The tree branch hung over the dirt path like a chandelier.
The girl sighed, reaching up to the branch. As soon as her hands skimmed the surface, the branch groaned. She laced her spindly fingers precariously around it, hanging her weight on it, her feet adorned in Mary Jane shoes a mere inch and a quarter off the ground.
Snap!
The branch collapsed, plummeting with the girl still attached. The two landed with a hard thump, and another snap- this time of the girl's arm cracking in two. She lurched in pain as her vision momentarily blackened at the edges. Tears blossomed in her eyes and painted clear and shiny streaks along her cheeks.
"I'm so sorry!" The branch exclaimed. "I didn't mean to! I'm very weak you know..."
"No, no, I'm sorry to you," the girl replied, whose name was Sady. "I mean, I'm the one who climbed on you and pulled you to the ground."
"No, gravity did that. I'm just too weak for gravity."
"Well, it wouldn't of happened if I hadn't done anything."
"It would've definitely happened if you weren't there! I was so heavy without you and much lighter with you."
"What do you mean?" Sady pondered.
"I was heavy with fear without someone there to make me light-hearted, of course."
"That's more figurative way of looking at it- I was talking mass-wise."
"Oh, but Massachusetts is never wise! Only when they voted Scott Brown out of office was it wise!"
"Oh, no! I was talking about mass. The weight of things."
"I had to wait very long once."
"No, the other type of weight!"
"Dumbbells, you mean? I heard they're a type of weight. It must be difficult to be around stupid bells all day."
"No, not that either. I mean, like how I weigh 63 pounds and you might weigh 78 pounds."
"What does that have to do with weight? I didn't here you say weight once!"
"You seem confused."
"Me!" the branch gawked. "Why, you're the one who is terribly confused."
"No, I understand things very well."
"Water is in a well! You don't need to say things when water is always so specifically in a well."
"No," Sady thought before triumphantly coming up with the correct terms. "I was using well as an adverb, not a noun!"
"Well, that's rubbish."
"See!" Sady exclaimed. "You just used 'well' as an adverb."
"I don't see anything."
Sady began to reply, but was ferociously interrupted by her own name.
"Sady!" her mother cried, a woman wearing a velvet red dress and linen white gloves that stretched up to her elbows. She was sprinting over to her daughter laying in the dirt path, a dark bruise already formed across her pale arm. "Oh dear! Are you hurt?"
"You heard something, though. That's what I meant," Sady's voice carried on, her crystal blue eyes focused on the branch.
"Darling! Why who are you talking to?" her mother chimed. "No matter, your arm is hurt and needs fixing."
She delicately picked up the girl of 63 pounds, precariously between her gloved arms. Her face was masked with worry and concern, her mouth cracked open a tad, her eyebrows shaped by crafted hands of worry.
"Ouch!" Sady squeaked. "My arm!"
"Oh dear, my poor darling!"
"Mama, aren't you going to help the branch? He's hurt, too."
"What? Heavens no! I must help you, Sady. That branch is far too heavy for me to carry anyway."
Sady frowned. "It needs helping, too."
"Darling!" The mother exclaimed. "Do you see that bruise across your arm! That is not right and needs helping desperately!"
And so the two left to the hospital, the branch splintered and silent on the dirt path.
