That one dream

We were living in a simple house. I was nine years old. In that one house my mother did all the cleaning and cooking while my father hanged out in the dark alleys without notifying us of  his whereabouts. My father ran away. He ran of with his new wife, whose nicknames "Grissy." Grissy was a very pretty lady. She had black hair, it reminded me of the sheen of a black stallion, her eyes were the brown of a caramel and the blush of her cheeks was faint but admirable. I had wished that Grissy was me and that I was Grissy, so my father could take me away. I did not want to live in that house where the peach tree sank in sorrow. The peach tree which never bared fruit.

The peach tree is where the story begin and lives end. It was surrounded by white chrysanthemums . They were beautiful, always in bloom and they would always point up straight towards my eyes looking down on them. The peach tree did not nourish much as the chrysanthemums did. The tree did not reflect the life the flowers evicted. It never bloomed its buds which turned into flowers which transformed into peaches that would eventually be picked by us or picked at by the crows. There never was a plop nor splatter of the fruit for the fruit was never there. The tree was dead; if it did not provide fruits for my mother and I to enjoy it was dead and so the tree took the dead with it.

A week later I saw my mom, she was floating off a branch of the tree. I tugged at her foot and she simply spun a little. Her foot was stiff. As a child, I knew she had died. I don't like peaches. They separated me from my mom and sent me off. Months later, after staying in that one house where all the lonely children stayed my aunt came to pick me up. She asked me to live with her and I went. Her house was very big, blue and had no peach trees; I was very happy. But soon my aunt was sent to the hospital and never came back until I saw her in the casket; my uncle angrily tossed me back in the simple house I lived in and I stayed there a few hours until my neighbor came. I was saved.

I eventually grew up in that house. I did not live there though, my life was in m,y neighbor's house, with his child, around my age, who was named Tom. Tom gave me life and while I spent my nights in torture, to try to heal myself from my backyards memento, I focused on the life in the daytime where I loved to hang out with Tom. Eventually, Tom's father told me I should continue my education and so I did. I did not only that but worked so I could eat my own food and pay my own bills. I fell in love with Tom and we got married. We moved to another city and as a memoir of my mother I planted a peach tree and surrounded it with chrysanthemums. I felt like good things had finally begun to happen. I had a child. I lost that child. Tom lost me. We lost each other. All that remained was the peach tree and myself. I then felt my mother's heart ache. I climbed up the tree and positioned the rope my mother had done so years ago. I then slid down and let myself drop. It was the end of my attempt on life. The peach tree stayed there. It eventually withered and the chrysanthemums died as well.  I suppose the peach tree was my companion from the beginning.