Chapter 3

Forest of Fears

 

When stepping onto the solid pavement, I look ahead to a scene that has posed as the perfect scene for countless murders in countless films. The lot lays glowing in the orange pools of light from the lamp posts scattered about. The lights cast long and ominous shadows of the objects all around; creating such a distortion that it feels like walking in a fun house. The many trees stand tall and firm in the grounds with their unique individuality reflecting in the leaves they carried. Each tree holds different shades and patterns of the true colors of autumn. The warming reds, the glowing oranges, the crisp yellows and the cooling browns. The leaves pose as such a fascination to the mind. Each color blends into the scene like a magnificently painted piece of art. Yet, the leaves disorder the land; for no two things are the same and there is no guarantee of an identical sense. The branches themselves create a fear enhancer from walking and watching them. The trees all around shake and scream their rustling screams into the dark morning from the force of the mighty wind. Such a thrill creeps into the body as the branches all dance, but at the end of the branches, sharp jagged leaves form an alert to the surroundings. These leaves can only be compared to knives from their ill-looking ways; knives that cut and slash through the air before dropping down to the unforgiving ground below with the rest of the falling leaves. Those leaves cursed to an early damnation give off one last spectacle in the wind before preparing for the daily judgments of car tires and shoes. Those leaves that form a large group all scatter in unison in the wind and push out like waves in the ocean, all tossing and tumbling over the ground below them.

Author's Note

Nothing really happens