Prologue

Brilliant, glistening slices of sun spilled like water as the tresses of the tree went flying. The sun filtered in, beams of gold going through then disappearing, dancing with the wind.

The vibrantly colored flowers spilled petals around and around, the breeze lifted the pale green tresses of the tree, petals swirling in a tornado of brilliant blue, soft pink, and gleaming purple. They floated and settled, sending little baby ripples across the surface of the mirror of jade water.

She laughed then, opening her lips to show her teeth. Our teeth were the very same. Even our lips were the same, with a little freckle under our bottom lip.  Today, only our outfits were different for our 10th birthday.

Our mother had lovingly sewn us dresses, the same pattern and shape, her pouf dress was an easter egg blue, made of thin, gauzy fabric. Mine was the exact same design, except it was rich, dark, emerald green like the swaying leaves around us. We even had a crown of flowers in our hair for each of us! My hair was down, swaying around me like a curtain, and hers was in a long ginger braid.

And then, in just a second, a singular moment of time suspended in every single other moment, our peaceful world was shattered.

I released a single, bloodcurdling scream; I screamed and screamed and screamed.

The sharp stench of bullets stung my nostrils; the scent fiery and fresh. Hailstreams of bullets peppered the ground around us. They plummeted through the thin, swaying chains of green that surrounded our safe haven. Many of them were ripped brutally from the branches, showering the ground in leaves.

Fern, my sister, shrieked as bullets pummeled down with no mercy; narrowly missing us. I could feel the wind of the bullets hitting the ground grazing my skin. I threw myself against the thick, aged stump of the tree as more and more holes appeared in the dirt. I covered my head with my hands; tears stinging my eyes. As bullets rained like hail out of nowhere. Where were they coming from? Who was shooting?

I wanted to cry, to go home, to hug my mom, who would stroke my hair and promise me that no one would harm us.
But I couldn’t go home without her.

She was my twin! My sister! My Fern! We had a bond that was invincible. Even through death.

She was lying there under the swaying leaves of the Willow Tree from which my name came.

I could see that she was gone in her eyes, her open eyes, which stared without seeing. Her mouth was hanging open like a broken hinge. Something deep in those icy green eyes had died.

My eyes.

To be continued............