiful to me, and always will be.

The Fairy Tree doesn't stand tall like it used to. It's not filled with beautiful apples of all shapes and sizes anymore. It lies in perfectly cut, hollow circles on the floor now, encased in moss. My mum made it into a memorial for all of my pets, now lying peacefully where the roots used to be. The remnants of the tree are surrounded by a handmade wooden circle, each twig carefully gathered and placed by my mum. New life pops up from the earth, little snowdrops fighting through the soil. A wooden cross is placed directly in the centre of the circle, crooked and imperfect. I listen to the owls hooting in the distance, the freezing air intertwining itself in my hair. This moment feels peaceful, just like it used to, until it doesn't.

Tears drip down my face. When I was small, there was a hole in the roots, kind of like a mouse hole. In my mind, this was where the fairies lived. I remember searching for twigs around my huge garden and cutting the heads off my mum's precious flowers. I sat there for hours and hours, making tiny houses and tiny decorations for my beloved fairies. I wrote notes to the them all the time, leaving them there under the moonlight, and hoping for a reply. One day, they did. A whole A4 page of beautiful swirly writing. I can't remember what I said anymore, but I have never felt happiness like that since. Of course, little me replied, in the neatest handwriting I could possibly muster. After that, I ran to the tree every morning as soon as I opened my eyes, waiting for their response. Even now I can still feel the bubbling in my stomach, followed by heavy sighs. There never was one.

My mum tried to protect the magic, but of course she couldn't. How could she possibly do that, considering the situation? My sister ran things in my house. My breathing quickens and I crouch down to the floor slowly, trying to grasp the soggy soil to regain my composure. I couldn't stop the memories filling my head, like a disease. The constant screaming rattled in my head as I trace the battle scars on my hands. I stare at my Mum, the exhaustion hiding in her eyes. I stare at my sister, anger etched in her face. I became one with the wall. My little sister sucked all their energy. As my Sister screamed the house down, I was doing my homework in my room, or building fairy houses in the garden alone under a stormy sky. Nobody noticed when I stopped building fairy houses.

My imagination was my safe place. Fairies still flutter there. As I sit there on the wet grass, my face burning, I try to suppress the bad memories. I was at my Fairy Tree, a place once filled with hope, now where my childhood companions lie. I straighten the wooden cross with my shaky fingers, and I am jolted into a new memory. I used to beg my parents to let me walk my dog through the Forest on my own. It was another escape. I grew out of Fairies a long time ago. The Forest is so vast, so peaceful. All you can hear is birdsong and the snap of twigs under your feet. The silence was endless. Questions swirl in my head, blending all my thoughts into one. My dog enthusiastically walked by my side. She knew. My eyes are blurry, stinging from pain. My face is scratchy, as if it's dissolving. Through my pain, I can still see the Fairy Tree. My Fairy Tree is still there. Flowers in various colours sprawl around the tree, extending for the sky. They sway gently in the wind. They are alive.

A bright orange haze is beginning to emit over the treetops, the haze flooding the garden. The sunlight is stretching slowly towards me. I got older, the tree lost it's magic. Life got more complicated. The fairies never helped me, or so I thought. I stare at the wood, cut perfectly into rings. One day, we had a huge storm in the middle of the night. The lighting was cracking every few seconds, violently ripping the sky in half. You could hear an ominous rumbling in the distance, creeping closer and closer - horrifying , but also mesmerising. Despite the knotting in my stomach, my jelly-like legs barely holding me up, it was a beautiful thing to witness. The sky was pouring with colour. Every second the whole garden was illuminated with a golden glow. The Fairy Tree glistened in the heavy rain, reflecting the pretty picture in the sky.

When morning finally dawned, the tree looked different. It no longer stood tall and proud. It didn't look majestic anymore. The roots had been heaved up from the ground, leaving a gaping hole where the fairies once lived. Soil was littered all over the ground. Rotting apples were scattered everywhere, left to decay on the muddy, overgrown grass. My Fairy Tree was clinging to life. Not a single branch had snapped. It laid on the ground, cushioned and protected by nature. I carefully run my fingers through the grass as I'm haunted by the familiar smell of rain. Today, the tree remains. However, it is far from what it used to be. I don't leave notes at the Fairy Tree anymore. I don't take my dog for walks on the winding trails in the Forest anymore. She lies at peace now, with the Fairy Tree.

I can hear birds beginning to wake up now, humming their morning melody. I can see the sunlight desperately crawling to me. Blooming flowers reach beyond the wooden circle, stretching for the sky. I stare at the rings of my Fairy Tree, protectively sheltering the new buds blossoming. My eyes flicker to the new tree, planted in it's place. An apple tree.