Onwards, onwards, onwards.
My feet land heavily on the dirt covered path, the trees that line either side of me the only other souls, the barrier between me and the fog.
They have souls, the trees. And branches that swoop down and grasp at your hair if you try to climb them.
I tried once, when I first became lost. I also tried to sneak between them when I thought they wouldn’t notice, when night had fallen and their burgundy leaves turned black. They move closer to each other if you try that, and if you get caught, well, you won’t be trying it again.
It isn’t a secret why I’m here. Okay, I’m not really lost. I just lied because I’m embarrassed. It’s a trial we all have to take. That’s the problem. I was never any good at trials and although I know why I’m here I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be looking for. I just know, without a doubt, that I’m alone.
Someone will have already figured it out though. There’ll be a hero back home drinking wine, dancing, doing the usual hero type thing. I suddenly feel pretty stupid for once celebrating what one day would be at my own expense.
The thing is though, right now, I don’t think that’s what I should be worrying about at all. Because the problem is, I thought I knew something without a doubt. That there isn’t supposed to be anyone else here. I said that, right? So now my question is: who is that?
Flash fiction exercise to write a 300 short inspired by the above picture, posted over at Litopia. It was fun! Gave me a chance to practice first person.