Amber’s Child

Prologue

In the mountains there are these rare trees. They are rare because they are little mistakes to the Darwinian survival of the fittest. What I mean is those trees that cling tot the mountain’s flank and succeed in their drowning man’s grip, while everything else about their composure; their diagonal, downward built should make them fall into the valley. But they don’t. This stubbornness is beautiful in pretend to defy the law of gravity.

Yet, you see it, and you think: almost… Almost. What if the wind blew? What if the earth shook? What if the roots grow old? That infinite realm of possibility makes it beautiful that even just for a moment longer, the tree remains to be.

Like the seaside line between ebb and flow. The water almost reaching your toes. Almost… Almost.

But of course, the if of what if is fatal. For if the earth would shake, that tree will be the first to perish. It doesn’t matter. Not a difference between tree and edge. Like tree, like edge in cruelty, in danger consists its beauty.

Of course, were I grew up, there were no mountains, there was no sea. I only knew them from stories. Stories I wanted to claim as my own. My own dreams, my own adventures.

Like this is just a story. The shadow of an adventure. The memory of a dream.

And you find yourself believing it almost… Almost. Maybe I was really there.

-- End of Prologue --

This is the tinyest glimpse of the story. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review. Thank you...