The Hanging Tree

A familiar song played itself in peters head "strange things have happened here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree" the words haunted him as he repeated them effortlessly. He remembered the feelings.. They all rushed back. He remembered the smells, the sounds, the voices, like they were coming back from the dead. It was midnight, and as he looked up at the stars, he was waiting at the tree, waiting for her, but she wouldn't come.. She wouldn't be there. He missed her, he felt that he needed her, but he knew he didn't, it was simply lust, greedy, greedy lust. It only reminded him of what could've been, what he didn't have. He waited at the tree, looking for company, all he could find was a rope and a short stool. He sat on the stool and imagined all the dirty shoes that have stepped on it, all the liars, the thieves that stood before the tree, the final image they ever saw, before they left this perfect world. A dead tree, standing alone, the beauty of the tree had died off, just like the rest of its victims