I decide not to mention the shadows lingering at her shoulder. Why alarm her?
Stumbling alongside her brother, I occasionally glimpse a veil of mist surrounding him too, a fog which evaporates the moment I try to focus.
The good book said we couldn’t all survive, and it seems they are both doomed.
Deeper and deeper into the forest we plunge, slashing at the branches reaching out to snag us.
Birds fall silent; the temperature plummets.
They turn to me.
I see pity in their eyes.
And I realise their shadows are protective, not malevolent.
The malevolence is upon me.
Don’t ask me what’s happening here, I only write the stuff. I just challenged myself to steer clear of ‘eco-warrior/child trapped in fridge’ themes and this is what happened. Thanks to Rochelle for attempting to focus the minds of Friday Fictioneers on something other than Covid every week.