It’s not like she didn’t plan on coming here. In fact, if she was brave enough to be honest, a part
of her yearned to be here. It all led up to this: home.
The forest, with its skeleton trees that still produced impenetrable shadows, made her feel as if
this was where she belonged.
She looked down at her t-shirt that used to hug her chest, but she didn’t need to be hugged
anymore. This was no place for that. This was a place where all around you moved in. The trees
enveloped you in their arms and held you as close to their ragged trunks and fallen leaves as
She had been here before; the trees creaked to her and sang her a song that hallowed out her
soul so that she could make it whole again.
“You feel like you deserve this?”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do know. Can you tell me?”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s true. It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.”
“Why do you think you tell yourself this?”
“It’s all I’ve ever been told.”
“By others or yourself?”
“So, is that why you do this to yourself?”
“If I’m nothing, then I should be nothing.”
The roots of the trees, the ribs of the trees, jut out of the earth, but she didn’t try to avoid them.
She liked the twinge of the sharp points, liked the way the rough edges took her breath away so
she could try to breathe again.
She looked around, desperately hoping to see her again. Last time, she had disappeared into
the roses before she had a chance to finish. Not this time. This time would be different. This
time, maybe the thorns would keep her.
“You mentioned once that you feel better. Is that true?”
“I feel more…right.”
“I don’t know. Like, this is me. This is who I am.”
“But it wasn’t always.”
“That’s because I didn’t know.”
“What made you know?”
The shadows of the skeletons wilted away to make room for the stars that never came. But she
was still able to see. The only thing she needed to see was the dark.
A gust of wind overtook her entire body and she felt emptily whole as she smiled.
She was here.
She filled her lungs with the wind and breathed out ash. It danced in front of her like blood in
water until the ash started to come together to create her pointed face of razor cheeks and
jutted lips. Her black wings were her cloak that she bathed in and sparse feathers dotted her
skull as the remaining ashes blew away.
Her black wings folded down over arms and she held out her hand.
“Give me your hand, Lily,” the woman said.
Lily held out her hand and touched her finger to the woman’s. Black ink started to fill up her
hand with cold and the black danced around her wrist and rooted itself through her elbow.
The woman smiled down at her when it was filled.
“And what has she told you?”
“That I needed to be better. That I wasn’t good enough.”
“Why weren’t you good enough.”
“I was too much.”
“And do you feel better?”
The woman floated across the fallen leaves and wrapped her wings around Lily.
“My dear, I can finally wrap my wings all the way around you.” The woman kissed her on her
cheek. “And I can finally feel your bones.”
Despite the wings, despite the kiss, Lily was cold.
“Don’t be afraid, darling. It’s okay to be cold.”
She could always read her mind. That was Lily’s favorite part. Someone understood. Someone
made her not feel like, as her mother would say, “crazy”.
“Being cold only means that you can feel.” The woman smiled.
“Yes, I am better.”
“Your mother brought you here because you keep fainting. Do you think that’s really better?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s worth it.”
The woman lifted her wings and held Lily away so she could look at her.
Lily stared back. Hoping she wouldn’t see. Hoping she wouldn’t notice–
But the woman lifted her eyebrows knowingly. “Lily.”
“I know,” Lily whispered. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her head to look at her thigh peeking out
underneath her shirt. The skin bulged up, the lines a gross reminder of all of her mistakes.
The woman put her hand on Lily’s thigh. “Let me help you.”
The black ink flowed from her wings, through Lily’s thigh. As the ink dripped from her body, so
did the fat, so did the lines.
Lily felt relief.
“It’s worth it? Is it worth it if this kills you?”
“Do you want it to kill you?”
“Thank you,” Lily whispered to the woman.
But the woman didn’t smile back, she didn’t take away her hand. She only furrowed her brow. “It
is not enough,” she said in a flat voice.
Lily’s eyes widened as she looked down at her legs to see them dripping, dripping, dripping with
ink. A black pool filled the forest floor. But it just kept dripping. Her legs kept dripping.
Disappearing. Lily looked back at the woman, panic filling her lungs.
“Please,” Lily said.
“Not enough,” the woman said flatly, not looking at her, but smirking at the pool of black she was
Lily tried to move, but she was trapped. She couldn’t lift her feet. And it kept dripping.
But then, she spotted it, a flash of red. A flash of thorns behind the woman who wouldn’t stop.
“I’m so afraid.”
“You don’t have to live like this. You don’t have to be afraid.”
The roses reached up like flames behind the woman and swiftly grabbed her by the by the
wings. The force tore away her hands. The ink started to dry up.
“But, dear. We’re not done yet. We’re so close,” the woman said calmly as the rose branches
started to lift her up. Her eyes told of panic.
Lily didn’t say anything, frozen to the forest floor amongst the ink.
The roses lifted up its branches and dug it’s thorns into the woman’s skull. The woman
screeched as her feathers started to give way to ashes.
“Lily, you don’t want this. You need to–”
The largest and brightest rose lifted its bulb over the woman face. It opened up its petals and
collapsed over her screams. The thorns disintegrated the darkness into mere ash and all was
Lily felt something warm slide down her hollow cheek. She lifted up her finger and wiped the
tear across her face.
Maybe she didn’t have to be hollow.
This forest never had to be her home.
Twitter: @kaitlynluckow Instagram: kaitlyn.luckow
“Skeleton Trees” is a short story that follows a main character as she deals with her anorexia through conversations with her therapists and a magical realism world that she creates to justify her actions against herself.
Kaitlyn is a writer based in Portland, OR. Her roots are in education and she was a high-school English teacher for five years before taking the leap to follow her passion for increasing compassion and understanding through storytelling in writing.
She believes in the ability of writing as a vehicle for empathy. In order to tell stories that unite, she believes in the power of well-crafted writing, honest storytelling, and creating stories that connect.
Her creative writing has been previously published at Wide Eyes Publishing, Barren Magazine, and The Crybaby Club.