The Willow Tree

(This is a short story which will only have one chapter)

Are people generally good or bad? Are people born to become monsters, or do the abuse and torment they undergo in life shape and mould their souls into monsters? Is it possible... to fix someone? No. You can't fix a person, but you can love them, show them that there is still good in this broken world they perceive as hell. The story about to be told is one of a shattered girl who's name represented a torch, one that has not yet been extinguished....

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The soft breeze weaved through the limp branches of a willow tree that held somebody, unseen from the rest of the too-serious, too-unhappy world. A girl of maybe seventeen sat on the soft, moist grass, against the unrelenting trunk of the willow tree, analytical eyes glazing over a scroll she was forbidden to read at an uncaring, unforgiving home. The girl, whose name was Eleni was quite a sight for sore eyes if only somebody could see her in her small, obscured world, over the protective walls of emotion that she had been carefully building up for years. Her chocolate eyes were dreamy as if they held an entire galaxy of stars, and almost enticing. Layers of dark umber locks, intertwined with an intricately braided crown cascaded down her shoulders and ended at the bottom of her rib cage.

Her light olive skin seemed to glitter in the sunlight, along with a sparkle of her sweet almond eyes, framed by thick eyelashes sprinkled with frosty teardrops. She had small, hazel freckles dusted along her red-orange cheeks and the bridge of her small, pointed nose, with rose-coloured lips that were naturally puckered with a sharp cupid's bow. Her slim and tall body was adorned with a flowing, white dress with large ruffles along the middle. Her huge skirts pooled around her, appearing as a thin, crisp layer of snow. Here was just another pitiful maiden, known for only her "breathtaking beauty" and nothing else entirely. Eleni wasn't particularly fond of her beauty, although she was very aware of how absurd those small, drifting thoughts were. How ungrateful and wretched of her not to appreciate her gods-given gifts? They were only a painful and stinging reminder of how useless she was to her brethren, and how deep those thoughts buried themselves into her unstable heart.

She was a grave mistake and a cumbersome burden, a pathetic and flimsy girl when her father had so desperately pleaded for a boy. Her ravishing appearance was the only thing that her parents could pride on, the only tiny fragment of hope that they could barely cling on to. As a young child, she was brandished and flourished as if she were some object, oblivious and heedless to the knowledge that she was slowly becoming more and more like a clay doll, beautifully made and carefully sculpted, yet empty and hollow if you were to split one in half.

Her brooding thoughts all fell away when a strong gust of wind tore the neglected scroll out of Eleni's loose hands, allowing sharp rays of sunlight to peek through and brighten the melancholy branches of the willow tree. Snapped out of her dream-like trance, she jerked forward to attempt to grasp the edges of the scroll, but they slipped through her fingers like the soft, refined sand that you would find on a pristine beach. The stubborn and rebellious scroll fluttered through the branches and into the crisp morning air. Eleni scrambled forward, her bare feet nearly scraping the bark of the willow tree that she cared for so deeply. Drawing back the curtain-like branches, she then proceeded to squint through the newfound light that was nearly blinding in contrast to the dim haven of the willow tree.

Eleni blinked once, twice, then three times. The brightness had subsided, and the crushing reality of the life that she was so familiar with had come rushing back to her. Everything should have been the same; repetitive, meaningless, and numb, but something was not right. The air felt like it had changed. It took her a while to notice that there was another presence in the field, a figure almost too transparent for the mortal eye to pick up. She whipped her head around to glance behind her and into the safety of the willow tree, wondering if somebody had broken into her sacred haven. When she turned her head back, she jumped and nearly fell over at the sight of an unexpected visitor, standing under the big mass of leaves of a laurel tree about seven metres away from her.