Object description

There is no life in it. Even the creatures of the forest recognise it for what it truly is. It stands alone in a clearing; crooked, hunched. As dead as the dry soil that surrounds it, the twisted black branches strain, grow, reach desperately for the midnight darkness above. The roots writhe and crawl through the earth, dragging the gnarled aching trunk onward for eternity. For countless ages, this monstrosity has crept towards the fires of civilisation; inexorably approaching and destroying everything and everyone in its path. The ground dies and fades to grey around it as it casts flickering shadows on its surroundings; black flames. Its determined form, silhouetted against the night stars, is a stain on the natural beauty around it. It is an error. How could nature produce such corruption? Red sap bleeds from between its cracked boughs, seeping into the earth. Nothing will grow here again.
Imagine, supposing you could bear to approach it, pressing your palm against the blistered black bark. The world rushes away and only it remains, violating your mind; it uses you as a conduit for its malevolent soul. You would feel a diseased conscience, inherent in this distortion of nature, beyond screams and beyond fear. Just an endless void of despair and desolation. How long before you pull you hand away, appalled and terrified by the pure, unyielding horror before you? How long before you couldn’t pull your hand away at all?
It remembers the sacrifices. Trees have long memories; it still recalls with twisted joy the pain suffered on its cruel branches. The marks of rough nails still scar the surface, reminders of a ritual long since passed. Though the pagans and the peasants are nothing but history, the power willingly given in sacrifice still sustains it, forever waiting expectantly for the next innocent to be nailed, hands and feet, to its freezing, scalding bark. One hundred, one thousand years; it makes no difference to an entity without end. There is an inescapable certainty about it; an awful, confident patience. It will be worshipped, revered again; and the sacrifices will come.
It doesn’t move now. Not now, not while you’re watching it. But don’t turn your back. Even when no wind blows, the warped, twisting limbs sway gently, the twigs rattling like a twitching horde of insects.
Sometimes, it looks as though it’s melting. The sunshine, what little can penetrate the thick forest canopy, glistens on the sticky, sap-drenched bark. Even in daylight, this is a thing of terror. Its utter blackness is a void in the scenery, a dark shape that emanates darkness itself.
Growing in death, bleeding, advancing; this, surely, is evil.

Something Lost

I wrote this a couple of years ago for a creative writing lesson. So while it isn't as I would write it now, the sentiments are the same, and it's still quite personally significant.

- Something Lost -

I lay my head on my pillow, relaxing into a sleep deeper than any ocean, falling back into the Dream again. And there I am. Just like last night, and every night before that, only this time is different. This time I’ll find it. I know I will.
I walk uncertainly into the dense, tangled forest. Thorns grasp me back, and pull at my clothes and hair, but they can’t stop me. It is dark, and I am the only person there, I am the only person ever there. As I struggle through the hostile woods, I am gripped by the inescapable fact that I will never make it. Just like every time, I would fail. I shake myself, and try to feel confident. I tell myself, I can do this. I can. I don’t feel the cold or the damp air, because I am driven by the knowledge that this time will be different. This time I will find it.
The forest ends abruptly, and I force my way out of the greedy briars, trying to restrain me there, onto a great precipice. I am in the valley. I slip, tentatively inching my way down the almost-sheer cliff face. There are no plants or roots to anchor myself; this valley is dead. It has always been dead.
The vague, indifferent darkness makes it difficult to see, but somehow I struggle up the loose scree and grasp the ledge. Ordinarily, I would given up by now, but this is different. This time I will find it.
I only made it this far once before. I’ve made it through the forest of doubt, I’ve triumphed over the valley of the shadow of death, and I feel it.
There it is, can’t you feel it? Right over the horizon... here, is what I’ve been looking for.
A river. The river. The only way I’ll ever get it back is to reach the river. Walking towards the clear, cool water, I see myself over and over again. I see myself failing, giving up and going back, or just dying out there, with nobody to help me. I was alone, I was afraid, I was ready to give up... when I saw it. There, in the water, that’s what I’ve been looking for! It has been lost from deep inside my heart my whole life, and there it is. I run towards it, hot, and out of breath. I plunge my hand into the icy cold water... I’ve never got this close before!
There, on a bed of perfectly rounded pebbles in the crystal-clear stream, is the locket. A simple, heart-shaped locket... is it gold or silver? I can’t tell in this light... and I pull it out of the water. I am just about to put it back where it belongs when I feel the sliding, fading sensation again. I clench my teeth and mutter under my breath:
No, not now... please not now, I’ve tried so hard, I did what you asked of me...
And I am awake. Alive again to live another twenty-four hours of despair, of emptiness. I know that any second now, I will forget. Just before every trace of memory disappears from my exhausted mind, I feel the words:
So close...