Prologue

 

At first I was hesitant of the tree. There is stood looming, its great black branches held up to the sky. Mommy didn’t like it and wanted it to be taken down. Dad kept claiming that he forgot to every weekend, so the tree stayed there.  

            When I moved into my room, I didn’t like it. The view, of the only window I had in there, was of the tree. I would go to sleep at night with its great shadow looming over me. It didn’t help that I wanted my room to be painted blue, but mom said it looked better green, I think it’s because she didn’t want to paint it. Not that she had time to anyway; she was always with her friends. She told me and dad that she was at work, neither of us believed her.

I wish she’d stayed home more often, she was always funner to play with and dad got weird when she was away. He’d drink a fowl smelling liquid and be mean. Sometimes his friends would come over and talk about things and watch things on TV that I didn’t like. They also bring a white sugar and sniff it and for hours they’d be really nice to me, but it still was a weird feeling.

But I definitely didn’t like it when they were both home. At first they’d be nice but they always ended up arguing and yelling and throwing stuff. Some of what they said was about me, I’d cry at night and when mommy asked what was wrong I’d tell her it was my fault they were arguing. She’d say that it wasn’t and put me to bed. I think it was another lie.

Although through the arguments I learned to love the tree. No matter how loud the yelling got it would still be there. It’s shadow seeming to hold me and they were always there. It never scratched on my window; it didn’t have little branches, just the 8 big ones reaching to the sky. It never had leaves either, just the black 8 branches, they never changed.

One thing that always cheered mom up was butterflies, whenever she and dad got in a big argument he would bring home butterflies from the pet store. We have had all sorts of colors, red ones and blue ones and orange ones and even once a brown one, but it was still pretty.

That was the house I grew up in, from the age of four to ten. I played make believe around the tree and played toy soldiers in the roots that stuck up from the ground around the base. I even climbed the tree once. Dad left his latter out on the tree, pretending to cut it down and I climbed up and got on the first branch before dad caught me. He said it was dangerous.

One day mom was gone and dad had his friends over and they brought the white sugar again. Mom came home early. She was mad, they argued, I got sent to my room. I crawled in bed, the tree was still there. It was Sunday and the latter was on it as dad had pretended to cut it down again. I heard something brake, my name was said.

I decided to go down stairs and tell them I’d leave. All these arguments were my fault, I’d leave and then mom and dad would be happy again. I walked past the table; the white sugar was still there. Dad said that it made him braver and happier; I guess I would need that. I did what I saw them do; it stung my nose and made me sneeze. I forgot my blanket; I would need that if I was going to leave forever.

I stumbled up the stairs, my head felt funny and the world was spinning. I thought I saw something at the top of the stairs, but when I got there it wasn’t there. I got to my room and grabbed my blanket by the window. When I looked out the window at my tree I thought I saw something, something small and colorful.

I ran outside and looked again, and I was right. There was a butterfly on the branch of the tree. This would solve all my problems, I’d get the butterfly and mom and dad would stop and love me again and we’d be happy. I dropped my blanket and started to climb up the latter; it was harder than last time. I felt nauseous, I closed my eyes. When I opened them the colors looked different, brighter, friendlier. I looked down and saw a pair of yellow eyes look at me. Nothing would stop me from my task. I climbed faster.

When I reached the branch and climbed on it and heard at strange creaking and groaning noise. I didn’t care, I would catch the butterfly. I reached the end of the branch and reached out and…           the butterfly was gone. Then a crack, I saw the ground, I hit the ground, I heard yelling and sirens and darkness.