I walked down the familiar path, littered with leafs, dead grass and old bloodstains.  My gait was lopsided as I limped down the path. A faint dragging noise followed behind me. My grip tightened on the coarse rope in my hand. Sirens echoed in the distance. My pace quickened automatically as I turned the last corner. Then there it was. My beautiful willow. Many summers had been spent under its waving, long, leafy branches. Now the branches continued to have leafs but there were now some new decorations.  People who had seen this tree were sent spiraling into madness, always found murmuring about a “Tree of free birds” I grinned very slowly as the memory of low screams echoed the forest. Pleas and cries to save them from this hell. This is why this forest is known as “The Forest of Screams”. Screams can be heard the instant you step into the forest. They aren’t loud but eerily quieter than one would think. I watched as my lovely decorations swayed side to side in the wind, completely in sync with the branches. I strode right up to it, the grin getting wider. While almost everyone feared the screams and pleas for help, I enjoyed them. This was my sanctuary, where I was welcomed and kept safe. Safe from the glares of even the other outcasts. Never welcomed into a group, always shoved outside. So I became the outcast of outcasts. IT wasn’t hard to know why. Black hair that covered almost my whole face, pale and thin face, pronouncing my cheekbones and sharp, electric blue eyes. Dark eyeshadow exaggerated my eyes even more. Long sleeves hid the battle wounds. The battle inside. The battle between life and death. Then, the night I had planned to join the other souls on the trip to Heaven or Hell, I discovered my savior. Harming and hurting others saved my life. I would have been one of the bodies decorating the “Tree of the free birds.” I heaved the sack behind me up to the base of the tree and set to work. First, you have to tie the rope around a branch and label it. The person’s name, age, cause of death and how they were killed. Then. You unwrap the body and noose it. Then, you watch as the body becomes familiar with the rest and adds its cries to the chorus. Sirens wailed closer. I wanted them to see my tree. My tree, full of bodies of people who mocked me, people who never believed in me, even people who lifted their noses to me all dangled, lifeless in my tree. Bodies of all shapes and sizes were there. Before I raced up into the tree to watch, I updated the book. I had something like a check-in book on a pedestal in front of the tree. It was 70 pages long and every page had 7 names. 60 of the pages were full. I opened it to today’s date, and wrote down “Gwen Vazques, 18, egged my house. Slit throat, slit wrists and heart pulled out and added to necklace. I fingered the necklace around my neck. At first glass, the beads look like pearls. But when you look closer you see that they are hearts. Heats from a human body, drained of blood, shrunk and placed in glass orbs. I grinned and raced up into a little alcove in the tree. I sat and waited. The shouts grew closer along with the footsteps. Then a large group of townsfolk, police, FBI, CIA and other various people burst into the clearing. Their shouts dissipated and were replaced my gasps, sobs and retches. One tentative officer saw my book and began flipping through it. His eyes grew wide and a hand shot up to his mouth. Then the second one. Then he turned away to hurl. A woman and a man, they must have been Gwen’s parents, stepped forward as their daughter swung into to view. The mother screamed and fainted while her husband stood still. White face, mouth forming a small ‘oh’. One officer shakily pulled out a mega phone and broke the sweet silence. “Claire Valentine. Step out from wherever you are hiding with you hands up. You are under arrest for massive manslaughter.” I grinned and jumped down from my tree. I white jeans, stained with a smeared hand print and spots of blood. My black shirt had a image of a broken heart. I flashed them a smile. Pearly white teeth flashed in the moonlight. Then I spoke for the first time in 6 years. “Aww. But officer. I was just starting to enjoy this. No matter. Soon, I will have more bodies.” I said in my raspy voice. Still smiling, I un pinned the grenades behind my back and hurled them into the ground. I dove behind a slab of stone as shrieks of alarm rose and explosions silenced them. I stood up and surveyed my work. 12 more decorations. How lovely.

10 years later the same thing happened to Claire again. But this time, when the people arrived, she was a body hanging in the tree. ON the last page of the book she wrote,
‘The screams are comforting my dears. Don’t be afraid. Embrace them, join them in their chorus for all eternity. Join me darling. Please? Keep me safe from the bad people.’  Anyone who read that note would be found the next day hanging in the tree. The entry scrawled in blood on the notebook.