Dead

•Prologue•

6 Years Old:

Willow was sitting in the front yard of her grandparents house in the small patch of daisies while playing with her dolls. She had a flower tucked into her small ponytail, the white contrasting perfectly with her dark black hair.

The brisk spring breeze danced around the pine trees that surrounded the house, carrying the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Her small fingers were braiding the hair of her doll named Beth.

Her mother came outside with a glass of tea and a cup of apple juice, her knee length dress fluttering slightly in the wind. "That's a pretty braid Wills," her mother complimented as she handed the glass of apple juice to Willow.

Willow stopped braiding her dolls hair and took a few short sips of the juice before setting it down. She raised her arms signaling she wanted her mom to pick her up, and her mother did.

She wrapped her arms around her mothers shoulders and played with her mom's also black hair. "I've always thought this dress looked pretty on you mommy," Willow said and smiled a toothy grin at her mom.

Her mother smiled back at her, showing her straight white teeth. "Why thank you Wills," her mother said and booped her daughter on her little nose. Willow wiggled her legs and her mother set her down in the grass again, lacing her fingers with her daughters.

They walked together, swinging their hands as they both sipped their drinks and the daisies bent underneath their feet.

13 Years Old:

Dressed in all black, Willow placed the last set of roses on her mothers grave. Her pale cheeks were damp with fresh tears as the fresh memories of her beautiful mother flashed through her mind.

"Even as the cancer took away your strength and you became fragile, as you fell away from my grasp and as you faded away from life... You remained there for me and I can never thank you enough. I love you so much, and I don't know how I'll make it without you. That dress always did look beautiful on you mom," and she stood up from her knees.

With one look back, Willow dried her tears and got into her grandmothers car, driving away from the large cemetery.

18 Years Old:

Willow lied on the grass that was peppered with roses of multiple colors, her face buried into her knees as strangled sobs fell from her pink lips. Her black leggings getting tear stained and her eyes turning puffy.

"You were all I had," she choked out between her sobs. Everybody was leaving her behind, leaving her alone. Willow had nobody now, nobody to comfort her, and nobody to love her.

Everybody she loved.

Dead.