She was beautiful that day.
Smooth locks of auburn hair pulled away from her face, braided loosely down the centre of her back. Emeralds shine. Rubies pout. Elegant neck stretches, head tossed back in laughter. Friends surround her, watching her in pleasure, envy, love.
She is everything that I am not.
The tree is my fort. Soft tendrils float their way down, shielding me, protecting me from the eyes of others while I watch. I’m always on the ground; never brave enough to climb higher, disgraceful. They go higher. They always do.
This is my tree. No unwanted, unneeded boy in my tree. A hero lives here. He is braver than all the rest. He is strong and needs nobody else. They envy him.
They don’t know about my tree. Never followed me to the tree, never cared enough to. They don’t need me, don’t miss me when I’m not there.
She speaks. I cannot hear. Her friends surround her, laugh, eyes happy. Enjoy her presence. She is a true friend, a loving friend. She is everything I am not.
I look down. Grass, green shards stretch, each reaching high, trying to grow, outshine the others. No chance to shine; sun hidden behind long limbs that touch cloudless blue. My small, curved hand reaches out, touches green fringe like feathers, that whispers like silk, rustles like the wind. Curled fingernails grasp, tug. My hand retreats, uncurls. My line-marked palm, lines inked in with dirt, holds it close. In it I can see veins, lines, connections. Which one to take? The oldest? The fragile? The strongest?
My other hand approaches. My fingertips hold this piece of nature gently. I pull. It severs.
She grabs my attention. She gestures, calls. Not to me. Never to me.
Approaches. Tired features smile. She gestures to the ground, smiles. Stunning. How could anyone resist? Enchanting, wondrous. Laughter. Friendship, happiness.
I don’t fit there; never have. Never as talented, quick, witty. Slightly different from the others, apart. Disposable.
My tree accepts me. Holds me in its safe arbours. Wizened bark welcomes me, real, true. No illusions. No magic. Takes me as I am, no bitterness, no comment.
We do not match. She is all that is bright and beautiful, popular. I am the one who carries the train, always behind, hidden behind the legend, shadowed.
Chattering, laughter. Jokes I don’t hear. Can’t hear. Far away, too far away to hear, enjoy, be heard.
I peer out, sweep aside the trails of leaves like frail spirits, watch. Lazy words fly, no worries haunt their hearts.
Mine matches the tree. Ordinary, boring, from beyond. Unnoticeable. Silent. Inside, different. Eerie. Ancient, troubled. Rough, unchanging. Haunted sounds curl around the trunk in the night. Worries disturb me, frighten me. The future is so far away, so close.
Cries of delight sound from her friends. Grinning, laidback, the cause of their excitement settles in their ranks. My heart pounds, jealous. I am uneasily smiled at, uncomfortable. She smiles happily and I sigh, alone.
Hard to watch. Hard to look away. From the first, always there. Sad, unhappy, triumphant, excited - constantly dazzling. Throughout the years, it was always her.
But there was him. He was my obstacle. Outshined me. They all did. He met her first, before I knew them. He saw her first, knew her first, noticed her first.
How can I measure up to him? He is perfect, no flaws. I am the hanger-on in our group, the one who doesn’t quite fit, like a puzzle piece placed into the wrong spot. He fell for her, I fell for her, but she didn’t fall for him. Certainly not me.
A slow smile curls on her lip, hearing words creep from them, predicting the future, knowing what’s being thought, what is going to be said. She can sense, know, see into souls. But not mine. She never sees how I feel, how my heart flutters when she looks my way, how I can barely think when she speaks to me. Barely do anything but stare at her.
She has my heart, if she wants it. Every line, niche, dark or light, shadow or brightness, good or bad. But she doesn’t want it. Never looks my way, never takes my questions seriously, always as a sweet civility, a joke. She may have hated him, but I am a nonentity, not bright enough in her eyes to be acknowledged, thought of.
He walks over, smiling, beaming, happy. Shares handshakes with the group as he settles next to her, squeezing himself between a friend and her. Too close. Heart pounds, wishing, hoping I was him, could be him.
She turns her face up to his, the sun glinting in her eyes, blinding me. I can only see her, her eyes, looking up at him, how I wish she would look at me.
I turn away as his face comes down to hers.
Hurtle across the green shadows, trip on a root. Land on my face, lie there.
It happened. She took him, decided she loved him. Did he love her? Or was it just an infatuation with what he couldn’t have?
Tears. Never expected this, not now. Betrayal, however irrational. She is mine, I watch her, know her, love her. But she chose him. The one who matched her.
I watch a row of ants crawl in front of me, one in front of another, all uniform, carrying a single leaf. The ants are fighting to carry it, support it, use it for their own ends. I take it away from them, careful not to brush against the fragile, fragile line trailing. A few are crushed even then. I study it, wonder. Why this leaf? Why not another? The leaf is nothing special to them, I know. So why is it that this leaf was taken away from its place?
-
Scamper, scamper, scuttle, run away. Hide. Full moon glows, settle back into the shape of my past thirteen years. Howls echo, screams of panic. Yells, snarls. I escape into the night.
Hide, hide. Most important. Save myself, then escape later.
Back to the familiar place, huddle against the roots, look above. The leaves are budding, beginning to hang low, hovering feet above me. The moon lights tem, giving light green a milky sheen. They are tranquil, barely swaying in the wind.
I am safe. This is my arbour, and they shall not find me now.
Escape - soon. Howling, sounds of pain. They cannot find me, not here. They never did, never shall.
Worth it? He is gone, but she is too.
The boy, only the boy was supposed to die, not her. She would have been spared, treasured by our Lord.
She has been gone years. Only thing left is what should have been destroyed.
Nothing to lose, rejoining my master, begging for mercy, showing my use to him, how I was always loyal. I shall not tell him what I said tonight, no need.
I dive under the forgotten fall leaves, finding cover, shelter like I had so long ago. They crackle, crunch, break. Orange-yellow, they engulf my sight.
Is this what I have fought for, for all these years? To love her when she didn’t want me. Try to gain her love, keep her, make her mine?
Only to fail, lose her forever?
Eyes greener than envy, jealousy, anything. Her eyes. In his face, in him.
Proof that I was weak, cowardly.
That boy carries everything I wanted. Wanted to be, wanted to have. Is it worse to kill the boy, to get rid of him for my master, remove what was left of what was between him and her? Or to leave the boy alive, only to die by my master’s hand?
A boy used to live in this tree. It was his haven, one place to be happy, alone, content. He could be there always, enjoying his time, watching while nobody saw. He could admire her from afar, watch her as she lazed her days away by the lake, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. He never got the courage to join her when she was alone, but he could imagine. See her as the damsel in distress, him as a knight, rescuing her from danger. Her seeing him for what he was, what he really was, not just a crony hanging on the tail of their infamy.
He was no longer what he used to be. Change had followed his path, made him diver from what he had always imagined. Now he was the autumn leaf, frail, brittle, weak to the touch, breaking under slight pressure. The leaves would always change, season after season, year after year. But would he?
Could I try to honour her, make her love for me real, by saving her son?
Is it worth it? Could I ever forget the debt I owe to my master, the power that he promised?
Danger breaks into my senses. I flee, running, flying over the ground. I leave behind the mark of my childhood innocence, when love would conquer all and nothing could ever hurt me.
Leaves are the song of change. They grow in spring, hanging from the skies, amazing in their beauty. New life grows innocently, wondrously. Frail at first, then stronger, fighting against all odds to grow up, gain the ability to support, shade, sustain. So powerful that it seems like it could never be broken.
But all things come to an end. They fall from the trees, darken, decay. Lie in piles on the ground, crisp first, maybe even salvageable. But then the rain will fall, and all will lie in ruins.
Leaves Are the Song of Change by TheSmirkingDragon
Chapter Notes: This started out as an entry to the First Love One Shot Challenge, but somewhat deviated from the prompt, and ended up as this. It's different from what I usually do. Mucho gracias to my beta, Katty (Mind Games) for being a great proofreader and giving many extremely useful comments and suggestions.