Some nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue. They don’t speak unless spoken to, more of a debate than an arguement. The wind influences them, pushing them to choose sides and speak. Like a soft rhythm. I like to close my eyes and imagine their noises are the ocean rushing up against the sand and sharing stories. I like to imagine a time where the trees weren’t the only ones there to discuss, when there were animals and birds on the council. They hold the last memories of them all. And now I can hear them.

Their leaves rustle in the wind and scrape against each other. My eyes follow the tops of them as they sway towards one another and groan under the pressure. I wish I could understand them. Understand all they have heard and seen. The golden rings in them are a testimony that they've been here for centuries. They've witnessed the rise and fall of the humans under them, and I wish they would speak to me as they spoke to each other. Just for one night.

I lay down on the soft and silky, green grass as flat as a mat. All I do is just gaze at the black stary night until my eyes almost pop out like popcorn. But, the one thing that almost boggles my mind is when the trees argue with each other on who is the fattest of them all! All I can here is just ‘No, I am the fattest because of gigantic and thick body!’. But, like just why in the world would you talk about this topic?

Either they are just filled with some random amounts of brain rot that we can’t even calculate, or they are just extremely bored. But the question still remains, ‘Just why’? Well, all I know is that I can’t answer that question ever. All I have to do is just ignore and enjoy the time I am spending outside and gazing at the pleasant night sky.

Some nights I lay silently in the grass and listen to the trees argue.

Other nights, I join in.

But not this night. This night I lay motionless, relishing the tickling sensation of the grass blades on my bare feet. A slight breeze dances off my skin, an eruption of goosebumps left in its path.

The stars shine bright, not a cloud in the sky. There's a full moon tonight. It illuminates the forest like the sun itself.

"You should be back in the village, Gillian. It's nearly time." Says the familiar voice of my father from behind the trees.

Caught. I sigh and push up to my elbows. "I'm not ready, father."

He walks out from the shadow of dense foliage. "That's not for you to decide. The Mother has spoken, and you will marry. Tonight."

My jaw clenches. "No. I won't do it." I don't care if he is a prince, the next heir to the Elvin throne. Why the Mother chose me to be his bride, I'll never understand. I'm just a smith's daughter. Not even close to royalty.

"You don't have a choice, Gil." My father sounds equally frustrated and sad. He knows that after tonight, I'll likely never see him again. "If you don't go willingly, they'll send the Guard. That's not how you want to meet your future husband. Not the impression you want to make."

I snort. I hate that he's right. Of course I want to make my family proud, show the royals that this small village is more than just simple farm folk. I push up to sitting, tears sting my eyes. I force a small nod before standing tall. My wild long hair falls to past my shoulders to the mid of my back. It glows in the light of the moon.

"You're more than His Royal Highness will ever deserve, Gil. Remember that." My father pulls me into tight embrace. His bright blue eyes flowing freely with tears.

"I love you Father." My eyes, the same color as his, meet is gaze.

Time to meet my new husband.

When I was younger I was obsessed with nature. The glint of sunlight kissing the top of a lake; the colour journey the leaves pass through every year; the whispers that travel on the wind, entwining themselves with strands of my hair. I would spend hours lying on the grass, gazing at the passing clouds, my fingertips dancing along the flower buds. I observed the seasons moving with glee, finding beauty and comfort in the changes each would bring. If a late autumn heatwave took hold, I found myself fascinated by the trees' determination to shed their leaves still, paying the rising temperature no mind. I lay there in silence, straining my ears, desperately trying to tune in to the secret language I knew was being spoken all around me. I longed to hear advice thundering out from a gushing river, secrets hitchhiking around on floating pollen, and gentle consolations uttered from the dirt below my feet.

As I grew older and became more attuned to my body, to the steady rise and fall of my breath and the blood flowing in my veins, I started to notice a change of my own. Spending more time immersed in the vast forest around me, measuring the passage of time not with a clock, but with the seasonal flow, finally I began to hear each unique tune. I stopped longing for a specific, simpler season, one who’s song was clearer than all the rest. Instead, I could differentiate between the sweet song of summer and the woebegone whisperings of winter, each new voice my faithful companion.

Now, as I continue to grow, I have become accustomed to nature's secret languages and I have learned to change myself along with the seasons. It is summer presently, and most nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue, lulled into a sweet sleep alongside their soft murmurs. Lying here as I did as a child, atop the field, burrowed among the flower bed, my gaze lazing on the stars above, I know I am where I belong.

Some nights I lay in the grass and listen to the trees argue, oh how peaceful it is! The brushing of the trees leaves, and the owls hooting, and the crickets making their noise, it’s not silent, but its quiet.

Some nights I lay silently on the grass. When I find sleep won’t come easily, the sounds of still life keep my mind from running a whole train loop. Tonight, the crickets chirp as loud as ever. Fireflies flicker in and out of sight. I lift my finger up to touch one, but just before it connects with the little insect, the bug flickers back into the darkness. Part of me envy’s them—the power to appear and disappear. Wouldn’t such a thing make life simpler? What if I were a firefly? I shake my head and scoff into my palms. That is a ridiculous thought.

Occasionally, I see a tiny bat zoom by, but I don’t fear them. We are two different creatures surviving in the same universe. Even though Mr Bat may not appreciate it, I am sure he can understand me seeking a break from busy life into his mostly quiet one. He knows how it feels to fly through the night. I can know what it means to lay on my front lawn and watch him do it. Such freedom in perfect dimness. The absence of the sun, it seems, gives many creatures a chance to walk the valley of man with ease. If only I were able to do it with such grace. Then again, perhaps we aren’t that diverse. We both get by by looking for shadows to hide in. The only differerence being, it happens to work in their favor.

Branches cascade downward to the ground—my great grandpa’s willow tree. Is it weird to say that trees speak? I swear with every sway of their branches and tickle of their leaves, they say something. But you can only hear it if your listening, and I mean _really _listening. I like to think of the big willow tree as the one in charge of all the others. He dances gently, while the other, regular trees knock into each others leaves to claim space. That is why leaves crinkle and brush others trees branches.

Question: Do you still find me sane?

I promise I am. I only tend to consider things deeper than most people. Does that still make me an oddity? A twig snaps just by my left ear, and when I turn my head, I nearly jump out of my skin. A doe stands just over me. Her chestnut face leans down toward mine. She sniffs me, curiously. I try not to move, not to make a sound. She’s so gentle. So innocent. I wouldn’t want to spook such a careful creature. Call me crazy (though I wouldn’t be surprised if you already have), but its almost as though she’s telling me something with her eyes. My reflection stares back through a vast pool of midnight orbs and inky lashes. Long, brown hair splayed across grass, and the same wonder found in my expression. We have an understanding I can’t grasp.

Perhaps a few more moments and I would’ve been able to decipher it, but the front door to my house creaks open, and she takes off with barely any sound. A gust of wind chills me to the bone, shaking the leaves. The trees have a frenzy.

“Avery,” my dads voice calls. “Watcha doing out here? It’s late.”

I stand and wipe grass off my sweatpants. “Coming,” I say. If I’d tried to explain, would he have gotten it? Most people don’t. As I swiftly step up the stairs to my porch, I pause at the door. “The trees need more space to themselves, don’t you think?” Trying never hurt anyone, though.

Dad chuckles. “The trees?”

“Yeah. They’ve gotta be too close together to be comfortable.” When I look back, the willows branches reach towards me in gesture of gratitude. I smile.

“They’re getting by fine enough,” he answers sweetly. I shrug and walk inside the house. Warmth smacks against my face. Have you ever heard of someone missing the cold?

“Saw a doe out there,” I state.

“Did you now…?” The door closes and his voices muffles out.

Some nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue. Most quarrels are quite entertaining to eavesdrop on. Some are tiring, pointless, and not worth listening to. Today, when I lay down on my spot by the lake, my name is tossed into their conversation.

“It looks like Lillian has returned.” An oak tree spoke.

“Who?” The groggy timbre of the weeping willow answered.

“Lillian! The girl who always rests by the riverbank. It’s been a while since we last saw her. I wonder how she’s doing?”

I turned around with interest piqued. How could a tree know my name? Did the wind carry it to them?

“Don’t you watch her every now and then? While she’s at home?”

“Yes, but it hurts to know she cannot understand me.”

“She’s a human! She wouldn’t care about us even if she could understand every word we were saying!”

“You don’t have to be so negative!”

“I’m not negative! I’m realistic!”

“Would you two shut it!” I finally interjected. “I’m trying to relax!”

All sounds of nature cut to silence. Animals running about stop to look in my direction. I am given undivided attention. The weight of these eyes makes draws fear in my stomach.

“Sorry, that was quite rude of me.”

“So you can hear us?” The oak tree asked behind me. His branches extended with interest.

“Yes, I can.”

“This discovery is…relieving.”

“It is?” I tilted my head in confusion.

“Yes, of course. It gets lonely here. Especially when you have live the rest of your existence rooted into the ground next to a particularly annoying weeping willow!”

“Hey!” The willow tree rustled in offense.

The oak tree ignored him. “But, now that you can understand our language, maybe you should come by the river more often. There are many things I and many other trees around you want to know about humans.”

The willow tree made another comment. “I don’t understand him either, but do whatever you want. Just don’t wake me up from my naps!”

“How am I supposed to know you’re napping when you don’t have a face?” I questioned with a smirk.

“Birds don’t land on his branches when he’s asleep,” The oak tree responded. “But nevertheless, please visit more often.”

“Uh…okay. Sure, I’ll do that.” I am tentative in my response. Before I made myself known to understand these trees, my initial thought was that everyone could hear them speak. I would tell my friends the most recent things they’ve said, and they’d listen intently, engrossed in my story. Maybe they were just pretending to care so they can resume their game of tag.

That morning, when I left, I thought about what I should bring to them the next day. A jump rope? A baseball bat?

I used the many hours of my day to contemplate. What is the best thing that would tell the trees about what humans were like?

In the night, I had come to a conclusion.

The next morning, I brought with me a thin sheet of paper.

I didn’t know how important everything was or I’d not have done it. I didn’t know my very existence in this world was dangerous. If I had never done this they would have never destroyed everything. If you’re reading this do not ask any questions or they will get you. Now let’s start at the beginning, shall we…

It was gym when strange things started happening- though strange things are normal to me. We were sitting down as Ashley my second best friend looked… weird- a look I can’t describe, that I see a lot. She shook her head and smiled. It wasn’t a real smile, I can tell. “What’s wrong,” I tried to sound concerned but really I was just curious. “ Yeah, yes, yes, definitely,” she said unconsciously. The D-word I should have known. “No you’re not,” I said definitely not suspiciously- ok I know it was suspicious. “I had a… what do you call it… vision.” This is the part were everyone should go ‘ OH GOD’ right. I mean everyone especially him. “What the- A VISION,” Willow said bursting with fear. Now this is the part where I tell you that thunder can’t come without lightning- words don’t come without actions. “What was it?” “ I-I can tell you only one thing they need me,” she said very ominously which made me cry on the inside. “What is the-“ “Don’t ask questions, or they will get you,” you see what I mean but now’s the really scary part.

The next day at gym, it was time to tell them- or at least one. By now I had figured out that the bad-side, king Shadow, had invited her, which is not good. Anyways I went to tell her and she started talking. “Where’s the Hex,” she asked me. Ok so I did tell them one secret, I had connections with monsters. “On… I can’t tell you.” “The darkness is spreading,” she suddenly said which atually scared me- only a little. “What?” “The darkness is spreading, I’m scared, the darkness is spreading, you could be the hex, the darkness is spreading, I could be the hex.” Honestly she could but let’s not get into that. “Do you believe in magic,” you know me asking pretty normal questions. “Yes,” she sounded possessed. Here’s the real scary part. She grabbed my arm, I yanked away and ran for Ashley.

The next day at gym again, I will tell them. Warning this paragraph may mentally break you. I walked over to Willow, she seemed normal. Ashley came to use and I got up. “I gotta tell y’all something,” my body was a war. One side wanted me to this, the other was not good with this. “What’s wrong,” Willow said worried. I’m warning you again but differently. This all is not true or false- you get to decide, I can’t tell you I’ve got a duty to uphold. This may melt your last brain cell though. “I’m… the queen of the good side,” yeah that was not much of a plot twist to some of you, that know me. “What the- WHAT?!?” I did break my bestie though, she’s definitely mortal, but Ashley looked less surprised but still surprised. “What?” Confusing humans- my specialty. Willows reaction was normal, but Ashley’s… kind of like Spira. “I’m a queen.” Then Tom walked over. If you don’t know who he is then you’re missing out. He’s litterly the cutest boy in all of history. “Hey,” my bestie said easily. Welp we’re not continuing this paragraph- ok fine but don’t laugh please. “Hewo,” I can’t describe the things I do. He walked away, which is a little rude but boys are like that.

Some nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue. Their the only ones who understand me in this world. I don’t know if i can find the hero of imagination but I know that Ashley is special and that this is one the first chapter of our story. Remember to decide if you believe in magic and monsters, in this story. Once you decide you can’t go back. Just remember next time you hear sounds in your bedroom that’s us.

Follow for Magic and Monsters: The Forbidden Truth

(this is a companion to my other story “peeling potatoes.” you can still understand this story if you haven’t read the other one.)

this was an absolute disaster. the house was a mess, the dinner was half ready, and the rain was pounding down on the roof of my little cottage relentlessly. oh, and another thing i forgot to add: my neighbor could be here any minute. i didn’t want to, i really, really didn’t. but in the end, i was forced to resort to my spellbook. what else was i supposed to do? flipping through the pages to the C chapter, i ran through all the possible risks in my head. my new and only neighbor was very much human, one of the kinds that absolutely denied any existence of magic. (from my experience, these are the kind that have heart attacks upon finding out) if he so much as had a glimpse into the truth of my house, a big chance is he’d die from the shock. _why is the Q section so long?! why did i even invite him over?! _ _ _passing through the Ws, i considered a weather spell. not a chance. finally, C! cats, cars, capes, curtains, classes, classics, countries, counting, cooking, crying, company, complacency, compliments, complaints, cords, clout, communication. where was cleaning? i was not going to use magic for cooking, because if anything, magic is most detectable by taste. i leafed through the Cs again, and a third time, and a fourth, until i was so angry i might as well have been the color of a tomato. until i thought that maybe i had written it under a different title. i started flipping backwards through the book: Xs, Zs, Ls, Ks, Js, Hs, Gs, Fs, Ds, Ss, As, Ps, Os, Is, Us, Ys, Ts- there it was! tidying!

_the most effective tidying spell, beware of quantity of skin- excessive portions create unnatural amounts of dust. LEATHER IS NOT A WORKING SUBSTITUTE FOR SKIN. _ _ _ _ ingredients: _ _ - owl feather (peacock works too) _ _ - 2-3 inches of skin (must be mammal) _ _ - woode (i have found, strangely, that a wooden cube works best) _ _ - sock _ _ - lint _

_ instructions: _ _ - burn in fireplace, state places needed to be cleaned, recite: cleane, tidy, home o’ mine_

after performing the spell, i ran into the kitchen. i had decided on soup the day earlier, and the recipe was taped to the fridge. i was grabbing the carrots from the fridge when it caught my eye; the piece of paper from a few weeks ago. a white notebook page, ripped out from my new spellbook, with a big word in bold at the top: trees. i still couldn’t get that blasted spell to work. it made me angry every time i looked at it; i was so close. alas, it escaped from me every time. i was cutting carrots when the doorbell rang.i almost opened the door before i remembered in a panic that the house was still cleaning itself. i snapped my fingers, and then opened the door.

  ~

“have a seat, the soup is almost ready.” “ooo, i love soup!” he said, taking his hat off and putting it on his lap. “i hope it wasn’t hard getting here in this weather,” i said, “i really didn’t think it would rain today!” “nonsense, it’s only a ten minute walk to your house. besides, i checked the forecast, i was prepared.” we sat and ate in silence. “so.. what made you decide to move here?” “well, i’ve always lived in the city before this. being an artist, it does have its inspirations, but often can be loud and gray and sometimes depressing. i decided i needed a change of scenery; what better place for artistic freedom than a forest with one neighbor who lives in a sweet little house?” “that’s a good reason,” i say, though i really could never see myself moving just to have a better place to paint. “it’s nice here, you’ll like it.“ “i already do; although getting groceries can be a pain”

~

it was dark out, and the rain had stopped. “so, tell me a bit about yourself. what do you do for a living?” i was prepared for this question. i couldn’t say witch, obviously, so therefore i had to come up with a substitute. “i grow herbs and specialty plants, and then sell them in the market every weekend. in the winter, i preserve and pickle things and sell those too.” “you make a living just by selling herbs?” “they’re very rare,” i say nervously. “i see.” silence. then, after a minute, “is it lonely? with no family, no friends? no sound of cars or music or people talking?” “i mean.. i guess it would be, if i was used to that. i kind of like the silence, and the peace of knowing i’m alone.it does get lonely, especially after my relatives are done visiting for the holidays, but i manage. some nights i stay inside and read a book, and some i lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue.” he laughs. “what do you mean, ‘argue’”? shit, i messed up. i’ve never considered myself an awkward person, but maybe that’s because i haven’t been around people much. “you know.. sometimes when you’re around something you appreciate, it’s like you can hear it talk. like.. like it has a mind of its own.” he smiles and nods. “yeah, i get that.” and all of a sudden, a comfortable, warm feeling sprouts in my chest.