Author Note: This is something I had to write for my advanced writing class. I actually really like it. We were supposed to write about one moment in time and go into detail using the five senses. I'd like to know if my readers thought it was any good. Comments would be nice. I know it's not long but, it wasn't supposed to be. Including this note, this is about 417 words long. I'm thinking about making this part of a story. Maybe Death Note? This is why I posted this under Death Note.
Soft noises echoed through the trees. A lazy wind rustled leaves in the trees and brought the fresh, minty smell of evergreens into a clearing. Leaves of varying red and orange hues fell from trees, landing on the ground soundlessly. A large ring of trees opened up to reveal a tiny form. The figure moved quietly from leaf pile to leaf pile. The only noise coming from the crisp crunch of leaves, as feet danced upon them, and the melody that drifted from the silver flute held daintily in young, worn hands. The setting sun's golden rays bounced off of silver as tiny fingers pushed and released keys to create the calming sounds.
Chocolate colored locks flowed slightly behind the petite and pale form. When seen, dark sky blue eyes sparkled for her unmoving audience. Her body moved in time with the slow breeze; a twist here then a turn there. But no one would ever know for, she only performed for one audience and they would not, could not, tell. The only sign of life, other than the girl, was in the form of a small boy. His straw like hair almost covered his curious eyes. He sat, unmoving, even though the grass beneath him was dry and uncomfortable.
The woman's disappearance was inevitable; as quickly as she had come, she would disappear. She had been in front of an old oak, which towered above the rest of the trees, before she faded away. He longed to move, to reach out and bring the swaying woman back. The last time he had, she had given him her 'big-sister-smile', the one she saved for him. Beneath a pile of burnt yellows and dusty browns, in front of the tree, a crudely made cross sat. A name was etched into the oak wood. Though, through years of blistering winter winds, cold spring rains, and the holes insects had created for homes, it was illegible.
