Perhaps it was the fear of plummeting to the ground, or maybe the immense claustrophobia, or, I suppose, even the fear of small living creatures long ago given the title “insects”. It could have been any of the young girl’s childish yet fully self-explanatory fears that had driven her away from the small tree in front of her house overlooking the great city ahead of the cliff. Whichever one of the thousands that existed, however, her story ends in the exact same way each and every time.
It could have started with her fear of being alone atop the tree whilst staring dreamily into the sunrise or perhaps it was her fear of tumbling up and over the one hundred and fifty foot cliff. As previously stated, I have run nearly all of these possible starting points through my mind but all of them, in one way or another, ended up with the miniature girl batting her large sea-blue eyes and giggling at the sunrise which colored the sky as if a brush had been used to hide the light blue tint. Her setting, I made sure to take note of, was between approximately seven or eight strong branches which seemed to have sprouted from the tall cylinder which made up the base of the tree. Her story? I can explain that in a matter of seconds.
It had been a challenge. A challenge set by the voice on the inside which whispered in her ear every night before she went to sleep and each morning when she woke up to the sight of an orange color sprayed on the wall before her. It told her to face her fears, to go up to that tree firmly planted in the fertile soil and place her small feet atop its branches.
So that was what she did. As she did as she was told, she sang. She sang of her fears, of the voice inside her head, and of the small tree’s life healthily growing in her backyard.
Before her, the Sun arose.