A slick maze of upright wooden hands, rising from the woolen soil search their sun. Shrouded in silvery mist,the trees remain uncertain. It has been long since they have felt the warmth of any nourishment. Their limp stalks and skeletal leaves whine as silence ties the landscape with a sack of heavy, lounged air. A dog whimpers in distance; a rabbit hastily claims a broken branch. Everything else keeps still.

Credit: Keith Aggett

A figure arrives wearing a coat with raised collars and cheap buttons. He stands next to one of the trees. His hands are rough and large with a grip of a tornado – holding an ax with a recently sharpened blade. His nails, dark on the edge, are rounded and trimmed – perhaps, a coal mine worker, who has decided to try his luck.Today. He has an oblong face and deep-set gray eyes that match the color of the fog, giving him a ghost like appearance.

He looks around with a sly smile and presses his decisive feet over the metallic grass releasing the humidity that settles behind his wrinkled neck. He scratches his chin as he walks around, sniffing and tasting the wood. In no time, the fog engulfs him with only a dark set of moving boots with an occasional, shiny reflection of the blade. Until he comes face to face. With me.

Source: Pinterest
Source: Pinterest

His greedy eyes glow in affirmation while he goes over my serrated trunk, almost puncturing his thumb, enjoying the slight pain. He listens to my throbbing life – the sound of a flowing fountain, uninterrupted between my veins – guarded by outer rings unless he cuts me with a sharpened blade at a precise distance and angle; a blade that is made from an alloy of seven metals and bones of a white horse. He is aware that a slight error can cause a big problem. He is well prepared and I can tell that he is ready.

I wait for the fateful moment as he positions himself, holding the ax. The buck nearby, raises his head, reticent yet alert.

A shriek peaks the amplitude of drowsy vista and when the fog lifts, his eyes are chilled open in bewilderment, staring at the obscured sky frantically hounding his disengaged soul. The rest of his body stays within my reach. I lift my trunk at an angle from the ground to drain his blood into my roots while the agile rodent feasts on the splattered remains.

The neighboring trees heave a sigh of relief as the grove turns green with nutrition. As a finishing touch, a feeble ray of sun drills a golden hole on the silver floor pulverizing the ax into a fine dust.


Word count: 461

Above in response to this week’s Moi’s picture challenge

Above also in response to another image prompt I joined recently: Free Write Friday



6 thoughts on “grove

  1. This was truly wonderful!
    Like Eleni, I Love the image you projected in my mind’s eye and the shocking ending….oh my! Girl you can write!

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