Short Story – The Dark Maple

It's an intriguing title (at least, I think so!) but as of yet, I do not know what story goes with it. Let us venture on and find out where this dark maple takes us!

THE STORY

Outside the old school, there is a maple tree. It's trunk is a little twisted, and it bends to the side, but it's been there for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, I would walk with my father to pick up my older brother from school, and I would watch my brother and his friends playing around and in the tree. I remember being scared for the branches, as they bowed with the weight of my brother and his friends all dangling from it, seeing who could hold on for the longest.

I don't see my brother anymore. He had a massive argument with our father, and stormed out of the house with a bag over his shoulder. I've tried calling him, but he never picks up. I text him every morning to ask how he is, or to tell him about some crazy dream I had, and every evening, to tell him about my day. Every so often, I might get a reply, but they are few and far between.

The school has closed down now, and the building is derelict. The gates are chained up, enclosing the tree in by itself. There are no children hanging off it anymore, no laughter, no sound except for the faint rustling of the wind blowing softly among the leaves.

Of course, it is not completely alone. When my brother left, he didn't just abandon me, he also abandoned the tree. I visit it sometimes, because I know it's pain, I know the feeling of loneliness it must feel. It reminds me of my brother, and maybe I remind the tree. When I sit under it, I can almost hear the sound of laughter when someone lets go and lands on the ground, the shouts of 'I'll get you!' when one person ran after another, using the tree for protection in the game of chase.

I remember my brother when he was younger, when he went to this school and played those games with his friends. I don't think about what happened after he left this school, moved on to the school up the road. After a while, he stopped playing those sorts of games, and made new friends. He argued with our father, and spent less time with me. I was only a child at the time, but I always remembered walking up the hill with my father, hearing my brother's voice and running the last few meters to find him.

Climbing the fence is easy, more so now that I'm older. I'm older now than my brother was when he left. The tree seems much smaller now than it did when I was little. It has not grown with me, but rather stayed the same size, the same old tree by the old school.

I often sit down at the base of the tree after school or work. When my brother doesn't reply, I feel disconnected from him, and I don't want to forget him like he seems to have forgotten me. I sit in the shadow of the maple, and pull out my sketchbook. I can't draw, I know that, but I remember sitting in the sun outside with my brother when we were younger, trying to draw each other. My drawing was little more than a stickman with hair, but his – his was a masterpiece. He never took the credit that was due for his drawing. I wonder sometimes, when I'm sat under the tree, with my sketchbook open in front of me, whether he still draws.

I look down at the empty page, and put my pencil to the paper. I can't draw real life, but I can draw pretend. I can draw monsters and creatures, tall buildings with turrets and tiny fairies with wings. None of my drawings are very good, but with make-believe, you can pretend that the mess on the page is what you meant to put there. That it's meant to look like that.

Every time I finish a drawing, I take a picture of it and send it to my brother, telling him what it is, and asking if he still draws. He's never responded to those messages, so I've come to the conclusion that he doesn't draw anymore.

As the sky, and the shadow the maple is casting over me, darkens, I start to pack up my things, and make for the fence, sending my brother a picture of my drawing as I walked. My message ends the same as usual: Do you still draw?

I hop over the fence and look up at the dark clouds. I shove my phone into my back pocket, and bury my hands deep into my hoodie pocket. When my phone buzzes, I ignore it, assuming it's the group chat I'm in with some friends, and someone's started a conversation.

It's not until I get back, shouting into the emptiness that I'm home, in case my father is there to hear, that I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the message.

Of course I do. Here's my most recent.

The pencil lines were flawless, the shading perfect. It was a replica of an old picture of us, I couldn't have been more than eight, he no more than sixteen. He's holding me around my middle, dangling me upside-down, smiling down at me as I laugh.

I smile down at my phone, and type back.

Here's a recent picture of me. Can you draw an updated picture?

I put my phone down on the kitchen table and grabbed a drink. I didn't expect a reply, so when it came, I almost spilt my drink reaching for my phone.

Sure. But I'm not making it up, I need something to copy. We'll have to take a picture together.

I stared down at the message. Was he being serious? I hadn't seen him for years, hadn't got a text conversation out of him for just as long. Now he was proposing we meet up and take a picture?

When?

I didn't want to get my hopes up, and set my phone down again. The doorbell rang, and I put my drink down to go and answer it. The neighbour kid had probably kicked his ball over our fence again.

I pulled open the door, and was faced, not with the small, scrawny, messy-haired child from next door, but with a man, taller than me. His hair was shorter and his face more matured than I remembered, but I couldn't mistake him.

"How about we take it now?"

Run the credits!

Okay, so The Dark Maple doesn't really have much to do with the maple. Initially, I thought there was going to be a ghost or a murderer or something. What a turn of events!

I quite like this story. It's much longer than my previous ones on here, but I think it's fine.

Let me know what you think!

Bye!