The Girl and the Grove

Trigger warning: Suicide, Mental Health

On the outside, to the rest of the world, the Girl seemed fine. Quiet, always wearing hoodies, sat in the back of class. She kept to herself, ate lunch alone, did group projects quietly, picked last in P.E.

But in her mind?

She was almost gone.

The Girl’s mind was a dark forest, dank and full of despair. Everything seemed to be covered in soot and death, and there wasn’t a sound from any animals; just the haunting wind through the black trees.

Deep in the Girl’s mind was a small, secluded Grove. Surrounded by the gloom of the forest, the Grove was a small, tiny beacon illuminating the surroundings.

The Grove was what remained of the Girl’s childhood. There was a small carousel, a mini cotton candy machine, and dolls scattered everywhere, once loved, now forgotten. The surrounding trees were strung with fairy lights, but most had been dead for a long time; only a few blinked slightly.

This is where the Girl used to go when she felt like life just wasn’t worth it anymore. She’d escape into her mind, savoring the memories of life, one long left behind.

But recently the Grove hadn’t seen the Girl recently. She’d traveled for hours in the forest, falling deeper into despair and darkness. The Grove wished that she would just walk in there, just for a moment, and the grove could show her that life was worth it. That even in the darkest moments, her childhood mind could give her comfort. Even as the winds grew stronger and the air colder, the Grove kept the grass soft and the carousel moving; the once playful music growing more haunting with time.

But the Grove hoped. Even if it knew hope was already lost.

Then the Girl came back.

She was almost worn thin, her cheekbones stark and eyes dark, every bit of energy completely gone. How she was still able to stand was a mystery, and yet she did.

She approached the Grove slowly, passing her hand over every tree, running her hand over the small horses on the carousel, brushing the hair from a doll’s face.

The Girl kept looking around, studying the Grove intently, as if she was trying to summon whatever she was missing by sheer willpower. That would never work, of course, but the magic of the Grove was that it would always have a small shred of hope.

“I almost forgot about this place.”

She slowly picked up a doll, carefully tucking its hair into its braids.

“It’s so far away from where my mind is usually. It takes an effort to come back.”

The Grove whispered to her, but the message was lost to the winds. She, unawares, took another doll, adjusting its skirt slightly.

“They keep telling me that it’s worth it.” She whispered. “My mom. My therapist. That my life is worth living. But I just...”

She sank to her knees, doll tumbling from her hands.

“It’s not.” The Girl whispered, her voice small. “It’s just not.”

She laid down on the ground, tucking her knees to her chest, rocking slightly.

“I’m so tired.” She murmured, tears slipping. “So tired.”

The Grove didn’t say anything. The winds were completely quiet, trees still. For the first time, the Grove could see itself fading. The dolls became slightly transparent, the carousel beginning to slow, the fairy lights going dark, one by one.

They stayed like that for a while, the Girl and the Grove, both contemplating their existence and demise, until the Grove spoke.

“Everyone is.” It whispered. “There’s not a person alive who isn’t just tired.”

“The funny thing about life,” The Grove continued, “Is that if you take it seriously, life becomes serious.”

The Girl wiped her eyes, sitting up slightly.

“But... but how else do we look at life?”

The Grove blew a soft breeze through her hair, drying the remaining tears on her face.

“We look at life as the gift it is.”

“But it’s so difficult.”

“Indeed.”

“And everyone else seems to handle it so well.”

“They do look that way, don’t they?”

“And everyone else has something to live for.”

“That’s true.”

The Girl paused.

“I don’t have any of those things.”

“Perhaps not.”

The Grove paused.

“Do you have paper and a pencil?”

The Girl tilted her head in confusion.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Write letters.” The Grove whispered. “One for every person who deserves an explanation.”

“Uh... ok...? Why?”

“Just trust me.”

The Girl shrugged, and pulled out her paper and pencil and wrote. First, a letter to her mother.

“Good.” The Grove whispered. “And who else?”

The Girl thought for a moment, then wrote to her therapist. Then to the lunch lady to always smiled at her, because she knew no one else talked to her. Then to the mailman who always had treats for her dog. Then to her father, not that he would care, but at least he’d have something. Then to the barista who made her coffee on Saturdays with a heart made of foam on top, always a heart. Then to the girl who invited her a party.

The letters began to pile up, one after the other, until the Girl leaned back.

“I think that’s it.”

The Grove chuckled slightly.

“Look at the pile.”

The Girl glanced over and inhaled sharply. It was far more letters than she thought, a small mound of apologies and explanations to people who she didn’t even know that well. Except she did.

“Don’t you see?” The Grove whispered. “They need you.”

The Girl started to cry again.

“It’s so hard...” She whispered.

“It is.” The Grove sighed. “But look at those who need letters. If that’s the only thing you can hold on to, hold on to the mound of letters you need to write.”

----------------

The Girl got better, bit by bit.

She never did forget about the Grove after that.

And the Grove kept those letters, folded them into butterflies that drifted around, beautiful wings covered with words of love.