The Weeping Willow

weepingwillow2

In a cold winter night, I am taken as a prisoner of war. I find myself hanging from a branch of a huge willow tree planted inside what appears to be a stairwell, slightly bigger than normal so as to have enough room for the tree to grow.  Some silvery light is coming from the top of the stairwell –which is open to the sky – similar to the moonlight.

I look below, and find my foreign friend standing still, facing me, glued in her place. She seems as if she is growing from the tree’s trunk so much she is skinny and frail.
My friend’s face is pale, and her long wavy hair locks are like ramifications of the dropping tree branches. She is staring at me with an empty terrified look, but seems as if she doesn’t see me.

A few drops of water are falling, menacing with a heavy raining. I whisper to my friend: “This is our chance to run away… They  won’t notice us escaping as long as it is raining!”

The weather is getting colder, the rain heavier, the colour of the falling water drops turns gradually to white, and the sound of them hitting the floor becomes louder.

My friend looks at me, hesitating, and whispers terrified: “But what if They catch us running away?! There will be grave consequences!!”

I urge her confidently: “They won’t feel it as long as it rains, so come on… hurry up before it stops raining!!”
I leave the branch I was hanging from, and land slowly on the floor. My friend detaches herself from the tree trunk, too, putting her feet on the floor, totally soaked.

We exit the building to the dark cold street which slops upwards, covered with wet shiny basalt tiles. We notice a dim yellow light at the end of the street, to the left corner. I pull her hand, and we run together towards the light, in a fiery breathless race.

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