The Grove

“Flanagan!” I shouted. Where had I heard that name?  “Daniel Flanagan!”

anagan…anagan…anagan…

When the last echo faded all was silent for the merest moment, and then again the wind sounds, and within the wind the voices. I crouched, shivering. Perhaps if I listened hard, I would understand. Perhaps if I understood and responded I would be allowed to leave this grove, this circle of trees I had not even noticed I was entering. Through the gasps of my own breath I strained to decipher the words that floated in and out of each other on the wind like wisps of smoke, like strands of cloud, like blood floating in water.

All I heard were disjointed syllables, not words, swirled on the wind. But gradually the sounds resolved and the voices grew more distinct and as I listened harder I realized the words were names, and that some of the names were also familiar to me, though I did not know how.

“Hey!” shouted another man’s voice, “It’s me, William James Mallory!”

allory…allory…allory…





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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. :)