As I entered the pearly gates of the forest, the trees began to whisper. Long Droplet soaked grass folded underfoot, each blade bending to my will; branches hung low, brushed my wavy fringe back with delicate, finger-length leaves; the trunks, packed so closely together, surrounded me in a warm embrace, their rough barks brushing my t-shirt. No one tree stood rigidly straight, but tilted and wove around others, connecting each saplings with its elder through an intricate community of browns and leafy greens. At the centre of the community stood a grove, sprouting Azaleas and Bush Poppies, their pink and yellow hues filling the surrounding area with a childlike vibrant innocence. In that grove, occupying most of its space was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. The delicate intricacy of winding branches formed a welcoming, nest-like opening in the middle, which is where I would most likely later place my bag of specimen jars and magnifying glass. In all its glory the tree stood, although proud and stern-looking there was an air of importance, of rich history if you will which it embodied. Rather than seeming tough and mean, it embodied warmth, reliability, intelligence. It was at that moment, as I stood in awe and wonder that I promised myself and all that I knew was real that I would protect this tree. From embedded roots, to high above the sky; from right here before me to all around the forest; the community in which it was kept, the sanctuary I had entered, that I knew I would treasure its secrets, protect it from the worlds malice and so long as I lived, would keep it from harm.

Dear Diary,

Outside, the crowds sing gleefully, their trumpets tooting while voices bellow tunes of victory and comradery. All but our family is down there, cheering on the young lads hungry for their country’s pride. Mum doesn’t join in, but rather chooses to spend her days sipping lukewarm tea and petting Roscoe in the living room, here eyes bloodshot from a lack of sleep and seemingly numb to any form of communication we all try. Dad says he’s proud of me and is no longer so stern, instead choosing to spend my remaining days mumbling about the immense responsibility I am taking on, fighting for her royal majesty and whatnot. Little Max seems already to have separation anxiety and refuses to leave my side, telling all his friends that his big brother Vince will be going off to war soon and that I’m already a hero in his eyes. Inside, this house will no longer be my home and I know it already. My heart disagrees with me on that but I know it understands that before long I will have no choice but to move on if I hope to survive in the grubby trenches they will take us to. My uniform sits freshly pressed on my dresser, my medals close by. My mate Tobey says it’s a good thing we signed up for the army a couple years ago, because now we won’t be cannon fodder like the rest of them. Tobey isn’t the smartest, but he’s brave and loyal as any, willing to anything for our battalion and and our country. I must be leaving now, diary. For the cries on the battlefield don’t stray far from my mind and the cheers of the people oblivious so far, follow close behind.

Signing off, Vince

I made you a promise I intend to keep because by each other is where we are meant to be

So they may calls us names Throw stones at our heads Chuck at us mud And call us evil instead

But never have I thought of leaving your side because as god is my witness I would break if I tried

They plead and plead for my to leave you behind call the cops on you let them take you inside

But cross my heart and hope to die what’s a best friend to do if not be along for the ride

I know you never killed, why would you lie even if you had it would only be in you I would ever think to confide

Grasping at straws about what to do How is it that everyone sees me through Over and over I sit myself down Sow doubt into my mind about whether I’m really just a clown To question existence so deeply aloud Lie on my bed, wondering how in a crowd Yelling and yelling, but to no avail, do you really see me or is there a veil?

Love is no fickle thing At least not mine for you It could shine through a thousand clouds Through mighty storms, untold but true

Love is no fickle thing Not capricious but divine It does not wait for another’s bait But hides and bides its time

Love is no fickle thing But sometimes it is jealous It hopes and prays to be seen someday But knows it is the one that must tell us

Love is no fickle thing It has told me so itself I did not know, not why, not how But I know it nonetheless

So now I know, I write to you In hopes you will reply Because, one day I saw you say That it was Love which was our guide

“I never meant for it to happen, Daisy. Please, you have to believe me.” Henry spluttered, reaching his arms out like a wounded animal almost as if to grasp onto what was left of me that still loved him. “Daisy, please. It’s not my fault, she came on to me. I promise.” He sounded desperate now, his pleading grey eyes, dull in comparison to the moonlight that shone above the empty field we were in. I didn’t trust myself to look at him. I avoided his heaving chest, his teary eyes. I didn’t hold his shaking hand or bother to comfort him as I had done so many times before. He had broken my heart that night and I no longer deemed it fixable. I knew it, he knew it, the twinkling stars and even the cautiously silent birds knew it. He had torn it away, still beating from within me and left me alone to sew it back in. He had ripped me apart and sulked off as if he had been the one hurt by this act of treachery. I couldn’t bear it any longer, I had to leave, get out of there. Run as fast as I could in these painful shoes he so loved me in. “Don’t leave Daisy, let’s talk about this” I heard him whine, from somewhere behind me. I ignored him and continued walking away. “Did you ever even love me Henry?” I yelled back, the words catching in my throat as if breaking free from lifelong entrapment. “You never said it, not once. Not in the morning, not in the evening, not at any time that I can remember. Did you ever truly love me, or was I just another one of your play things, like Jesse or Taylor? Willing to do anything for you, only to receive nothing in return” That had shut him up. No more empty words, just silence. Painstaking silence. Like a white flag I had dared to paint red, taunting the bull who would no-doubt tear me limb from limb. The tears were running down my face now, falling on my summer dress like rain over sunflowers on a hot summer’s day. From somewhere behind me, I heard Henry stand up, getting ready to chase after what he thought was his by right. He was behind me know and I froze, refusing to face him head on. When we had first met, Henry had been the sweetest, the kindest and the funniest. Always smiling gleefully and joking around with ease. But those moments had soon passed and the sight of his copper hair had soon become something of a warning to me. Something to brace for impact against. Like an impending plane crash that passengers had already been notified would happen. In fact, the only reason I had agreed to going out tonight with him was the prelude to breaking up with him, once and for all. But now was the moment I had chosen my poison, quick and out with it “Henry, we’re over”. But those were’t the words sharp, or sure of themselves. They were more of a pathetic whisper uttered by a weeping damsel. Luckily, it was loud enough for Henry to have heard it, and he turned me around to face him, sneering. “Is that so. You sure you don’t need a ride back, or are you going to walk back to the city. Who’s going to reassure you that you’re not the crazy one for punching Zoey in the nose? Because it won’t be me, Daisy, it won’t be me!” He was shouting now, yelling at me as spit flew all over my face. “Who’s going to treasure you Daisy, who’s going to laugh at the pathetic excuses you call your jokes, cause it won’t -“ He had stopped his tirade of abuse, and a look of disbelief had flooded his pale, miserable face. He looked down, his hand on the crimson red stain that had spread out across his stomach. He held one shaking hand on my trembling shoulder, the other on my bloodied, slender wrist and looked me in the eyes. “This is the last time you leave me, Henry. The last time I leave you. But no longer on your terms, Henry. This time, I get to decide.” Henry crumpled to the floor, the blade sliding out from within him. “I never meant for it to happen Henry. Please, you have to believe me.”