Across the house where Hilda lived stood a tree. The tree was not particularly tall or wide, its color were normal just like any other trees in the forest. Yet, all other trees beside it were felled, only this tree was left standing. When inspected closely, at waist’s height, there was a cut into the tree’s trunk. The cut was no deeper than the skin of the tree, small branches can be seen emerging from the cut.


    Today, Hilda had woke up early. After the usual routine, Hilda picked up an axe, and walked toward the lonely tree. She aimed the axe toward the cut. With all the strength in her body, she started swinging toward the tree.


    As she cut into the tree gradually, her eyes started to fill up with tears. She held her tears back, trying to hold her emotions before she finished the job. She took deep and long breathes with particular rhythm, a trick her father taught her when she was small.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    After half an hour, Hilda stopped. She knew that one more blow is all the tree needed to fall. She looked to the right, a path leading out from her house toward the nearby town. If her father were to return, he would definitely return via this route. She waited for minutes, giving her father one last chance to come back and fell the tree himself.


    After a while, she wiped her eyes, and picked up the axe. The tree crashed toward the ground. Hilda threw her axes at a random direction. She went toward her house, picked up her baggages, and locked the door. She walked toward the town, following the path she saw her father took ten years ago.