The Forest's Heart

What do you do when you have two minutes to run away from home?

I drove away, fleeing the street I had always lived on. It was a street where houses stood isolated, the blinds were always down, and the windows were always shut. Neglected gardens wrapped the walls, with wild plants growing up the front, sprouting between the bricks. A few cars sat on the curb, but they were empty, each collecting dust as time passed. It had always been quiet, quiet enough to make the singing crickets deafen you, quiet enough to make you feel you were going mad. 

I drove on.

Outside, the air was hazy, and heavy fog blocked my vision. I cleared the windshield of my car and continued to drive slowly. The roads remained quiet, leaving me surrounded only by the forest. Creatures of the night were chirping and growling as they rummaged through the depths of the wilderness. I had run away from home as I had always planned to. Where I was going, I didn’t know. I knew I needed to get out, so I ran. It was a good feeling, knowing I never had to return. I could simply run forever.

On the road ahead, there was movement. Glancing over, I lowered the window slightly, listening. A dark shadow hovered on the side of the road, and with another minute of staring, I made out an outline of the figure. A small person sat down, arms wrapped around their legs as they shook, their face buried in their knees as they wept.

I tore my eyes off of the figure. Steading myself, I took a slow, deep breath. “I can handle this,” I muttered. 

I grabbed a torch from my glove box, and with just another second of hesitation, I lowered my foot on the brakes, stepped out, and slammed the car door.

It was as dark as the bottom of the ocean; I felt like I could drown in it. The darkness blinded my eyes, and the torch in my hand scarcely made a difference. It was overthrown by the night sky.

My neck strained as I searched for the soft sob in the distance. 

He was there.

I walked cautiously, the boy just within my sight. 

Five metres away now.

Just three.

Two. 

His head hung low as I spoke to him. Trying to keep my voice steady, I said, “Hey, are you okay? Are your parents around?” He did not respond.

My legs trembled as I knelt to meet him. When finally, the boy raised his head.

His bloodshot eyes felt like Medusa’s. They were turning me to stone. The boy’s face flooded with sorrow and guilt. His hands trembled as he picked at his nails. They had cuts along with his face. His clothes had been ripped, along with his innocence. He glanced around skittishly, his eyes darting back and forth between the trees.

“It’s going to be OK.”

His gaze met mine once more, and I noticed the barest shift in his demeanour. The creases around his wide eyes began to soften. They lost their guilt, cleansing all he must have seen and accepted what I thought to be comfort. Slowly, his cracked lips curled into a soft, disturbing smile.

I knew that smile.

I gently reached into my pocket, grabbing my phone. With one hand, I dialled the police, and I attempted to reassure him with the other. I went to rest my hand on his shoulder and opened my mouth to speak. Yet my mouth remained hung open, and my hand hit the ground. 

He was gone.

I stood up before the ground seemed to sway below me. A wave of weakness came over me; my knees collapsed, and I stumbled. My body was aching, my head pounding as I called out and tried to find him. But he was gone, and I had taken his place.

I was in the forest’s heart and heard the sound of faint voices yelling back at me.

It reminded me of home.

I couldn't escape from the life I wanted to leave behind. It was here.

I knew that smile.

Relief flooded through me when I spotted the boy, and as I watched him vanish from sight down the road, a memory surged through my mind. This forest had welcomed me when I was young, I had tried to escape it before it could drive me mad. Something had set me free, set me running down a road, running home. I had buried that memory, but I remembered that smile. I knew that smile. 

I hoped I had set him free, that he could live the life I longed for, that he could run forever.

When the voices of the forest grew louder; reality did, too. That short moment of comfort I had held onto now felt loose in my grip. Fear consumed me like a tidal wave, and I began to drown in its embrace. 

The voices surrounded me, each saying something different, but only once stood out, “You can’t run forever.”

Losing myself in this place was my fate; it had happened twice.

And I guess you couldn't run from fate.

Their words reached me from every angle, overwhelming me. The shrill voices pierced my ears, but a new one was persistent, screaming in a way I could not ignore. It was that childish, mellow tone- my mellow tone- the voice of a child I had not let speak in years.

You couldn’t run from fate.

Run from fate.

Run.

Run.

Run.

I trusted him. I had tried to help a naive boy. I had to help the one who existed only in my head and the past. Though I had kept it locked away, I recognised his voice. I knew that smile. After all, it had been mine once.

“Welcome home,” The trees continued, “You can’t escape it this time.” 

So, what do you do when you have two minutes to run away from home?