The scream, had it come, would have been uncharacteristically fierce, loud and painfully raw. But she’d stopped herself just in time, fearfully biting her lip heavily, in a desperate bid to stay undetected. Her frantic haste to escape, had caused her to fall awkwardly and pierce her leg, just above her boot, on a broken tree stump. She‘d stumbled, disorientated, into a large oak tree and clung to its trunk for a while, catching her breath and drawing comfort from its overpowering strength and presence. She’d nervously glanced around, acutely alert for any sign of her pursuers. Seren had checked her leg, the skin had been pierce just above the top of her boot and a fine line of blood had trickled down. But she’d been fortunate, for it could have been much, much worse. Anger had quickly pervaded, and the feel of it urgently pulsing, surging throughout her veins, had sharpened her senses and reminded her of the Queen she was. She had known then, she’d been betrayed. Cadel, her betrothed for the last 6 months, handsome and strong, fierce and brave, had finally shown his true intentions. She had loved him without condition, but now it had become painfully clear. He’d wanted her crown all to himself, and he’d been prepared to kill her for it. She’d stifled the sob threatening to escape her lips, as she’d thought of the lavish wedding meticulously planned for next month, no expense had been spared. The realisation she would need to defend her birthright was now clear, and defend it she would, until her very last breath. The forest had been quiet and still, she’d known they were out there waiting for her to run, so she’d bided her time. Wiping a a tear from her soft brown eyes, she’d wearily climbed up into the relative safety of the branches, shivering in the icy coldness of the January day. She’d pulled her cloak around her tightly and watched the sparkling snow falling magically, embracing her protectively, in its silvery cocoon. As dusk had approached, she’d fallen asleep, and been lulled by the soothing sounds of the forest, from all the animals she knew so well. When darkness finally descended, she’d awoken with a start to the haunting shriek of an owl, announcing its presence and preparing itself for a night of hunting. It had been then or never. She’d took a deep breath and had silently lowered herself to the ground and had run, her hair a mass of tumbling red curls streaming out behind her in the icy air. Strong and stealthy, her long athletic limbs had propelled her through the forest at an unearthly speed. Lit by the frosty moonlight, she’d fled to her castle, her home, and choked back tears of relief to see the drawbridge down and the portcullis open. She‘d sprinted across and banged frantically on the door. Alwyn, had been right there pulling her in, dependable and loyal, his ageing but kindly face, etched with paternal concern. He’d been there by her side ever since she was born and she trusted him like no other. He’d promised her father on his death bed, that he’d protect her at all costs and he always intended to do just that. ‘Ma’am, what happened? We didn’t know where you were, we searched and searched!’ She’d sobbed, flinging herself against him. ‘It was Cadel and his men, they tried to kill me. Alwyn, we must prepare our warriors to fight, they’re coming, they’ll be here soon.’ The snow had fallen, ominous and silent, and the night ahead had looked long and dangerous… 2 days later - Seren walked out of the castle on to the surrounding hillside. She breathed in the cold wintry morning and smiled. Today would be a good day, she could feel it in the crispness of air. She vacantly stared down at the ground around her, relentlessly littered with the bodies of Cadel’s men. And like a flash, she remembered the chaos of night before, and as the memories swiftly resurfaced, she smiled. She’d watched from the castle turrets as her men took down each and every one of the enemy. The viciousness of her warriors should never have been underestimated, but Cadel had done just that, and had lead his unsuspecting men into a frenzied bloodbath. She recalled their hurried but meticulous plans, her army dispersing and hiding in the forest, surprising the enemy and surrounding them so they had no means of escape. The cries of shock as her men attacked them from behind, then gruesomely butchered them as they’d squealed and panicked like pigs. Oh how she now cherished the satisfaction of those sights and sounds! She felt no remorse for any of the traitors, they had paid a horrible and heavy price for their misplaced trust and she was enthralled by the power she now so acutely felt. She really didn’t care how they’d suffered, only that they’d suffered and died knowing they’d chosen the wrong side. Those soft brown eyes hardened and flickered crimson as she remembered the blood, the unforgiving stench of death and she raised her head and laughed. She wandered over to Cadel’s body, she had watched him suffer like the rest, but for him she had ordered he be wounded not killed. He would not escape lightly. She had left him there in agony for hours and when it was safe to emerge from the safety of the castle, she had looked down at him and smiled and driven her sword through his weakening heart. His eyes had widened with surprise and shock, then duly faded as he’d regretfully acknowledged his fate. He had tried to speak, but nothing had come out other than a raspy wisp and she had watched him take his final painful breath. She now kicked his head to one side with her boot and she looked into those lifeless eyes she’d thought she’d loved, one last time. She had loved him dearly, but love, she now knew, was a cruel lie. Alwyn came and stood by her, and together they looked out over her land, across the hillside and the valley below. The sun was rising majestically above the grisly scene and it cast its morning rays across the thousands of dead. Over the snowy landscape, a crimson cascade of blood cut starkly through its virginal whiteness, and it twisted and curled, like a giant red ribbon. A tsunami of carnage and gore, unstoppable and dark, meandered down and merging with the river below, turned it scarlet red as it ebbed & flowed as far as the eye could see….scarlet… Seren was her name, but from that day forward, they called her Scarlet…

She looked out silently from her barred window and watched the boats bobbing happily on the river. The afternoon was sunny, no hint of the darkness overlying the land. Just a normal spring day for most. She tried to remember what it felt like to be free, to say and do exactly as she wanted. In the distance, a pretty red haired girl was trying to roll a wooden hoop with a stick, skipping and laughing with no cares in this world. Her mother a few steps behind her, her face filled with love and pride. She wiped a tear from her eye, her own daughter was of a similar age, but she would never share a moment like that with her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine a different life and for a few brief moments she almost forgot. The rusty scrape of the key turning in the lock, brought her sharply back to her senses and the surly, tall guard entered the room, bearing a quill and parchment as she had requested. He made no eye contact and did not speak, just placed them at her desk and quickly retreated. She settled herself down, took a deep breath and began to write… My King, My Love, My mother used to say, look up to the sky Have faith in yourself, and believe you can fly With belief there’s no end to the things you can do So I grew myself wings and they brought me to you At first I was shy, of the attention you brought A different kind of King, away from the court I was flattered, no doubt, your intentions were plain But I would not be mistress, I aspired to reign My wings then grew stronger, and i knew you’d be mine I was brave, I was bold I was biding my time You called me ‘Little Owl’, because I was wise, To deflect your advances, and lower my eyes We would talk of the day when I would become queen To rule by your side, it seemed like a dream An impossible dream, that soon would transpire As your allies around you began to conspire I should have sensed then, the dangers ahead But I was young and naive and keen to be wed We married in haste, our secrecy cloaked Till the path was made clear and your marriage revoked Finally at last, I was your Queen, Wife and lover I was legally yours, I belonged to no other That honeymoon season, I basked in pure bliss To melt at your touch, & yearn for your kiss And the baby that grew in my womb for a while Made those handsome eyes twinkle and broadened your smile Your hand was so gentle as you felt our child thrive As it moved and it kicked, so keen to arrive But the joy we had found would soon to be marred On the birth of my daughter, it hit you so hard You had longed for a son, a suitable heir The image of you, so handsome and fair The miscarriages followed, the mood soured still My duty was clear, a role to fulfil Your anger grew deeper, as you held me to blame My conscience was clear, but I still felt the shame Like a fool, I thought my country would love me, But it gossiped and whispered, and plotted to kill me And the courtiers so cold, my efforts were spurned Then your eye caught another, and the tables soon turned The tongues were out wagging, as they sharpened their knives My days were now numbered, he’d found a new wife The lack of an heir, was enough of a reason To blacken my name and charge me with treason A calculated trial, where the verdict was clear ‘Guilty as charged’, were the words that I feared ‘I’m innocent!’ I screamed in my heart and my mind There was no one to listen, no one to be kind But you my dear King, I beg and implore! To care for our daughter, when I am no more Our Princess will need a strong soul by her side To act as protector, a friend and a guide Your Little Owl is broken, no longer her best Defeated and shattered, she longs for a rest Her tiny wings falter, they no longer fly Rejected and beaten, she’s ready to die My King, I will love you, in the life beyond this I will remember your presence and also your kiss My husband, my lover, your light shines so bright, Your Little Owl loves you, god bless and goodnight. Your Queen. She sighed and placed the quill down on the desk, a tear spilled down her pallid cheek onto the parchment below. She looked out of the window, surprised to see the sun was already setting, casting shadows on the river but spilling golden rays across the darkening sky. In her mind, she felt her wings stir and beat again, feebly at first, but stronger and harder, until she finally burst triumphantly from the tower, soaring high above the city below her, wise and brave, like she used to be. She was gone, her body still captive but her spirit free. She would not feel the horror of the next day, they couldn’t hurt her anymore. The final rays of sun flickered across the landscape, lingering just a while longer before nightfall descended. There were dark days ahead for England, change was coming…

’Frenemy’ - someone who combines the characteristics of a friend and enemy. No decision of this magnitude was ever going to be easy, I’d had no illusions about that. But finally the day had come when I knew my path would be infinitely longer and brighter if I took a different turn to yours. I’d been cornered and trapped by your seductive, narcissistic pull for way too long, there was no other choice. It may sound like I resent you, I don’t. You’ve been with me through some of the best and worst moments of my life. At times your presence was welcome, I looked forward to it. Other times I resented it, resisted it. It made no difference either way, you were still always there. Sometimes you comforted me, cocooning me with happiness and warmth. But other times you made me hate myself, cruelly throwing me into the depths of despair. But despite all that, you never judged me, you were there when others weren’t. You listened when I poured out my troubles - day and night and I’m grateful at least for that. But you’re not good for me and now I need to stand on my own two feet and no longer allow you to knock me down, just so you can pick me back up. I’m ashamed of my weakness over the last 10 years, and I abhor my previous feeble attempts to cast you out of my life. But now, I finally have a clearer, stronger vision of myself in my mind and I like it. So, I’ve spent a long, emotional night removing all evidence of you - nothing has escaped! I feel slightly guilty about that and I smile at the irony of it. With a deep breath, I pick up the final bottle of gin - the last one I will ever buy, and with shaking hands pour the contents down the sink. It feels scary but so empowering! ‘Goodbye dear Frenemy, I will never forget you. You are part of my past, my present, but you will NOT be part of my future.’ The morning sun breaks through the rain clouds creating a magnificent rainbow across the sky. I wipe a tear from my eye, and make a cup of tea. Today is going to be a good day.

Greetings my friend, I’m about to tell you a tale that will chill your soul to its core, unsettle the depths of your mind and deeply impale the emotions of your heart. So, beware and take heed, curl up by the fire with a blanket, make yourself cosy and I’ll begin. My story begins on a cold, bleak January day. The sort of day where Christmas is long forgotten and Spring waits, indefinitely cowering. The skies are devoid of any shade of blue, but instead are infused with heavy, somber, smoky clouds, threatening yet another bout of snow and ominously billowing out as far as the eye can see. The frozen landscape is evidence of the weeks of harsh weather. Snow and ice have swathed the countryside in an arctic blanket, yet a calmness and peace have quickly ensued. The sort of quiet that only occurs after heavy snowfall, where everything is still and nature is in awe of its new, stunning canvas. The Church The little church looks out wistfully across frozen valleys, rivers and lakes. Permanently staked to its ancient crest, it appears to long to be part of the magnificent spectacle below. Its founder had clearly decided a view was infinitely more important than the practicalities of its congregation reaching it’s destination. In years gone by, the elderly and infirm had struggled to climb the elevation once a week on the Sabbath, but with the invention of the car and then in due course a car park - the journey was made much easier for it’s subsequent descendants. Today all is peaceful for now. Snow and ice covers the graveyard, adding a ghostly chill to the permanence of the gravestones. The ground is dotted with yellow, orange, red - the tops of flowers just peeping through the snow, like a carpet of confetti adding a scattering of vivid colours. A steady drip, drip, drip from the icicles on the church roof, hints of an impending thaw. But the skies are foreboding, and promise yet more snow. Winter is far from over. A car makes its way to the car park. It has struggled to get to the top, but the vicar and a few parishioners had had the foresight to grit the road the night before, so it is passable and slightly less treacherous for now. The vicar and occupants enter the church and within minutes the bell is ringing loudly, regretfully welcoming the line of cars now arriving. All are relieved to have made it without incident through the winding narrow lanes, but also anxious of the perilous descent they will have to undertake on their return. A group of people make their way to the church entrance. They’re a curious bunch, dressed in that awkward contrast between looking smart and being warm. Hopping from one leg to another, rubbing their hands, discussing the weather, like all English people seem to do so well. The hearse arrives shortly after, followed by a long, black gleaming limousine. Ruefully, they pull up next to the ancient kissing gate, which gracefully arches the entrance to the church. Inside the hearse, lies a coffin with just one single red rose lying on top - the family has requested no other flowers. The passengers exit the limousine and solemnly form a line, while the pallbearers respectfully ready themselves to transport the coffin down its final path. Let me pause here for a moment, for the story cannot continue without an introduction to its characters. Everyone is present, and all have a secret. Imogen Imogen, she is beautiful - on the outside anyway. She has shiny, wavy long brown hair, which languishes perfectly around her elegant profile. Large beguiling brown eyes, give her a curious haunted look - a sad face, or so it seems, which a solitary tear dramatically rolls down. Her trim frame is dressed in designer black, she’s forsaken practicalities to look as good as she does. No sensible footwear here, stiletto heels complete her attire. How she manages to stay upright on the icy path is a feat in itself, she is well rehearsed and looks the part. Furtively she glances round and when she’s satisfied all eyes are on her, she gracefully wipes the tear from her cheek and rests a protective arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Alex Alex - Imogen’s husband, is well used to providing for the avaricious demands of his wife. He is the village GP and is well known and respected in the local community. And just as Imogen is exceptionally beautiful, Alex is exceptionally plain - his strawberry blonde hair caps weak, weathered features. Over the years, Imogen has flourished like an exotic bird, while Alex, resentful and rejected has paled significantly in her company and become increasingly downtrodden. Today is no exception, Alex blends effortlessly into the background, in his favourite black suit. The one he’s had for years, that comes out for every formal occasion. Everyone ignores him, like he’s not there, even his own daughter. Detached and angry, he watches the proceedings from a distance, isolated from the group. Maya Maya is Imogen and Alex’s daughter. Now a headstrong, surly teenager, she has inherited her mother’s flair for fashion, looks and temperament. But where her mother’s hair cascades in waves, Maya’s is a torrent of curls, shrouding her head in an eruption of chaos. But instead of the glorious deep chestnut brown paraded by Imogen, Maya has inherited a shade of her father’s colouring. Not the weak shade of gold her father sports, instead a deep rustic red, the sort that anyone blessed with would hate and others would envy. Her personality mimicks her hair, fiery and tempestuous topped off with slate green eyes that miss nothing. She has spent most of her teenage years in a hormonal rage against her parents. Today, just a slight blush of rose betrays her calm exterior, and irritated, she shrugs off her mother’s arm. Danielle Or Aunt Danny as Maya used to call her and is Imogen’s younger sister, although it seems a whole different set of genes are in play here. Frail and tiny elfin features, with mousy limp hair encased by a purple woolly hat, she is a teacher at the village school. There are no airs and graces with Danny, she has decided warmth will reign over style. She wears a long thick black padded coat, thermal gloves and a pair of wellies. She fidgets nervously with her hat and grasps her husband’s hand tightly. She stares at the ground, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Ewan Ewan - Danny’s husband. A cool calm lawyer, handsome and distinguished - he is everything Alex wants to be. He had frowned in despair at Danny’s insistence to wear wellies - to a funeral! He tolerates her lack of sophistication, because she’s wealthy and conveniently it keeps him closer to Imogen. He smoothes back his short black cropped hair, straightens his jacket and shakes free of Danny’s grasp. Aggie The beloved mother of Alex - Nana to Maya. Aggie is in her seventies and an eccentric role model to her wayward granddaughter. Her curls, now grey are tamed rigidly into a bun, tied high on her head with a length of black lace. She wears a black Chanel jacket which is left open just enough to glimpse the priceless family jewels fanning her neck. The years have taken their toll, and she teeters unsteady in fur lined boots, leaning heavily on a walking stick. Ewan, now free of Danny, makes his way towards her and takes her arm in his to steady her. Aggie is fond of Ewan and she smiles. Damien Best friend and best man to Alex. Damien’s twinkling eyes and good humour, make him popular with the ladies. He struggles to look serious and today is no exception. Despite the occasion, his eyes sparkle, they have a habit of crinkling up at the edges. Everyone likes Damien, he appears honest, dependable and extremely handsome. He straightens his tie nervously and risks a quick glance at Imogen. She doesn’t look back. So these my friend, are the main players, the bones of this story, the bread and butter. They all have their own story to tell and confidences to keep, but before I go further, I’ll let you in on a secret… One of them is a killer.. One of them has been cruelly betrayed and is already dead…

I am Brigit, and this is my story… I remember a time when the world was at peace. The steady rhythm of our chaotic existence, drummed a healthy beat, a harmonic accompaniment to mother nature. I remember summer blue skies and seas, sandy beaches twinkling in the sun. Exotic birds majestically graced with every possible colour, gloriously unique and magnificent. Life was uncomplicated and uncomplicated was good. My brother - Seth My brother once told me I was weak, that I would always need him to protect me. I believed him for a long, long time. He was strong and handsome, brave and clever, he was my hero. Well for a time anyway. He travelled to far off lands, across deserts, through great forests and valleys. He was known and welcomed wherever he went, worshipped in fact. Sometimes he would take me with him, carrying me on his shoulders, as he climbed the highest mountains and leapt across the widest rivers. Animals flocked round him, he was their protector, he was loved, he was admired. For many centuries he looked over the lands, witnessing many great wars, acts of stupidity he himself could not understand, but peace always ultimately prevailed and life would continue as it always had. But things began to change and Seth became uneasy. Just little things at first, but gradually getting worse and worse, until it spiralled out of control. Plastic packaging, everywhere - polluting the seas, killing wildlife. Greenhouse gases, poisoning the air. Ice caps melting, animals dying, some species becoming extinct. Then wars broke out, much bigger than he’d ever witnessed, destroying whole countries like nothing before. Nature struggled and Seth grew angry. Angry at mankind for inflicting the horrors he was now witnessing over his beloved lands. His anger grew and grew until finally enraged, he unleashed great storms, volcanoes and earthquakes. One after another and again and again. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, he vented his anger everywhere, nowhere escaped. The world was on fire and he was unstoppable. I called him Seth - God of Storms. My sister - Ondine My sister once told me, I was her baby and that I would always need her to look after me. I looked up to her, she was my heroine, she could do no wrong. She was beautiful, with long beautiful blond hair, which I brushed for her everyday. She loved the water and for as long as the oceans had existed, she swam in them. She would let me ride on her back when I was a child - alongside the fish, the dolphins, the turtles, even the sharks. They were her friends and it was her home. As Seth looked after the lands, she looked after the seas, and like Seth, she was loved. She fiercely protected her aquatic paradise and took pride in the peaceful years she had been their protector. But she too noticed the changes, the rubbish in the oceans, killing the fish and the dolphins, causing misery and suffering. She was heartbroken for them and it made her cry. She quietly watched as Seth wreaked his havoc on the world. Wracked with grief, she cried and cried for over 10 years. Until finally she could watch the suffering no more, she needed to stop him. So she took her tears and turned them into gigantic waves. Pushing them out across the sea and over the land, creating tsunamis like never seen before - hundreds of feet tall. What hadn’t been destroyed by the fiery rampage was now consumed by water and destroyed - my brother sent to his final, watery grave. The fires went out and everything went quiet. My poor gentle Ondine, I never knew whether she intended to save the world or end the madness, but I never saw her again. Drowned by her own tears. I called her Ondine - Spirit of the Water Me - From afar I watched my brother and my sister with horror and begged them to stop. I cowered and cried and watched the world fall apart. I saw the death of everything. When the fires went out, and the waves receded, I travelled across the ravaged lands. There was nothing. Just desolation, great lakes, seas and rivers now expanding vastly, creating islands that had once been great lands. It seemed like nothing had survived. For twenty years I walked, looking, searching for something, I don’t know what. For twenty years there was silence. I was alone and grieving. Then one day, I saw a tiny green shoot poking out the earth, reaching hopefully upwards towards me. How amazed I was to see that precious life, I couldn’t believe it. I laughed and turned my head up to the sun. It felt good and for the first time I knew, there was a glimmer of hope. This is my purpose, this is why I’m here and I am no longer alone. My planet WAS dying, its people ARE dead. But a different kind of life is starting and my planet WILL survive. My name is Brigit - I am Goddess of New Beginnings.

The lady on the bed was still Her breathing very faint Her long white hair, an anxious shroud A tear rolled down her face Her days were nearly over And hope had cruelly gone She wished someone would visit Not leave her all alone Then through the open window She felt a gentle breeze It swirled and curled around her And caressed her faded cheeks It stayed a while, just comforting As her heart began to slow Then the breeze grew ever stronger She knew it was time to go The breeze embraced her body Blowing, tumbling through her mind And there it found the memories Of all the years gone by And then she did remember All the years of love and joy A baby crying, first day at school A birthday cake, new toy A bloodied knee, a tear stained face Then cuddles on a lap Sunday dinners, apple pie The purring of a cat A wedding day, so full of hope The sun, the sea, the sky Family times, such precious days How quickly time went by United soul and memories Binded ribbon tight with love Were gently carried by the breeze And drifted far above Through the open window Over earth and fire and sea Soaring on the Memory Breeze Peaceful, happy, free! The lady on the bed was still Her breathing not a trace Her long white hair, a tranquil shroud A smile now on her face.

The Yew tree is old, gnarled but distinguished with age. Proud and handsome it cherishes the memories of the last two centuries in it’s branches and leaves. The years have passed with the steady tick of it’s ancient clock, beating steadily within it’s trunk, though fainter now than before.The tales it could tell, if only it could talk… The Yew tree, strong and sturdy, green and lush, gave welcome shelter from the hot english sun. The young woman smiled coyly, matching her suitor’s stare, watching and waiting. He moved suddenly towards her and reached out this hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. She laughed and playfully pushed him away, a gentle but firm rebuff. His slight look of annoyance soon passed, swiftly replaced by longing, frustration. If she noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it, she moved away and bade him farewell and then she was gone. The weeks passed, and the couple met every now and then beneath the Yew tree’s protective embrace. The seasons changed and the leaves in the surrounding woods mostly turned deep shades of brown and russet, then promptly withered and spiralled to the ground. The temperature dropped and the days swiftly shortened, but the sun still shone and the couple still met, whenever they could. She continued to be aloof, he continued to be persistent but respectful. She was dark and alluring, with a hint of a french accent which only served to make her more appealing. Long brown hair framed a slightly gaunt pale face, not beautiful but definitely attractive, seductive even. He was stocky and strong, handsome in a rugged sort of way, and arrogant in his own self importance. Patiently he was biding his time, but was quietly confident she would soon fall for his charms. She would be worth the wait. The temperature dropped further and the fields around turned sparkly white with frost. The spectacular shimmering carpet of white, randomly dotted brightly with scarlet red berries, the starkness of the colour like drops of blood. They arrived once more and this time, the iciness of the landscape served him well, as she shivered and her steely resistance began to falter. She allowed him to lend her his coat, luxuriating in the warmth of his body still lingering in the lining. She sighed and pulled it close around her, flirting, laughing, smiling. Her hair fell loose, and she tossed it carelessly back, her eyes not leaving his and he was mesmerised, transfixed, but always in control. Two weeks later, they met again, in secret, in moonlight. The air between them was tense, charged with unspoken thoughts. Something had changed, each word, each glance lingered longingly in the snowy air. Murmured words, soft and fuzzy, urgent and romantic. A tension between them, lovers on the brink of a future together, hopes and dreams ahead of them. Then whispered words - ‘Will you marry me? You must, I will not take no for an answer.’ A question, an order? But she smiled and said yes and sank into his arms. She looked up at him, happy, her eyes filled with trust and hope, all formalities gone, she would be his, this is what she wanted, had wanted for a long time. The Yew tree listened in expectation, proud and excited to witness this momentous moment. It strained to hear to their final words before they dissipated in the cold Winter wind. “My Anne Boleyn, you are mine, my future Queen.” “My Henry. My husband. My King” The Yew tree proudly cradled them together standing there in each others embrace. They lingered there for a couple of hours, happy in each other’s company. Excitedly making plans, after all, there was a royal wedding to organise. The Yew tree, if (it could speak), would tell you of it’s hopes and dreams for them. A happy future together as husband and wife and their son, a Prince, playing beneath it’s branches. A King and his new Queen, bringing hope and prosperity for England. That was the last time the Yew tree ever saw them. But deep down the Yew tree knew. Change was coming. ‘The Yew tree believed the fairy tale The love, romance and laughter The baby prince they would surely yield The happy ever after!’

The warmth of a lifetime lived with love Cocoons my failing mind The memories drift like flakes of snow Precious but left behind My body, withered, frail and worn Has swayed it’s final dance Now foetal limbs, curl once again As I float in to the expanse Emptiness becomes a reality As infinity unravels it’s core I am everything, but also nothing I am rich, but also poor My naked heart no longer beats My blood has ceased to ebb But the pulsating drum of the universe Has caught me in it’s web I am a million stars, you see I’m the moon and sun and sky I’m not gone, I’m here, but I am free I’m everywhere, I didn’t die!

The storm in her mind swirls a blustery trail Smashing her thoughts to shades of red Fragments of colour like autumnal leaves Light the fires inside her head A crimson river meanders out Across the floor beneath her feet It frames the bloodied corpse, so still As she sweetly starts to weep At first a drop and then the tears Rain softly, from her core They soak the dagger in her hand And cleanse away the gore She kneels beside him, drops the sword Rests her cheek upon his chest The storm subsides and she is calm But he is gone, she has no-one left She kisses his bloodless lips so cold So silent after the rain She hides a smile, she is avenged! He will never be unfaithful again.

‘And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul’ quote by John Muir She came again tonight in my dreams. Like She does every year on the 15th August. And every year She tries to get me to go into the forest. She tells me the forest is beautiful, with waterfalls and streams twisting through it’s winding paths, sunlight sparkling through leaves, pretty birds singing and darting from tree to tree. She tells me it’s a place I should go to, somewhere I can reflect, somewhere that can heal me. But I thought I knew better. So every year I’d resisted. I’d shunned her outstretched hand, and watched the smile disappear from her face, replaced with a frown of concern. ‘Susan’, She would whisper as She drifted away. ‘I’ll come back and try again next year.’ And I would forget for another year. But tonight would be different. It had started the same. The rising fear inside me, as the date on the calendar grew nearer and nearer. The need to escape, the panic when I realised there was nowhere to run to. Then the 15th August was here again and I was a complete mess. I’d booked the day off work, had taken myself off to the city shopping. Distracted by the hustle and bustle of busy lives, I’d shopped, drunk coffee and smoked outside in the summer air, watching the world go by. I’d taken in some sights, wandered round a museum and even took a boat trip. Anything to delay the growing anxiety inside me. But all too soon, the day was over and I found myself on the train back home, back to my flat, back to emptiness. I’d ordered a takeaway, and settled down to watch a film sipping on a gin & tonic. I’d savoured the tangy dryness of the tonic, laced heavily with ice, to try & keep me awake. But inevitably I’d started to drift off. In desperation, I ate chocolate, crisps - anything I had. I’d looked up all sorts of nonsense on my iPad & played stupid games. But, my mistake had been reading a book, the clock gently ticking away the seconds in the background. My eyes had started to shut….. Tick, tock, tick, tock…. Waves crashing gently on a sandy beach….. And just like that I was there again. A beautiful sunny day. Blue skies that stretched in all directions, melting into a turquoise peaceful sea. A couple of boats bobbed lazily in the distance, and just further along the shoreline I could see a family playing in the sand, building sandcastles and laughing. A bit further on, was a little girl with an older woman - a grandparent? Side by side they were paddling in the sea, dresses hitched up so they could jump in the waves. A mother and daughter nearby, sat on a picnic blanket, eating ice creams. Happy in each other’s company. I sighed and lay down, feeling the gloriously hot sand between my toes. Relishing the salty air on my lips and the hotness of the midday sun on my face. A welcome breeze rippled through my hair and I breathed it all in and relaxed. ‘Susan, Susan, don’t sleep, look around you.’ I came to my senses abruptly - She was there. I sat up, the beach was now almost deserted. The breeze had now picked up and a couple of clouds hovered on the horizon. I looked around. I hadn’t noticed before, the forests surrounding the beach. Vast and foreboding but at the same time welcoming, colourful. Inviting. A surge of panic gripped my insides, I clutched my stomach, struggling to breath. ‘Susan, it’s ok, I’m here with you. We can go into the forest together.’ I looked up and there She was. Brown eyes, smiling, reassuring, an outstretched arm. As usual, She looked familiar but I couldn’t fathom why. Every part of me resisted, and in the briefest of moments, instead of pushing her away, I gave in and took her hand. I noticed the mother and daughter, now also walking hand in hand towards the forest. The little girl was laughing, swinging off her mother’s arm, pigtails bouncing as she skipped along. I was drawn to her cotton dress, decorated with little bunches of pink cherries and a tiny pink bow on her waist at the back. I used to have one just like that. I followed them. Curious, where were they going. I was right behind them, but they didn’t seem to notice me. They walked across the promenade, past the cafe at the end and along the path that led to the forest. I hesitated and looked behind where She was. She smiled, squeezed my hand and told me it was ok. So I walked behind them, up and up we went. Till I thought we could go no further, and we finally came out into an opening with a waterfall cascading down in front of us. It was beautiful, like She had promised. Sunlight rippled through the trees, tiny birds sang and swooped across the water, which sparkled and frolicked, cascading over the edge, looking like a river of diamonds as it splashed into the pool below. The mother was pointing at a little cove at the other side of the waterfall. To get to it they would need to cross the top and climb down the other side. The water was so clear and shallow there, it would be lovely for a dip. The little girl was saying something and pulling back on her mother’s hand. ‘But Mommy, it’s so high and it’s so quiet, there’s no-one around’ ‘It’s fine, it’s only quiet because people think the forest is haunted and there’s no getting out. But that’s silly, we’re perfectly safe Susie!’ Susie? That’s what my mother used to call me. Then I remembered. It all came flooding back. I was watching history repeating itself. I tried to speak, to warn them but they couldn’t hear me. I watched helplessly as my mother stepped out onto the rocky ravine. Edging along cautiously, then turning round and holding out her hand. My heart was in my mouth as I watched my child self reach out clumsily and stumble, nearly her losing balance. Then my mother in her desperation to catch me, lost her footing. And she fell, over the top of the waterfall. Down and down. A look of shock on her face. Till she hit the rocks below and lay there still, the water turning red. I watched my child self, stood in her pink cherry dress, shocked not knowing what to do. I heard her scream for ages and then watched her curl up into a ball of fear and horror. I knew how she felt, how she would continue to feel for years to come. I knew her story, because it was mine. I knew she would stay there for hours, scared not knowing what to do. I knew she waited till dusk, till she heard all sorts of strange noises and she finally uncurled and took in her surroundings. I knew she saw a haze of something in front of her, a shadow of a person. A woman with red curly hair, just like hers. I know she followed her out of the forest, back down to safety where she banged on the door of the cafe till someone opened the door and let her in. I know she cried for weeks, I know she was haunted with fear, loss, grief, pain and most of all guilt for the next 20 years. I shut my eyes. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t my fault, it was an accident. I’d carried the guilt with me all this time, the guilt of the loss of my mother while she was trying to save me. But finally I knew, there was nothing I could have done. And I cried. Cried for me, cried for little Susie, cried for my mother. Then She squeezed my hand. I’d forgot She was there. She led me away from the forest, my mother, out of my dream and back to my flat where I slept peacefully, for the first time in years. Epilogue The forest was beautiful with an abundance of colours and trees inviting you in; but everyone knew there was no getting out. But I know differently. You can get out, you just have to face your fears and your past. And She? Well She is me, an older and wiser me, I just had to look inside myself to find my peace. And She never came again.