There's a tree that stood in her yard, a big oak tree with giant limbs that stretched across to touch the tips of the sky, or so she thought when she was a child. When she was young, she used to run to the tree at the first sign of trouble, and climb up the branches with a grace that was so smooth and easy, whenever someone watched her clamber up, they asked if she might be a monkey, or some earthly elf.
She did look like an elf, if you looked at her. Her ears were just a little bit pointed at the tips, and her hair was long and dark. Her eyes were wide, and if you watched them, you almost felt like elves really did exist. They would show you worlds you'd never seen, through big, wide green orbs of trust and youth. She was tall and willowy, her skin pale in contrast with her dark hair. And when she scaled that tree, her hair would hang in long sheets, swishing as she moved, swinging from branch to branch.
There was a branch, near the top, where the short branches got more in number, and the leaves thicker. It was the widest one of all, and that would be the one she would curl up upon. If she was upset, tears would stream down her face, and it was almost like the tree swallowed her sadness and returned peacefulness instead. It was there she carved her name and a boy's, when she devolved her first crush in Seventh Grade. And it was there where she scratched out the names, sobbing when she received her first broken heart.
She got addicted to carving things into the tree after that. She would carve names that were important to her, books she'd loved, anything and everything that seemed important to a thirteen year old. And it became a habit, carving things into the trunk of that old Oak tree, whispering her secrets along it's bark. Sometimes the things she wrote were happy things, things she'd remember with the fondest of happy memories. Other times, they were cloaked in misery, to remind her that with every life there's suffering. And eventually, she covered the part of the trunk where she usually sat, and had to choose a different branch to sit on, with a blank slate that she would write her pain and joys across with a knife. She got very good at carving, near the end. She could write on the wood like most can on paper, with ease and elegance.
Just like everything in her life, she'd acquired elegance in writing on her tree too. By her sixteenth birthday, she'd reached the base of the tree. Three years worth of writing on the trunk every day had resulted in so much memories on the one tree, that she could barely look at it without feeling a strong emotion that she couldn't explain. And it was a month after she turned seventeen that she got the news, and scribbled on the only spot left, the one she'd decided long ago would be left empty for the name of her first child, because she was romantic and wanted it to be the start of a new life, was where she wrote what was ending her life before she could begin it. She practiced writing the one word first, practiced how she would write it, in her best 'tree' writing. And on the day before she left for something that would never fix what was broken inside her, she wrote it carefully. Not with a shaking hand, not with tears in her eyes... She wrote steadily and determinedly, and it was the most beautifully heartbreaking thing ever written.
Cancer.
Her mother stands now at the base of the Oak, looking at the tree with tears in her eyes that aren't overflowing, that are just there. And she wonders why her daughter did this, what was so important about her writing her thoughts on a tree. And even though she's terribly afraid of heights, and thinks she'll probably fall to her death if she tries, she begins to climb the tree. Not with the grace her daughter had. She climbs it with a baby like clumsiness, but determined none the less. And she reaches the branch where her daughter started, and looks at all the words. At the quotes, at the song lyrics, at the names, at the lists, and the drawings carved into the face of the tree. And she slowly climbs down the sides and reads the things written there, every single precious word. And then, at the very base, she finds the last word her daughter ever wrote, and the tears started falling, even though she's held them in this long.
And that's when she knows that her daughter is gone forever, but her memory will stand proud and tall in her backyard, till the end of time.
Quibble, but "clamber" is hardly a graceful term for climbing.
Did you mean "she'd evolved"?
"Got addicted" feels too passive. "Became addicted" or even "developed an addiction" feel a bit more active.
This sentence felt a bit redundant.
Should be either "so many memories" or "so much memory".
This sentence lost itself in its length. I'd recommend splitting this into at least two separate sentences. Something like "And it was a month after she turned seventeen that she got the news and scribbled on the only spot left. She'd decided long ago that spot would be left empty for the name of her first child, because she was romantic and wanted it to be the start of a new life, but instead it became where she wrote what was ending her life before she could begin it."
Should be "baby-like" and "nonetheless", respectively.
Overall though, this was beautifully-written, and the ending was perfect. It just needs that final polish to take it one step closer to being perfect on a whole.
thanks love!
wow ... that in a sense was amazingly deep... unwittingly the girl had created a living memory of her that would last forever, little by little, seen by all, yet unknown. Her life became a "movie" to be shared with all, as it truly was, unedited and only came be described with 2 words. Pure Innocence.
Hey!
Okay, I'll just go through this for some things that stood out to me, first.
'A grace that was so smooth and easy' seems a little bit of a redundant phrase here. As in, 'grace' already assumes the smooth and easy part, so I would just move on to the metaphor. Also, I'm not sure why but the grammar and phrasing in this sentence just feels off? I think that it's just that the flow doesn't quite work and it just falls a little flat.
Repetition. Maybe rephrase to 'If you looked at her, the resemblance ...' or something.
Although I like most of the imagery in this paragraph, I would firstly suggest mixing up the beginnings of your sentences. A lot of 'her' and 'they' seems bland. Also, 'orbs of trust and youth' doesn't sit well with me. I think I felt as though it was a little bit over-the-top.
Although the first sentence is stilted, I like this paragraph! I actually really like the last part.
Ha, when I read this I got the image of a baby in diapers trying to reach the bottom branch! But I also like the metaphor, I'm torn on this one.
Honestly, I feel like the sentence before this was a better last sentence. Maybe because I'm not a huge fan of dramatic last sentences, though. It's up to you, I think this was just personal preference.
Overall:
I liked it! The middle parts I didn't quote at all because I just loved the idea and the image of the whole thing - seriously cool! I think that you do need to work on the way that you phrase things, because occasionally your sentences are repetitive, a little too bland or over-the-top. Despite this, the concept and delivery (of most of it) is lovely, it just needs some fixing up!
PM me with any questions, really good job!
Amy
thanks love