A Willow Tree

 Sitting atop a grassy hill - capped with a single brittle, grey willow tree - sat a person, having no identity to their name. Their body was short and slender, their arms and legs spindly - taking the shape of their bones - and their fingers were long and boney. Their skin colour took on a pale tone; hairless, as it had been. They had been clad in tan shorts and a white tee-shirt; and they sat with their legs folded upon the soft grass. Hair grew messy atop its head, black - waving within the breeze. Their eyes were a dull grey, looking through holes in an otherwise featureless face, save for two holes centred where a nose should have been. They looked out onto the lake that surrounded the small mountain they sat upon. Each wave that rolled in and collided with the dirt shore it watched with lustful fascination. Their nostrils hardily inhaling the refreshing scent of fresh grass permeating within the breeze.

The lake's waves were an obsidian black substance that more resembled oil than it did actual water. For little more than fifty miles the lake stretched from one wooded shore towards the other, dying the golden sands and darkened-brown dirt its black colour. The waves never made a sound, looking more as small rings extending to and from the island within its centre than the arcs most other waves made. As the sunlight hit the surface it glistened yellow and blue along the sides of each wave; the initial surface, especially at times when the lake is calm, being the pitch black that extended eighty-three and-a-half feet. The liquid was thick, providing quite a challenge in navigating through and across the body. No persons of animals swam within it, nor did they drink from it, mostly due to the rotting stench emitted from it. Those few who did dare to act both would either asphyxiate within the lake - lungs filling up with the awful liquid - or suffer the shutdown of bodily function due to the poison. Distilling the liquid through a filter is but void an attempt as the filters choke on the substance. The only way of passage across the body is by watercraft, preferably kayak or canoe. Fast moving boats either choke or flip over, sending its passengers towards terrible, uncomfortable asphyxiation. Very few braved travel upon the surface on the water, and that person on the island was one of them.

Their boat was a paintless oaken wood boat six feet in length, five feet in width and two and-a-half feet in depth; nails holding the craft together. Along both beams stretching across the width cloth had been wrapped around - double layer. The wood on the bottom had been stained by the lake, as well as the oars that sat within it as it laid upon the dirt shore. The dirt shore then lead to a hill clad entirely in light green grass, emitting a pleasantly sweet smell. No tree sat upon the island until one reached the top where the willow tree sat, reaching fifteen feet in height. Its branches curled and uncurled softly as the wind passed through them, tenderly. Each branch had been covered in thistles that gleamed a darker grey than the rest of the tree. Within the bark obstructive shapes and forms had grown - such as spirals, squares with one corner bent inwards, and beings with unexplainable shapes in their bodies. Cut had been within the bark from objects the wind brought over and other beings scratching or clawing it is; pieces, large and small, had been missing as well. As the wind moved through the branches the tree began to groan and crack ever so gently. The tree bore no leaves, buds, or any offerings of shade, yet the person still found refuge within its wake.

The person's hands held each other in a tight entanglement of the fingers with their palms pressed against each other. It just sat still, gazing out onto the lake; gazing out into the mist that hung over the black surface. Upon the very horizon were the light-green tips of the forest tree that surrounded the body of water. However, they had been vaguely visible, not only because of their distance but because of thickness of the mist. The person felt as if this island had been hidden away from the world that surrounded the deadly body of liquid. Though it could even be as such now, they mainly arrived at the island because of that exhilarating feeling. Not only that, but the tree looked as if it were on the verge of death, yet sustained life through all ten years the person had come into its presence. The tree had cast little shade, yet it was the comfort that the tree had about it that drew them towards it to begin with. Just the glance from the distance - one could see the grey branches if they looked close enough - they knew this place was a definite hideaway. Now, little past ten years to that first day, there the person sat with their gaze upon the waves. Its eyes noting how pristine the waves were, how they shimmered within the sunlight. The whole view, even the island itself, was pristine.