The dark, lonely night is soon replaced by the welcoming early hours of the day. It’s a Sunday, the best part of the week. For the most part, both adults and children find it necessary to sleep in, leaving the roads peacefully empty for me at this time.
I can feel myself rousing from my vacant dreams as a friendly sparrow begins to sing softly outside of my window. Quickly I jump out of bed, racing over to the window to check how light the day is. Perfect, no signs of dawn for at least another couple of hours or so. This gives me enough time to quickly dress in some rugged cargo trousers and my father’s old hunting fleece that is laced with the refreshing smell of pine trees and cigar smoke.
Careful not to disturb my father, I gingerly creep down the stairs. There is no real reason as to why I need to do this as he always drinks himself into an oblivious stupor every Saturday night. Even a herd of elephants would not be able to awaken him at this alarming hour. He prefers it this way though. Then for the whole of Sunday his pain and guilt is numbed by the intoxicating repercussions of the alcohol. All that was left after the accident was an empty shell of a man. Usually he doesn’t leave his bed until mid-afternoon, and that suits me just fine as I’d rather not see him like this.
He knows I leave the house at this ‘ridiculous’ hour, and he knows exactly where I go. I go to my only escape from this cruel world, like he escapes to his drink. I know it bothers him, but he knows there is nothing he can do to stop me. I am very stubborn; he once said that I got that from my mother. He hasn’t spoke of her for years now, the last time he mentioned her was a few days before my twin brother died. I wish he wouldn’t carry around the guilt of their deaths with him, but it’s pointless me saying anything when I too carry the same guilt upon my frail shoulders.
Heaving my tattered boots up my ankles, I lace them extra tight. I unconsciously grab a few essentials and place them in my satchel. I have just under two hours left before dawn; that should be plenty of time to reach my destination.
I stroll down the desolate streets, glad to be without company. I have never been much of a people person; I prefer the trees and wildlife compared to other human beings. Frankly it’s always been quite like this, even when my brother Ash was alive, he and my father were probably the only people that I‘d have a decent conversation with. But now my brother has gone, and my father has practically deserted me in my time of need. I have no one. At times I am glad of this; it feels as though it’s how it’s supposed to be.
I do miss Ash awfully though. He had flaxen hair, the same colour as mine, and these bright blue eyes, again just like mine. We did look a lot like each other, even though we were non-identical twins. What I miss most about him though is how he understood me, how in tune he was with my emotions. He shared the same thoughts on how life seems too complicated now, we thought it would be much easier back in the days when humans had to hunt and live outdoors. There would be less to worry about; not nearly as much human pollution; no nuclear weapons; not so many violent wars. Humans are the cause for so much havoc on this dying planet. It’d be simpler if we didn’t exist at all.
That’s why we’ve always liked to go to the forest, my father used to take us every Sunday. His words echo in my head as I walk, “A village is almost suffocating for an Ash and a Willow; you both belong in the forest.” Our names were derived from trees, and it almost felt as though our whole spirit was too. We did belong in the woods, free and happy.
The forest we went to is quite far away from our large village, you have to cross several fields and other woodland areas to get there. It’s far enough from civilisation not to be bothered by other people. But to be honest, ever since it happened, I think I am the only person who would actually want to visit that forest anyway.
I remember that day vividly. It was a Sunday, we woke up just before dawn and our father took us both to the forest, like he always did. We were young, about ten maybe? Father set out animal snares to catch rabbits, and we ate whatever bread we had brought as we awaited the beautiful sunrise patiently. After that, we ran around in the forest, played hide and seek, father even helped us climb a few trees. But the wind was stronger than usual. That’s when it happened.
Ash and I went off to see if some of the snares had caught anything, and father went to go check the others. I was not far away when I was releasing a dead rabbit from one of the successful snares, not aware of where Ash was. The entire forest fell silent. A solitary sparrow let out a piercing warning cry before the creaking of the tree reverberated through the dense foliage. I turned swiftly on my heel only to see Ash paralysed, enthralled by the dying creature. I saw father appear in the clearing further away. He yelled for Ash to move as he began to sprint to Ash’s rescue. But he was too far away to reach him. I could have possibly got there in time, but I too was captivated by the beast’s sad beauty to move.
Father and I both blamed ourselves for Ash’s death. He should never have left two ten year olds, no matter how capable he thought we were. I should have ran to save him, not just watch.
He was my twin brother. We were supposed to feel some kind of connection, an unbreakable bond. But when I let him die, I broke that bond. I deserve to be alone.
I also feel sort of responsible for my mother’s death, not in the same way as my brother’s, but there is still underlying guilt. My mother died during childbirth, complications arose due to her having twins. I can’t help but feel as though if I wasn’t born, she’d still be alive. We never got to meet her, but maybe if I wasn’t born, then Ash would have had the chance?
Somber in colour, the sky is heavy with the bitter cold wind. Daggers of ice slice past my unprotected face, compelling me to retreat further into the warmth of the fleece.
When I finally reach my haven, I have plenty of time to place a few snares and cautiously meander through the scattered trees. Winter has begun to engulf the whole forest, some branches are becoming naked, with their crispy leaves sounding my arrival as I walk, whereas the majority are pine trees and they are as green as ever.
Once I reach the clearing, the trees stand proud, shoulder to shoulder, surrounding a luscious meadow of viridian grass. I sit patiently on a fallen tree trunk, nibbling on some bread and sipping some water I had brought. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, rays of scintillating amber and sanguine radiate down through the canopy of trees, illuminating the whole pasture. Soon enough the frigid cloak of air is replaced by a welcomed mild glow.
As though only just awakening, my senses become attentive to the array of activity now arousing in the forest. Birds sing a euphonic melody that resonates between the trees. The fresh earthy smell only now floods my airways, causing me to inhale deeply with immeasurable delight. Wisps of air thread through the malachite green grass causing it to gently caress my ankles. The coarse bread has now become a sweet flurry of sensation as I have begun to chew less frequently.
I too begin to revive my inert body, releasing it from the meadow’s enthralling beauty. I drift through the forest effortlessly, dodging fallen trunks and branches, not nearly as agile as the common wildlife that call this their home.
I involuntarily look behind me as if to check Ash’s whereabouts, only to remember the intense memory that remains in his place. Convulsions begin to strike through my body as the agony rises to the surface. I can’t help but remember the trance he appeared to be in, the panic in my father’s voice, how I remained motionless too. The overpowering crash reverberates in my mind as I try to overcome the pain. I feel as though I am constricted by a creature winding its body around me tighter and tighter, causing me to slowly suffocate as I await my inevitable death.
I’m a murderer. I killed Ash, not that tree. I was the reason he died. If only I had moved. I could have saved him in time. It should have been me crushed by the tree trunk; Ash would have at least tried to save me. He should have been spared, I am the guilty one.
Finally as my knees buckle to the ground, I feel the memory release its grip. Dissolving into a grey haze, I can feel it slither out of my mind, the soothing aroma of pines replacing its deathly hold. My breathing has reverted to a near normal pace. I swallow deeply, hoping to allow the memories to return to the unfathomable place from which they came from; hopefully somewhere they can never be unearthed again.
I focus my gaze to the opposite edge of the forest, where we used to play as children. I remember when our father first brought us here, I was petrified and refused to let go of Ash’s hand. I loved the outdoors, but the forest seemed so sad. Most of the trees had fallen and the ones still standing were constantly creaking. Now when I come to visit, I’m overcome with the beauty and the sadness I feel simultaneously. Strange isn’t it? How something can be so beautiful and yet so discomforting.
Many of the trees lean on each other for support when they fall, they’ll never die alone. I wish I could say the same for humans. But when Ash needed me most, I didn’t help. I could have saved him, but I was too selfish to move. He died alone too; the tree that had fallen had barricaded our path to him. I hope he was killed immediately with the sheer size of the beast. Otherwise, I can’t help but think how lonely and scared he must have felt, lying there in the cold undergrowth, bloody and beaten, awaiting the cold relief of death.
If I had the chance to relive that day, I would sacrifice myself for him. He never deserved to die. That innocent little boy should be here now, alive. But death took the wrong twin. Living is the worst punishment which I now have to face.
I shake the thoughts from my head, not wanting to be reminded what the torturous agony of losing him felt like. Although this place can provoke such palpable nightmares, it also has the key to so many euphoric memories.
Ash used to love climbing the trees, to get as high as possible, something the birds so easily take for granted. Being the age we were, we found it quite easy since we were light enough to pull ourselves up the trees without the branches snapping under our weight. I haven’t climbed a tree for a while, but whenever I do, I’m reminded of Ash, how problem free we both were at that age.
I find a suitable pine tree to climb; it seems to be the tallest that I can see, reaching probably about 40 metres in height. It has many branches protruding outwards, perfect for support. I test the strength of them before I begin, should be strong enough. Each time I reach for another branch, I know there’s a chance I could easily fall, but that doesn’t stop me. I miss Ash so much, I need to feel young and free again, like when he was alive. As I climb closer, a familiar bird’s song becomes louder. It’s a sparrow. The same bird that let out a warning cry before that tree fell, the same bird that wakes me every Sunday morning, the same bird that’s here now, encouraging me to carry on.
I can feel the skin on my hands tear apart, the coarse bark causing nothing but more pain. But I pressure on. The skin on my hands used to be much more thick and durable as I climbed often when I was a child.
After what seems like a long and arduous task, I finally reach a point as to where I can climb no further. It’s pretty close to the top of the tree, I’m impressed with myself. I gaze around to see trees standing closely aligned with each other. The leaves of the evergreens reflect incandescent rays of light, bouncing through the whole woods. I can see a long distance in each direction. Where the forest ends, fields of luscious grass begin. I can even see a shimmering lake to the right of the forest.
The sparrow is not far above me, singing his mellifluous harmony for all to hear. Time seems to slow almost to a standstill when he sings, calming me and allowing my inner most precious thoughts to resonate through my mind. His grey stomach is thrust outwards and his dappled wings gently move to the constant beat of his song. He ruffles his plumage when he notices me staring in awe. Shutting my eyes, I allow the song to pour into my head, filling me with delight.
I slowly allow myself to come back to reality; my arms are still fixed around the salvation of the tree’s body. I glance downwards, and freeze. It’s not the shocking height that scares me, but I swear I can see a small child with golden hair staring up at me. All forms of reason elude me as I find myself calling the name lingering on the tip of my tongue, “Ash,” only a whisper escapes as my mouth feels suddenly dry with anticipation.
The harsh sun blinds me for a second, I blink quickly. As suddenly as he was there, he is gone. “Ash, ASH!” My voice bellows through the woodland. That was no imagination, I saw him. He was there.
Panic and hope stream through my body simultaneously. I begin to fumble down the branches attempting to reach the floor as quickly as possible without falling. I don’t make it more than a metre before I am stopped dead in my tracks. The entire forest falls silent. The same solitary sparrow that once sang so beautifully lets out a piercing warning cry before I hear the alarming creaking of a tree very nearby.
I see the tree beginning to waver. Something in the pit of my stomach compels me to begin to climb down. There’s a part of me that wishes it would in fact hit me, but there is still a part that wishes to live. I climb down branches at a rapid pace. It begins to fall in my direction. I’m not even halfway down yet. There’s still at least another 30 metre drop. I wrap my arms around the tree protectively. I tightly close my eyes, hoping for the best.
The force of the collision is enough to knock me from the safety of the tree and send me plummeting through the air. My arms flair outwards like wings. The warm breeze wraps loosely around me, caressing my pale skin. For the duration of the fall, I feel as though time has slowed, just like it did when the sparrow sang. All my problems seem to drift away, becoming meaningless in the context of the situation. I’m not scared at all, but in fact, I feel at peace. Life is so much simpler than what people make out, we’re born and then we die, nothing but time separating both events. In this moment, I feel as free as a bird. No ties or weights to hold me down. Life is simpler out here in the forest.
I crash to the floor with a tremendous bang, slicing through the tense silence. My vision deteriorates into a blinding white, probably caused by the force of the blow.
It’s strange. I don’t feel pain, laying here, just a numb sensation tingling throughout my body. My senses have seemingly failed me; I am surrounded by an empty world, a blank canvas.
Almost instantaneously from losing sound, a familiar chirp of a dear friend breaks through the silence. Soon enough, the smell of pines returns and surges through my veins. But what is most welcome back is my sight, because standing over me is the boy with the flaxen hair and bright blue eyes, staring into mine.
He holds out a hand, I don’t hesitate to grip it as he pulls me up. I realise that I am the same height as him, I am a child again. I feel a burden of guilt nudge at my insides. My hand is now tightly compressing his.
I look into his deep eyes before saying, “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
He just looks at me and smiles, “You never really left me Willow, and I never really left you.”
I return his loving smile, and my grip on his hand is loosened by the comfort he has provided. We look at each other knowingly before racing deep into the heart of the forest.
It’s like my father always said, “A village is almost suffocating for an Ash and a Willow; you both belong in the forest.” The forest has always been our home, and we’ll never leave home again.