Alice H (Year 11)

To you, who once longed to reach the moon and touch the thousands of stars that lit up the sky like glitter. 

Your hair cradled your face; a silken tapestry of night shielding your thoughts from the world. 

To you, who once knew me. Not illuminated by the dreamy spotlight of the moon nor adorned in glitter like the silver stars. Me, a nobody who was grounded to the earth, roots mingling deep into the rich mud. Or so I thought. 

To me who gazed up at you, saw a loose thread in your tightly woven tapestry, and yearned to unravel it, longing to see who you are. 

I reached up to brush your fingers but was never able to grasp your hand yet your arm always remained extended toward me, beckoning me to try again. 

Why was your arm extended, if not to grasp mine? Why did you never let me see past the tapestry you adorned like armour? I wanted to see you like I thought you saw me, trace the outline of your delicate lips, revel in the glow of your face, outshining the moon. You kept reaching for the stars that were millions of miles away, yet you never reached for me, who was reaching for you. Your arm was still extended toward me, humouring my presence as I continued to chase after that loose thread.  

What more must I do to win your love?! The words were trapped in my throat, desperately trying to claw their way out. Why couldn’t I open my mouth back then? At last, you answered my prayers. 

“If you love me, will you do this one last favour?” 

Your voice murmured those familiar words dripped with the richness of honey, enveloping me your sweetness, yet its tenacious grip trapped me in a twisted chrysalis. 

I found myself replying hypnotically, “What must I do?” 

“There is a tree on a cliff that bears a beautiful fruit that I need. Will you bring that to me?” 

Each word was a taught string from your tapestry, controlling me like a puppet, dragging my legs towards the cliff. Each hill, each bend, each fork had been engraved into my soul. The sun had hidden itself behind a blanket of clouds woven so tightly together they seemed to be one vast, looming force, sombrely gazing down at me with sympathy. 

The tree perched precariously on the edge of the cliff, its bony branches like skeletal arms, reaching out to the churning sea below as if welcoming the endless darkness that lied beyond. Each crack in its bark told stories of century-old hardships, leaving unforgettable scars. Thousands of snapped twigs on the frail branches were what remained of every precious fruit that was stolen from it. Every twig, except for one. The fruit hanging from the branch glowed lustrously, outshining the dreary sky with its warm sunset of colours. 

I reached up and brushed its smooth surface. A twist. A crack. 

That’s what it should have sounded like. 

Now sitting on the edge of the very cliff, I watched the waves pulse gently as their consistent swell washed a sense of calm over me. The sun shone brilliantly over the ocean after centuries of cowardice, creating reflections that looked like stars. Looking down on those stars, they shrank back from my shadow, as if sensing their insignificance. I felt every taught tapestry string crack and splinter. I felt the collapse of the honeyed chrysalis, granting me wings of freedom as I stretched my arms out. Each bound broke until there was nothing binding me to her.