Writing Prompt

Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree.

Alone.

Afraid.

I’m not sure why, but, it is terrifying. It shouldn’t be, I know. It’s not like I’m dying or surrounded by dead bodies. But the eeriness of it. The vulnerability of _myself_.

I don’t know who does it. There’s no trace of anything in my house that would lead me to suspect anyone.

At first I thought I started to sleepwalk.

My d...

Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree; cottonmouth. My eyes burn and droop down my face like they’ve been open forever. I can hear it whispering to me, the tree.

“speak the truth.” It’s words are carved in bark, sap bleeding out. But I don’t know. I don’t know the truth, and every morning is the same.

I walk home, my feet dragging along the asphalt, the sun burning through my skin....

I ran into the woods, towards the camp I knew my father had planned to ambush that day along with the other men of the village. It had been to long for them to not have returned. A sick feeling had buried itself in my gut and the shadows that were once my friends seemed ominous. When I reached the campsite… all I saw was blood. I hid among the leaves and branches and the scene I looked down on… wa...

Every night I wake up

under the same crooked tree.

A mighty oak -

I swear it’s either slinging

dope or out to get me.

This tree’s no joke.

In blood it’s soaked.

It’s bark is broke.

I hear it croak,

“With me you woke.”

This green has some dirty leaves.

Leaves me sorta wondering,

can trees do some low-down things?

Can a tree hear

me when I scream?

Do trees sleep

and do they dream?

...

Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree.

Then, each day following, I work as an Account Executive, which, like most jobs, is equivalent to a corporate serf.

Each day, wasting the brilliance of nature in favor of a PowerPoint presentation and an afternoon of dry meetings.

All to come to my 5 hours of freedom, where I can live a sliver of my life for myself.

Then, after a few hours...

The field outside my window goes on for miles, an endless wave of gold wheat that crashes against the shore of a barb-wired fence. It glows in the setting sun.

Cornflower blue sky. Sharp white clouds. Cool summer breeze. Honeyed sunset.

I count the crows gathering around my scarecrow, screaming their jagged songs into the darkening sky. There's seven... maybe nine. I've lost track.

The coarse r...

“Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree”.

It doesn’t matter if I take my medicine or something “else”.

I have tried restraining myself to no avail. It doesn’t matter how far away I travel or if I end my night already near the tree. I always wake up as though I have been placed next to the tree like a doll....

Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree

The weight of roots

They bend and crack

Crushing bones in crooked me.

Be wary what you do in life

The aura of your hate

Will carry over to the grave

Where you wake from crushing weight.

Forever waking,

Forever breaking,

Never resting, never free.

Yes, be careful who you curse in life

Or you may wake under the tree.

...

“Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree. Its sad aura radiates off of it. Something about it is intriguing. As if it calls out to me.”

She said gazing up at sky.

“Am I cursed? Am I dreaming? Am I dead? Is this some type of crazy prank? Or maybe even a punishment?”

“Perhaps it… it has some connection with me?

Or with my father? This place.. doesn’t even look like earth. Am I on a diffe...

Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree

Staring at the rotten body that once was me

Punishment for my sins my cold heart admits

For when I was alive I dared cross all my limits.

A wretch I was, my dark soul knew no kindness

Many I did hurt in this ravaging blindness

Thirst for blood or maybe just revenge

There were many whose death I wanted to avenge

But I gave in to despair, to pain ...