The Grove

“Ah…” said the voice under the trees. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

I took a step backward. I was not going to move in the direction of that vague apparition. And yet my fear had subsided, drained away somewhat. If the voice came from a person, a vagrant or a drunk perhaps, or even a night marauder, at least it came from a real human, solid flesh. Or, even if it were some creature of fairy tale, a ghost or a banshee or a Rumpelstiltskin, then at least it was there, all I had to fear was it, and I could be relieved of the worst fear of all - that it was in my mind and I had created it, without knowing how.

“Where you going?” said the voice. There was no answer to that question, at that moment. “What’s the matter, lost your tongue?”

“I’m going home,” I said, all in a rush, I who had no home, not any longer, not after what had happened earlier that night.

“Home?” The voice chuckled, then laughed, then laughed louder and then screamed in mirth and as suddenly stopped, and the park was empty and silent, quite silent, not even an echo. My momentary relief faded like an echo, as fast.

Now I wanted him back, vagrant or drunk, a human, a link to the land of living things.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)