• Thick black hair fell over Julia’s delicate features as she fervently sketched the long tender branches of the weeping willow before her. This had become her Tuesday ritual since she was seven years old; she remembered the old burnt willow that had been at her parents’ house. Its branches beaten and almost barren and it lay in the most peculiar spot, perfectly out of place right in the middle of their desolate back yard. Hung from the highest branch was her tire swing, which her father would swing her around on energetically night and day. He never minded playing with her. Maybe it was because he wasn’t around often, always away on business trips. And when he was home, the only time he smiled was when he was playing with Julia. And after he tucked her into bed she’d lock the door to keep her mother out, and all night long she’d hear screaming. Only from her mother of course. But it wasn’t like her father was abusive or anything. Her mother was just a bit, odd. She would get up in the middle of the night and talk to people that weren’t really there. Sometimes she claimed they hurt her. Julia was almost ashamed to look like her. Her mother was beautiful, but lack of sleep had torn away at her features, leaving her eyes tired and her skin pasty. And they were both petite, not much over five foot four. But Julia mirrored her mother in the worst way, for looks were not the only thing that resembled her. She heard the voices her mother heard, quietly whispering to her in the night, speaking horrible murderous things. So far she had successfully ignored them, blocking them out with the sounds of her own singing. But she was sure that wouldn’t work for long, for she feared, just as her mother had, that soon she would not only hear them, but she would see them too. But years had passed since she was seven, and who she was is barely as shadow on the fence that appears in her dreams. Sparks flicker off the shadow every so often, and only Julia barely remember the mind that lain behind it. Once an innocent naïve child, now a beaten and sorrowful thing. Just like her mother Julia was crumbling, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Just like the burnt trees that lade in her backyard, she was an empty shell. Morbidly beautiful, full of dark secrets and deep sorrow. She was silenced by her dreams, memories with blank faces if anything; she sits and draws a self portrait. She is the willow tree, and her mother is the match that’s lies at the root that peeks from above Julia’s feet. The scent of gasoline still fresh… she still remembers clearly that sullen November day. Sitting outside on her front porch step crying her delicate little eyes out because her mother couldn’t seem to remember her name. Screams could be heard from the back yard, but she ignored them. She didn’t want this, she needed a normal family. So she reluctantly decided to leave, make it easier for her father to take care of her mother. She walked only one block, but her tiny child feet were tired so she sat under another willow tree in an empty field. She store up at the sky, wondering where the clouds had come from so suddenly. She took a deep intake of breath and coughed loudly. Then she realized that the clouds in the sky were not what they seemed. Nausea flooded into her stomach as she got up and ran as fast as she could. She ran down her driveway and into the front door, stopping for the flames were completely and utterly blinding. She screamed for her father, and heard a weak “Julia…” and then she saw him, his skin scalded and eyes dry. The look on his face was utterly terrifying. She watched in horror as violent flames overtook her father until she could see no more. Her every tear evaporating before it hit the ground. Then she saw her mother, already dead on the sofa, a small smirk painted on her delicate little face… a smile like vengeance…
    Julia snapped back into reality, she checked her watch. 5:48, she was supposed to be home forty-eight minutes ago. She gathered up her pencil, sketch pad and various other tools and stuffed them into her bright yellow canvas bag. She slung the bag over her shoulder and ran towards her grandmother’s house to begin supper.

    “Grandma? I’m home. Sorry I was late.” Julia yelled. She threw her bag and coat on the floor by the door, and took off her shoes placing them neatly beside her other things. She walked into the kitchen, filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove, starting the burner. She looked out the kitchen window; her grandmother was outside watering the magnolias she had planted over three months ago. They were practically dead, but there was no point in arguing with her. She didn’t listen to anything anyone said. Julia walked out into the back yard; her arms crossed, and stood on the back porch staring at her grandmother intently.

    “Grandma? I’m making dinner…” she said sweetly, but quietly.

    “No, that’s okay deary I already made it. It’s on the dining room table.” She answered, not looking up from the flowers, which she was now feeling delicately. Julia had seen the dining room table; there was nothing on it but a spilt bottle of salt and an empty canister of baby powder. The same as yesterday.

    “Alright then…” Julia replied, turning around, walking quietly back into the kitchen. The water was boiling over the top of the pan. Julia ran to the cabinet and pulled out angel hair pasta, pepper and marinara sauce. She poured the noodles in the pan and threw some salt in as well. Taking out another pan for the sauce, she started humming absentmindedly. She set the burner to high, and walked into the living room switching the television on. She found the remote and flipped to channel nine, where the local news was playing. This was the only thing she watched on T.V, and the only time she did. She turned to volume up so she could hear it in the kitchen and went back to check on the pasta. She stirred the sauce delicately, it was done. She drained the noodles, and spooned them into two bowls, pouring three spoonfuls of sauce on the noodles. She looked out the window… her grandmother was gone. She put on her shoes and ran outside, the brisk October air was chilling.

    “Grandma, dinners done!” she cried out, this happened often. Most likely she would turn up at the neighbors, asking if they knew where her husband was. She ran next door, and rung the doorbell.

    “Have you seen my-“ she stopped. A boy with auburn hair and bright green eyes answered the door. He had perfect skin, and his hair slightly covered one eye, the other looking tired and worn. Julia had never seen him before; he wore a “bring me the horizon” band shirt and slightly fitted torn jeans. He was holding an old Victorian picture frame in one hand, and a camera in the other. Julia realized that she stopped midsentence to stare and quickly started again; “Have you seen grandma, she ran off, and she’s a bit senile, so I’m afraid she might get lost.”

    “No I haven’t, but I’ll send out the alert.” He answered, no smile crossed his face and he slammed the door. ‘Friendly guy…’ Julia thought mordantly, she was heading down the sidewalk, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that the boy was peeking out of the blinds at her, she turned to face the house. But as quickly as he was there, he had left, the blinds shaking where he had been. She turned around and headed back down the sidewalk, completely mesmerized by this boy. He might have been rude, but he was the cutest guy to ever live in may side drive. She was so immersed in thoughts about him that she didn’t notice that her grandmother was sitting on their front porch, petting a hanging plant. So when she called out to Julia, it obviously startled her.

    “Dearest Amelia isn’t dinner ready yet?” she called out from the porch.

    “I’m Julia grandmother, and yes it is. Where did you go? You had me worried!” She sighed, as she took her grandmothers elbow and led her into the dining room, sitting her at her seat, and brought her pasta. Julia’s Grandmother spooned it into her mouth like a hungry toddler; Julia just sat eating her pasta politely and quietly. She looked beyond her grandmother out into the backyard through the stained glass patio window. The sun was setting, and it was almost time to put her grandma to sleep. But when the sun sets, the horror only begins.

    “Grandmother, I think it’s time for bed now.” Julia said hastily as she took the empty pasta bowl away from her grandma. She went into the kitchen and put the bowl in the sink, rinsing it out, and then putting it in the dishwasher. She hurriedly went to the medicine cabinet and grabbed her grandmother’s pills. Doxylamine, a sedative that would keep her asleep, she often wandered around in the night, Namenda, a medication for Alzheimer’s, and Doxepin for her anxiety attacks. Julia took about two of each, and ground them up into a glass of milk; otherwise her grandmother would not take them.

    “Grandma, you can have one glass of milk then you have to go to sleep.” Julia whispered as she slid the glass in front of her. Without a word, she took the glass and chugged it down. She stood up, and with her paisley nightgown flowing behind her as she walked. Julia sat at the table, her black hair covering most of her face; she waited to hear the slam of her grandmother’s bedroom door… And there it was. Julia scurried around the house. She ran to her grandmother’s room and locked the door from the outside. Then she locked all the windows and doors, and closed the blinds and curtains. Finally she turned on every single light in the house, one by one, slowly making the house brighter and brighter. Till you could see every last piece of dust in every corner of the room. Julia went into the living room, and sat down on the couch. Wrapping her up in the thick woolen blanket that lay on the floor next to her. She pulled it all the way up to the bottom of her eyes, waiting in dreadful silence. She closed her eyes, and her heart beat heavily. It first came in whispers, saying she was worthless, it was her fault he died, and she could have saved him. Then the voices became louder, now telling her that she should just kill herself, that there was no need for her on this earth. Then they started to scream, her mother’s voice taunted her, yelling horrible hateful things. Tears streamed down her face, her body convulsed, and images began to run through her mind. Trees burning down to ashes, bodies laying so deformed on the ground that they made her sick, crows flying, their wings on fire, and her father crying…burning. The voices and visions stopped, Julia now was on the ground, pulling at her head. She looked down at her hands; balls of hair were strung between her fingers. She flung them off, crying hysterically. She ran to the bathroom and vomited blood into the toilet, again and again until she was about ready to pass out. She lay against the wall, clutching her face in her hands crying. Her eyeliner ran down her face, leaving pools of dark water on the bathroom floor. She shakily pulled herself up and walked over to the sink, splashing cold water on her face. ‘That was only the beginning.’ She thought as she looked into the mirror. Her eyes were tired and her cheeks were pale. Day by day, night by night, Julia was starting to look and act less like herself… and more like her mother.