'In The Woods' by Rhonda J. Jezek

by Rhonda Jezek

In the woods.

So gray

but bright.

Blurred are the

branches

and my eyes

are liquid confusion.

It’s calling my name.

Softly.

Softly,

like a phantom wind.

I turn around and around.

No one’s there.

But so softly,

commanding.

The wind carries my feet

pushes against my chest

for I am running.

Running away.

The branches slap me.

I don’t care.

Streaks of sorrow

sting my cheeks

and my mouth is agape

like a little sucker

sucking in air

and exhaling heavy

heavy fright

It’s calling me.

A soft, seductive voice

Stop running it says

Lie with me it says

But I won’t

just keep going.

Going.

Till I die.

But then a snap

and a jolt and

I crash onto the

packed earth

and tumble across

the twining sharp

tree fingers

and stop with a crack.

Crack.

I see only dim gray

and white

my eyes water so.

I stiffen my cracked

muscles.

Slowly, haltingly stand.

"Please," I whisper

"Please let me go."

A voice like wind and dew

Becomes a young boy of

ashen colours and white skin

and I’m a small so small

girl

in front of him.

All the dead branches

curve in like a lens.

He’s the center.

My eyes are on

Him.

Only him.

"What do you want?"

I ask in my small,

child’s voice.

His lips, moist and pink,

curve into a delicate

smile

and his beautiful,

clean face shines.

he tells me

reaching out his hand

and tracing my tears

with a burning finger.

I’m caught by a

silver net.

Am drawn

towards him

unable to voice my

terrified protests

but for a barely audible

whimper.

His small, damp lips

open to an innocent

black pit

and then they touch

mine and I close my eyes

feeling his slimy

throbbing tongue searching

my mouth,

searching for secrets

I must give.

My spine collapses

and my resistance

breaks

and I fall on him,

and he folds me all up, and

I am his.

Tears.

Tiny, salt tears

fall from my cheeks

onto the silver

grass

and form a river

by my feet.

His little hands

smooth over my face,

his touch gentle

like feathers

but scorching to my skin.

Red coals in a black night.

He pulls back,

eyes bright and smiling

"O, help me," I whisper,

falling to my knees.

He laughs, bell-like

and young

and he just keeps

laughing as I

cry.

Not loud, raking sobs

but tired, helpless

tears

and I so want

to melt into the

earth and sleep for

forever

but the ground,

rock-hard and dry,

won’t let me in

And he’s laughing

at me.

Such a little, pretty

thing

His laugh doesn’t ring

with malice, but it’s

there. I know

because it stabs my heart.

Tiny, beating heart.

He kneels in front of me,

I won’t look at him.

He cups my child’s face

in his young hands,

forcing my puddle eyes

to his inferno eyes

He says, innocence

and

softness gone.

I nod mechanically

and he stands,

clapping his hands

in demon delight.

He draws me to my

feet

delicate, colourless,

feet

like I’m a porcelain

ballerina,

and he twirls me

once around and says

Then the winds

blow him away.

I close my eyes

and for a silent moment stand,

my cheeks wet,

my eyes wet

and my mouth wet

from his kiss.

Like a little

statue, animated

I start

turning

slowly

in a small

clumsy circle on

the glowing, thin

grass and I step

on it, flattening

silver blades under my

marble-smooth

toes

and my turn

becomes faster

faster and

I start spinning,

and my spin

becomes wild

and I’m whirling

and my arms are

ripping through the

air and I’m screaming

and jumping

and crashing through

the thicket for I’m

insane now

and I scream and twirl

in faster and faster

and faster circles

and never . . .

Stop