@12daysofhatchetfield day 4 (I had no ideas for yesterday >_<): Tree
The small house where Emma and Jane spent their early childhood was dead and empty this year. It had been for a long time. The two of them hardly remembered a time when it wasn't. They were 14 and 15 now, having been orphaned 8 years ago. Jane had eventually warmed up to their foster parents, but Emma never had. She never could quite figure out how to click with them.
But hey, at least they got her an axe for her birthday.
Emma liked to go out and chop wood. Pine trees had been her target as of late. Soon, her foster parents were going to put one up in their living room, prickly and ugly, covered in flashy lights and ornaments. Normal pine trees were pretty, though.
Emma tried to not cut anything on private property down. She wasn't in the mood to get in any trouble with the law. One thing might lead to another, and they could find her weed, which she was not going to give up.
She took the long, long walk to the Witchwoods from her fosters' house. She passed by the playground she used to go to as a kid. Some other mom was on the bench that Mama would watch from now. She tried to picture her there again. But she just couldn't quite remember what she looked like.
Her legs were tired when she reached the edge of the woods. Why did she even come out to do this? Was it ever even worth the effort?
Whatever. She held the axe in her arms, and swung at the tall pine tree before her.
Upon impact, snow came falling down from the branches above. Emma hissed as a large bit of it fell onto her back. Shit, she really needed a new coat. The one she had was thin as hell. She shook her head, returning her focus to the tree.
She noticed, right next to the tree, near where she had made the cut, there was a patch of red snow she hadn't seen earlier. She guessed it was from a bleeding animal. She swung the axe again.
More blood gushed from the tree's wound, and Emma stared at it, wide eyed and suddenly nauseous. Some horrible tingling feeling coursed through her body.
"What the fuck," she mouthed, and she dropped her axe, now blood stained. She hadn't meant to, she was just shaking so much.
Shit. Her axe had blood on it. If she went walking around with it, someone might call the cops. She might even get something pinned on her. People do go missing every day in Hatchetfield, after all.
But how was she going to clean it? And where?
... And what the fuck did she cut into?
Whatever it was, she might as well kill it.
She picked up the axe and swung again, now much stronger, fueled by adrenaline. Blood sprayed out, onto her scarf, shirt and coat.
"Shit!" The nausea crept back into her, swimming grossly in her chest and stomach. She closed her eyes when she made the final cut, sending the tree careening down.
She opened her eyes to a wooden tree stump. Normal and unassuming. There was no sign of the inner life it had shown before.
She looked down at her unclean axe. Something had definitely happened. Her heart seemed to almost seize in her chest. She was suddenly aware of the dryness of her mouth.
She was suddenly aware that she was being watched.
