Secret

The trees whispered quietly, as if they had a wonderful tale to tell. A girl walked past in long, confident strides, her head held high with a purpose. But upon her face is where our story starts. Bruises painted her face and trickles of blood danced around the bruises running as smooth and falling just as effortlessly as tears. This girl has something in common with these trees, she also has a secret, but hers much more frightening. Hidden. The long lane she was walking on carried on forever but she slowed down her pace. The lane is surrounded by tall trees, and whenever a breeze flutters by the branches waved around frantically. Even though she had slowed down, she still walked as if she had a purpose, as if she knew where she was going. She suddenly stops, collapses to the floor and sobs. Her cries filled with pain, heart wrenching sobs making any viewer wince. These sobs tell tales of things so gruesome you can only imagine, so inhumane. So cruel. These sobs show all the despair that the world can never hold. Whilst crying she argues with herself, telling her self it wasn't her fault. But she can still hear herself thinking, why? why didn't you get them to run? Run as fast as humanly possible. But because she didn't it is her fault that her mother lies dead. That her last breath is now a last whisper of life. It was all her fault that her little sister lay with her throat cruelly slit open, with her crimson blood staining her pretty pink dress. Her face pale from death that just entered her, her once blushed cheeks long forgotten. The guilt feels so painful, so so painful. She closes her eyes only to see her abusers face.
It's. All. Her. Fault. Opening her eyes, she pulls the gun that her abuser used to kill her mother. She points it at her forehead and remembers his beautiful face. Her beautiful angel, her saviour. The one who now lies dead for trying to save her and her family.
It's. All. Her. Fault.
But she can't save him now. She pulls the trigger. The bullet rushes out, destroying her. She fell over in a puddle of her own crimson blood. She is now free. Free of guilt. The trees the only witnesses of her pain and guilt. Another secret they can add to their collection. These are the secrets that make the trees dance every night on this long, never ending road. As this girl lies there the trees begin to dance violently, as if to say good bye child. Sleep well.