consumedbythemossyforest

[consumedbythemossyforest]

A Pocketful of Sunshine

The goblin stepped up to the counter in the coffee shop, “One black coffee with a shot of charisma, please!” The orc behind the counter whose nametag read Kansif nodded and hit a few buttons on the machine, “And can I get a name for that?” 

“Pocket.”

“Excellent, I’ll have that ready for you in just a moment.” The orc turned around and glanced at the machines behind her and they promptly started whirring. The shop was relatively empty so she turned back to Pocket, “Big day?”

“Ah, yeah,” Pocket said, hand rubbing the back of their neck “I have a job interview in like 30 minutes. How did you know?”

Kansif chuckled, “People only order charisma shots when something important is happening.”

Pocket smiled up at her and damn it was like their entire face lit up. They ran their hand through their hair and Kansif was struck by the urge to brush that hair back into place.

“Ha! Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I’m just nervous y’know? It’s basically my dream job and I really want them to like me.”

With a snap of Kansif’s fingers, another light flicked on behind them, “I’ll add a shot of lavender too.” When it seemed Pocket was going to open their mouth to protest, Kansif swiftly cut them off with, “Don’t worry, it’s on the house. While it might not be magic, lavender always helps calm my nerves.” With that, there was a ding from the machine indicating that Pocket’s coffee was ready. Kansif slipped an enchanted, heat-resistant, sleeve on the cup before she passed it over to Pocket.

“Thank you for the coffee!” They said, heading for the door.

“It’s my pleasure honestly, and good luck with the job interview!” Kansif answered, picking up a cloth and beginning to wipe down the counter.

Meanwhile, Pocket made their way to the building where their interview was being held and took a sip of the perfectly warm coffee. Huh, they thought, the lavender works surprisingly well. As they brought the cup to their face for another sip, a bit of writing caught their eye.

Pocket, I just thought you should know that I think you’d get the job even without the charisma shot. And I’m honestly surprised that I’m doing this without one myself, but let me know how it goes? Maybe over some dinner? Xxx-xxx-xxxx.

Kansif

The words warm Pocket more than the coffee ever could. Of course they had thought Kansif was stunning. She was tall and strong-looking but had kind eyes and a gentle smile. And she had been so sweet to Pocket, helping soothe them and wishing them luck. And now this? It was almost too good to be true, but Pocket was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so they carefully slipped the sleeve into their jacket and opened to door to Bharash’s Books and Beats.

A middle-aged (what was considered middle-aged for a Dragonborn? Pocket should probably figure that out) Dragonborn was at the front counter, flipping through the pages of a well-worn copy of Bookseller’s Almanac: The A to Z of Storytelling and Story-Selling. Pocket finished the rest of her coffee, threw it out, and cleared their throat, “Ah, excuse me? I’m here for a job interview?”  The Dragonborn looked up and smiled broadly,

“Of course! You must be Pocket! A pleasure to meet you,” She had set down her book and made her way around the counter, offering her hand for Pocket to shake. They clasped hands, and Pocket couldn’t help but notice how their hand was completely enveloped by the dragonborns. 

“It’s good to meet you too….?” Pocket trailed off, subtly trying to spot a name tag.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Where are my manners? The name’s Bharash,” Not subtly enough, apparently, “I own the store!”

Pocket raised an eyebrow, “You’re kidding. I thought that it was a completely different Bharash who had their name on the store,” they quipped. Then immediately winced, this was the kind of attitude that ensured they hadn’t lasted long at many of their previous jobs. To their relief, Bharash just laughed and clapped them on the shoulder, causing them to stumble slightly, “That’s a good one! I sure am glad that you have a sense of humour, it means you’ll fit in just fine. Now, would you follow me to my office?” Pocket inclined their head in an after-you gesture, “Wonderful!” She glanced into the stacks of books, “Alvarie! Do you mind watching the counter for a bit? I have an interview!” Pocket saw a young sprite poke its head out from behind a particularly precarious tower and squeak back, 

“Yes of course!”

Bharash opened the door to a cozy, dimly lit office. There were leather chairs and a particularly impressive illusion of a fireplace that emitted just enough heat to keep one warm, but not too much that it was stifling. She sat down behind a gorgeous mahogany desk and gestured Pocket to a chair on the other side, “Now, Pocket, you’re applying to be our events coordinator, do I have that right?” Pocket was thankfully feeling their shot of charisma by now and their eyes lit up,

“Yes, I am!”

“Stupendous! Now, would you mind telling me why you applied and what ideas you have for the role?” Bharash sat back in her chair, a gentle smile on her broad face.

“Yeah, sure!” Pocket said, scooching forward in their seat, “There was this library back in my hometown, Mosvil, and every Tuesday night they would host this paint night. The first time I went, I completely fell in love with the space. I had never painted before in my life but the instructors were so nice and patient, it felt like I belonged there. It was this wonderful community that I had become a part of, everyone was included and it was something constant that I could always look forward to.” By now Pocket’s grin stretched across their face and their hands were flying in their enthusiasm, “Ever since then I’ve wanted to bring that sort of space to others. But not just paint nights. I was thinking of doing something different each night. Maybe painting one night, but also knitting another night. Oh and writing…” Pocket trailed off, “Sorry about that. I just get really excited thinking about it.”

Bharash let out a hearty laugh, “Yes, you sure do! And that’s exactly what we’re looking for here. I honestly don’t see any point in dragging this out, you have the job if you want it.”

Pocket gaped for a second before saying, “Yes! Yes of course! Thank you so much!”

“No need to thank me, just bring this enthusiasm with you next week. We can get started on planning and advertising on Monday, how does that sound?”

“That sounds great, ma’am!” and Bharash scoffed,

“Oh no!” Bharash sputtered, “Please don’t call me ma’am, I’m not that old, and we’re definitely not that formal here. Just call me Bharash.” They made their way out of the office and back to the front counter where Alvarie was ringing a customer through. “Well, it was wonderful meeting you Pocket, I’ll see you here on Monday. Nine o’clock!”

“I’ll be here.” Pocket smiled and stepped out of the store. 

On their way home, Pocket pulled out their phone and the coffee sleeve and entered a new number into their contacts. 

Hey Kansif, it’s Pocket! How does seven sound? My treat :) 

And so Pocket smiled, and kept smiling.

[consumedbythemossyforest]

It's (Not) Safe Inside - Workshopped

April 22nd, 2024, 1:02pm

My therapist told me that I should start journaling. That it would be good for me to be able to get all my thoughts out on paper. Apparently it would be easier for me to be able to differentiate fantasy from reality this way. She says that if it looks ridiculous on paper, chances are it’s not real. I have to make one journal entry a day until I see her next week as my homework. I don’t exactly have high hopes but we’ll see how this goes.

April 23rd, 2024, 4:54pm

I went on a walk today. It was almost nice. I don’t really like leaving my house. My house is safe. They can’t get to me when I’m inside. But my sister showed up and basically dragged me out. Under the light, she almost looked green, but when I blinked it disappeared. I feel like I can always see Them out of the corner of my eye. Branches where there shouldn’t be branches. I remember when They first appeared or maybe They’d always been there, my siblings and I had always hated going outside, our parents had made us promise to never look too hard at the grass, at the trees, to go where we needed to be and come straight back. I always felt as if the flowers in my neighbour’s gardens were watching me and that roots would sprout from between the cracks in the sidewalk to grab me and pull me in. I’ve always associated the outside with a feeling of hunger, of being watched and followed. I always felt like prey.

After my dad died and my mom locked herself away, my sister changed. She insisted that the outside was beautiful and kind, she described it as a gentle song lulling her to sleep at night, comforting and protective. She’s the one who convinced me to seek help in the first place, and for a while, it worked. I had managed to convince myself that I was imagining the watchful eyes of what I had always referred to as Them. The trees and the vines and the grass, but with a little too much intent to just be A tree, or A vine, or The grass, They were always Them. Huh. I guess it does sound kind of silly written out on paper. Maybe this whole journaling thing will do me some good.

April 24th, 2024, 2:30pm

It’s my dad’s birthday today. He would be 46 if he were still alive. I went out, on my own this time, to visit his grave. I don’t know how, but I just knew that They would leave me be. Maybe because they don’t need my terror when they can have my sadness? I’m not totally sure, but I guess it doesn’t really matter either way. Anyway, I brought a cool golf ball that I found. It was just lying on the ground when I took that walk with my sister. He would have loved it. When I closed my eyes, it was like he was right next to me. Or at least something was right next to me. I’m choosing to believe that it was him though. I don’t want to consider who ( ̶o̶r̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶) else it could have been. I left without looking at the two graves next to his. I’m not sure why, but my eyes just slid over them. They probably weren’t important, but for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about them.

April 25th, 2024, 8:42pm

I can see Them. They’re right outside my window. It’s dark outside but it’s too dark outside the window above my kitchen sink. I’m trying not to look at it because it will be real if I look at it. And it can’t be real. They can’t be real. Please don’t let them be real. At least I am safe inside. 

April 26th, 2024, 3:15am

There was a noise in the kitchen. I thought that maybe it was Charlie before I remembered that she didn’t live with me. I’m not allowed any pets in the house, which is fine by me. The doctor says I’m not capable of taking care of anything other than myself, I’m just glad that it keeps her away from Them. Anyways, when I got to the kitchen, I could have sworn that I saw a Vine slip out underneath the door. Which is obviously impossible. Inside is safe. They can’t get me when I’m inside.

April 27th, 2024, 12:00pm

I’ve plugged every possible entrance into the house. I can see Them. They’re outside. It feels like they’re waiting for something but I don’t know what. When my therapist sees this she’s probably going to send me back to the psych ward. That’s okay though. That means I will be inside and not alone. Inside is safe. They can’t get inside.

April 28th, 2024, 10:27pm

They’re inside.

Edward Robinson, time of death: Approximately 10:30pm on April 28th, 2024. 

Cause of death: Suicide.

Family: Deceased - Father, sister, and brother. Living - Mother.

April 30th, 2024, 3:08am

The Outside is beautiful and it is kind. The Green cradles me as I sleep, its song is a soft lullaby. Come join us. It is safe Outside.

[consumedbythemossyforest]

Their Eyes

As part of an assignment for one of my classes, I had to write a short counternarrative for a book that had shaped my experience of reading when I was younger. This is a small excerpt from The Lightning Thief from Medusa's perspective when Percy, Annabeth, and Grover first arrive at her home.

It had been weeks since she had seen anyone. Had it been weeks? It was so hard to tell. Time either passed in a blur or not at all since her sisters had died. Medusa let out a sigh, her sisters, were the only people she had ever truly counted on since being cursed all those centuries ago. She had been beloved. Then, she had been feared. She had been slaughtered time and time again by heroes searching for glory. Medusa sat back in her chair, bringing her tea up to her nose and inhaling the scent. Chamomile, the perfect remedy to calm one’s mind. As she brought the mug to her mouth, she heard the faint sound of people talking outside her home. No, not people, children. It had been so long since she had been in the company of children, which, she supposes, was for the best. But then a peculiar scent caught her nose, the smell of a salt-filled breeze on a beach surrounded her. Poseidon. It was as if no time had passed at all. She could almost see the temple of her Goddess, the form of a man more powerful than she towering over her as she could do nothing but pray for mercy. 

She was snapped out of her memories by a new smell. The smell of war and archives filled with knowledge, the smell that she had once associated with the feeling of home and protection. Her eyes narrowed, demigods, children of both Poseidon and Athena. The opportunity had practically fallen into her lap, she would be a fool to pass up her only chance of revenge. She couldn’t hurt the Gods, they were untouchable. Oh, but their children, young and vulnerable and ripe for the picking. Maybe this would show Poseidon and Athena even a sliver of the pain she had endured. Violated, cursed by the one who was supposed to protect her, shunned by everyone she held dear except her sisters, and then they died as well.

A voice, the remains of a conscience he had yet to squash, whispered in her ear, but they’re children. She shook her head as if physically ridding herself of the thought. So what if they’re children? Was she not a child? Was she not young and vulnerable? Being a child does not spare you from the harsh realities of this world. People who you rely on care for no one but themselves and if they hadn’t learned that yet, they would soon. 

Medusa wrapped herself up and placed a veil over her eyes, there was no use in letting them know who she was. When she opened the doors, all she could see were their parents. He, with the sea-blue eyes of his father, and her, with the piercing grey eyes of her mother. Those same eyes had stared down at her as her world crashed down around her. As she was banished from the temple she had dedicated her life to and cursed to a life of ridicule and shame. So, she softened her voice and called out to them, “Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?”

[consumedbythemossyforest]

My Smile

I wander through the halls of

the house I once called my home.

There are voices all around me but

none I can call my own.

Everything is familiar but strange,

and I can't seem to find

what I'm looking for.

But I will keep looking

behind every door.

Because I lost myself

in the walls of my childhood

home. And maybe if I keep

looking, I can find who I used 

to be. Maybe I'll find my smile

around the next corner.

[consumedbythemossyforest]

Google Search History

Do people naturally have super long canines? 10:38 pm

Tooth filing 10:40 pm

Can mirrors break? 10:51 pm

Why can’t I see myself in the mirror? 10:54 pm

How to tell if I’m high 10:59 pm

Do people get sick after being bit? 11:12 pm

Are vampires real? 11:44 pm

How long does it take for someone to turn into a vampire after being bit? 11:52 pm

Why am I super sensitive to sunlight now? 9:21 am

SPF 200 sunscreen 10:32 am

Can I develop an allergy to garlic overnight? 2:25 pm

Recipes without garlic 2:33 pm

Recipes WITHOUT garlic 2:36 pm

Garlic supplements 2:40 pm

Wikihow how to tell your family you think you’re a vampire 9:30 pm

Mental asylums near me 10:37 pm

Is the term mental asylum offensive? 10:39 pm

Reddit.com 11:50 pm

Is it cultural appropriation to wear a sombrero? 12:06 am

Big hats that aren’t sombreros 12:11 am

Night jobs near me 12:33 am

[consumedbythemossyforest]

A Friendly Bet

“Come on Micah, why not?” Nash prods, waggling his eyebrows, “It’s just one date! You know you want to.” Micah hunches her shoulders, smothering a grimace, and continues to class. It’s just a joke Micah. You can take a joke. Despite her half-hearted self-encouragement, her heart sinks when she sees Wren blocking the door to her classroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

“To class,” she answers, shouldering her way past the both of them. As she takes her seat, Nash waves at her, and the two boys leave, laughing with their arms slung around the other. She’s not sure how she managed it, but somehow, she had gotten caught up in a bet between her two friends. They had both bet that they could make Micah go on a date before the other could. While she knew that the boys could get competitive, especially when it came to outdoing the other, the lines between playfulness and seriousness were starting to blur. She could no longer tell what exactly their intentions were, and it only made her more anxious about what their reactions would be when she finally figured things out. Micah opens her laptop, types aroace into the search bar, and goes about ignoring whatever her physics teacher is trying to explain.

Thankfully, the next few days pass without incident and Micah starts to let her guard back down. Nash and Wren are spending more and more time together without her, and she is simultaneously relieved and worried about what that might mean. Are they plotting? Have they caught on to what Micah was figuring out about herself? She’s almost certain that she identifies as aroace, but she doesn’t want her friends to scorn her because she ruined their fun, or worse, they think that she’s broken. She’s contemplating all this on her walk home from school, spiraling as her brain races through all the what-ifs.

When she opens her door, she’s immediately pulled from her thoughts at the sight of rose petals littering the floor. It’s surprisingly nice to be back on familiar ground, even when that means she’s the focus of that stupid bet. So, she follows those rose petals to the backyard. Nash is not nearly this thoughtful, this one’s gotta be Wren. And it was. She opens the door to Wren standing there with a bouquet of roses and a teddy bear.

“Micah,” he begins with a flourish, “would you do me the incredible, desperately needed honour, of going out on a date with me?” He places both the teddy and the roses in Micah’s arms as she desperately scrambles for an answer.

“Thanks for the bear. Were you too cheap to go for the chocolates?” she stalls.

“I will have you know that I got these roses for the steep price of stealing them from my neighbour’s rose bush. Don’t diss the roses!” And this is what finally broke Micah. This is how it used to be: just her and Nash and Wren, joking around and having fun. She shouldn’t dread being around them and she misses when they would just hang out. So, she stops after they re-enter her house and Wren turns around, one eyebrow raised, and Micah says,

“I think I need to call a family meeting.”

Wren’s entire demeanour changes from faux-indignant to concerned, and that’s when Micah knows she’s made the right decision. He still cares. “Right now? Do you want me to call Nash?” he asks, clearly worried. Family meetings are only called when something’s really wrong.

“No. Not right now. I need a few days to prepare. How’s Friday?” Wren looks even more worried at that but agrees. No one ever says no to a family meeting.

So, Micah spends the next few days rehearsing what she’s going to say. She prepares answers to every conceivable question and hopes that she’s not making a terrible mistake. When the doorbell rings, she just wants to get it over with, so she ushers the two boys into her living room and just blurts it out, “I’m aroace!” after a few seconds of stunned silence, she starts rambling, “Okay so basically that means that I don’t feel any romantic or sexual attraction. I didn’t know how to bring it up with the whole bet thing going on and–”

“Hey,” Nash cuts her off. She didn’t even realize that he had stood up during her panic-induced ramble until he was right in front of her. “Micah, it’s totally okay. We’re here for you and support you. Come sit down.” He guides her to sit down between the two of them. “We are so sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable with the bet or like you couldn’t trust us with this. You’re our best friend and we always have your back.” At those words, Micah sags back onto the couch, leaning on Wren who wraps his arm around her.

“And since we’re sharing,” Wren says, “Nash and I have some news too.” Micah looks up at him questioningly, and He simply leans over to plant a kiss on Nash’s cheek and suddenly, all that extra time spent without her makes sense.

“Oh,” she says. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.” She sits in silence for a second and then asks, “You guys are serious? You’re not just doing this to make me feel better?”

“No Micah. We’re serious.”

“Okay. Okay good.” She thinks for a moment and then adds, “And don’t forget to use protection!” They both groan, and she smiles. And she knows that everything is going to be okay.

[consumedbythemossyforest]

It’s (Not) Safe Inside

April 22nd, 2024, 1:02pm

My therapist told me that I should start journaling. That it would be good for me to be able to get all my thoughts out on paper. Apparently it would be easier for me to be able to differentiate fantasy from reality this way. She says that if it looks ridiculous on paper, chances are it’s not real. I have to make one journal entry a day until I see her next week as my homework. I don’t exactly have high hopes but we’ll see how this goes.

April 23rd, 2024, 4:54pm

I went on a walk today. It was almost nice. I don’t really like leaving my house. My house is safe. They can’t get to me when I’m inside. But my sister showed up and basically dragged me out of the house. Under the light, she almost looked green, but when I blinked it disappeared. I feel like I can always see Them out of the corner of my eye. Branches where there shouldn’t be branches. Huh. I guess it does sound kind of silly written out on paper. Maybe this whole journaling thing will do me some good.

April 24th, 2024, 2:30pm

It’s my dad’s birthday today. He would be 46 if he were still alive. I went out, on my own this time, to visit his grave. I brought a cool golf ball that I found. He would have loved it. When I closed my eyes, it was like he was right next to me. Or at least something was right next to me. I’m choosing to believe that it was him though. I don’t want to consider who else it could have been. I left without looking at the two graves next to his. 

April 25th, 2024, 8:42pm

I can see Them. They’re right outside my window. It’s dark outside but it’s too dark outside the window above my kitchen sink. I’m trying not to look at it because it will be real if I look at it. And it can’t be real. They can’t be real. Please don’t let them be real. At least I am safe inside. 

April 26th, 2024, 3:15am

There was a noise in the kitchen. I thought that maybe it was Charlie before I remembered that she didn’t live with me. I’m not allowed any pets in the house, which is fine by me. The doctor says I’m not capable of taking care of anything other than myself, I’m just glad that it keeps her away from Them. Anyways, when I got to the kitchen, I could have sworn that I saw a Vine slip out underneath the door. Which is obviously impossible. Inside is safe. They can’t get me when I’m inside.

April 27th, 2024, 12:00pm

I’ve plugged every possible entrance into the house. I can see Them. They’re outside. It feels like they’re waiting for something but I don’t know what. When my therapist sees this she’s probably going to send me back to the psych ward. That’s okay though. That means I will be inside and not alone. Inside is safe. They can’t get inside.

April 28th, 2024, 10:27pm

They’re inside.

Edward Robinson, time of death: Approximately 10:30pm on April 28th, 2024. 

Cause of death: Suicide.

Family: Deceased - Father, sister, and brother. Living - Mother.

[consumedbythemossyforest]

The Dreams that Burn to Ash

Twigs are snapped and branches are pushed aside as two women stumble through the forest, hands clasped between them. The faint glow of the firelight can be seen growing ever closer, as are the repetitive chants of “Kill the witches! Kill the sinners! Kill the ones who blaspheme before the Lord!” Mara looks deep into the eyes of her lover, love and fear warring inside her as she desperately tugs Evangeline further away from the grasp of the town that would burn them. Whether it is because they are witches or because they are lovers is irrelevant. All that matters now is escape. Freedom. The chance to start a new life on their own far away from the hatred of their once-beloved village. 

Mara looks back at Evangeline as she loosens her grip and slows her pace, limping more pronounced. Her legs had always struggled to support her, and the rough terrain was no help.

“Evangeline, What are you doing? If we’re caught now, we’ll die. You’ll die.”

A silence, only broken by the crowd growing ever closer, until finally, Evangeline sighed, “Mara, we both know that I could never keep this up for long.”

Evangeline, whose touch has always been gentle and whose words have always been soft and sweet, looks upon her with a fire that sets her alight. Mara staggers under the weight of that stare, and because of the realization that accompanies it. Evangeline, her one light in a cruel and dark world, meant to save her. 

“No. No Evangeline, you can’t. They’ll kill you.”

“Then at least you will live. And I will be there alongside you for the rest of your days.”

Mara desperately clasps Evangeline’s hands, trying to convey every emotion coursing through her. The fear and the pain, the love and devotion. All passed between them in the span of a breath. How could she not know? How could Evangeline not know that the only way to save her was to live? She thinks about their dreams. To live and be at peace. To love and to be loved, purely and without abandon, And she felt those dreams slip through her grasp like the smoke that railed them. Could almost feel those dreams burn to ash inside of her. But Mara has never been able to say no to Evangeline, so in one final, fruitless attempt to at least die by the side of the woman she’s loved all her life instead of being left behind, Mara says,

“You know I could never live without you. How could I? You are the breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins. You are my reason.” Do not do this, her expression pleads, please do not leave me to face this world without you by my side.

“Then ensure that I am not forgotten. Do not live for yourself if you cannot, but live for me. Live to keep my memory alive.” I love you, her eyes say, I love you as the moon loves the Sun, as the stars love the sky, and how the flowers love the soil. This is how I know we will be together once more.

With those final words, Evangeline presses a brief kiss to Mara’s lips, filled with sorrow for the lives they would never get to live, and plunges back towards the fire and the pain and death. All for the barely-there chance that Mara would live. And so, as Mara presses forward, she swears to the God she never believed in that she would return to this place. And she would ensure that Evangeline’s wish would be fulfilled. Mara would keep her memory alive. The people of this village would never forget her name.

[consumedbythemossyforest]

Freya and Her Forest

The Forest had been Freya’s friend since she was seven years old.

Freya had never been good at making friends. She was either too loud or too quiet. Too excited or too disinterested. No matter how much she tried, she could never connect with the other kids around her. While they talked about their favourite TV shows or played tag during recess, Freya spent her time up against the fence looking into The Forest. There was something about it that seemed almost magical. The way that all the different shades of green shone when the sunlight filtered down through the leaves was enchanting. She had once asked if she could go into The Forest, and her teacher had looked her right in the eyes and said, “Now Freya, that forest is incredibly dangerous. There are all sorts of plants and bugs that could hurt you if you’re not careful. You must never go into that forest.” And that had been that. 

One day, it started raining while everyone was outside, and while all the other kids ran towards the school, Freya climbed the fence. She had dreamed of the day she could finally step foot into the forest. Had imagined the beauty of all that green around her. And as she crossed the threshold into the forest, the rain stopped, and everything went silent. She was warm in a way she had never experienced before. She imagined that this was what she would feel seeing a dear friend after a very long time apart. Only she had never had the chance to meet this friend, and as she walked further into the forest, she wondered why she had waited so long. Why would the adults tell her to stay away from this place? The sun filtered down through the leaves to shine on her face, and a soft breeze flowed through the branches and ruffled her hair. 

She stayed, exploring, until a soft voice whispered in her ear, Freya, my child, it is time to go back. It was only then that Freya realized that she didn’t know how to get back, and that she was lost. Do not worry dear one, you will never be lost here. She watched as a new path opened up before her, and she followed it back to the fence. She felt a drop of rain on her cheek, Oh yeah, she thought, I forgot that it was raining. As she walked back to the school, she turned to The Forest and said, “I promise I’ll come back.”

And come back she did. For years The Forest was her steady companion. It never mattered that she was “That freak obsessed with nature” because she loved her Forest, and she knew that The Forest loved her in return. Each time she visited she was greeted with that same warmth. There was always a soft spot for her to rest, a hollow tree filled with moss, or a peaceful glade with plenty of sunlight. And that voice never left. Freya never lacked comfort or wisdom, as The Forest was always happy to provide.

On Freya’s eighteenth birthday, she went to her Forest and asked if this time she could stay there. And so The Forest answered, You have so much life to live, my child. Why would you choose to stay here when there is a whole world to explore? Freya leaned her head against a tree, “This is my world. I’ve never been able to make friends, not really. And my mom spends more and more time drinking. I’m happy here. I will always be happy here as long as you’re with me.” A bird landed on her shoulder, pressing itself against the warmth of her neck for a moment before flying off again. Of course, you may stay here, I would love nothing more, my dear one, my little sapling. And stay there she did. Freya stayed with her Forest, caring for it and keeping it company until the moss overtook her. And as Freya closed her eyes for the last time, she heard the voice of her first friend, her only friend, the one who took her in and cared for her when no one else did, say, It is okay my child, close your eyes and rest, you have earned it. I will keep you safe. As the sun rose the next day, there was a sapling in her place. That sapling would reach higher than any tree before it and would be home to countless animals. And so Freya stayed with her Forest, and The Forest kept her safe.

[consumedbythemossyforest]

Hey folks

I'm a first-year Creative Writing major at university, and I wanted a space to share my short stories and writing exercises. Hope y'all enjoy :)