I stand at the edge of the forest watching the leaves shimmy as soft sunlight dances over tree tops.
Sammy and I played here once, imagining as kids often do, of a land of mystery and enchantment. To Sammy the forest played an irresistible siren’s song.
“It’s magical. Only streaks of sunlight enter, like dancing strobe lights shining over a thick carpet of fallen leaves and loam. The air is be-spelled with misty dampness and the aroma of wild flowers. The mighty trees stand like warriors protecting all the little forest people, from the tiny beetle to the colourful birds. That’s where I go to play,” he explained, “but I’m always careful to stay away from the ogre.”
Then one day he never returned.
I see no beauty in Sammy’s mystical land now, for now I know where the people went when they didn’t come back… and it was entirely its fault… the thing that killed my brother…
Written in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers’ 118th challenge based on a photo prompt by Pamela S. Canepa