A forest of toothpick trees that have leaves only at the top. So densely packed next to each other, they make the wood seem dark, not much light can penetrate the maze.
"It's easier to pretend something isn't real then to pretend something is."
He thinks.
"You're not beautiful. "
He looks up at the still trees. Pristine air grazes his skin and glides through his hair. Plants grow slowly, snaking across the ground in green masses, insects buzz to their homes where they reproduce then die. Simple.
"You're not beautiful because you're fake."
He thinks terrible things.
He sits down on a mossy log, his matted old toga stiffly changing shape. The moss welcomes him, for it has been so long. He removes a small watch from under the log and twists the top, winding it up. Tick tock tick tock...
"What an annoying sound."
He places the watch back under the log in a small crook. Termites bring it deeper. The sun sets. He lays himself down and falls asleep. No, not a peaceful rest, but a most unpleasent, uncomfortable, and unforgettable sleep. He goes someplace... unfamiliar.
"Elephants... everywhere. For why must it always be elephants, though never has it before! Not one over a hundred and twenty four..."
He dreams of a place where the grasslands are great, but trees scarce. Unlike any place he would rather be.
He wakes. He wakes to a sound. A sound of rain. Rain dripping on his ear and his nose. In his mouth, on his eyelid, on the palm of his hand. He jolts back his arm.
"Time to head home."
He leaves the woods through a hole in the ground.
YOU ARE READING
think.
FantasyIn this room he sits... forever. His story is a strange one, his mysterious past and future might be revealed. But who is he?
