Weeping Willows

I drag my feel along the dusty road, the dark willows droop in a deep depression, reaching for me, wanting me. The leaves begin to breathe, rasping, when the wind whispers in my ear. A silence encumbers my whole tense body, my ears straining for any sound. The only sound that slithers through my ear is the crickets, frogs, and birds, creating a jungle beat, harsh and demanding. It explodes in my brain, overcrowding my sanity. The murky swamp waters gaze at my emaciated body, with its shallow secrets and frigid feel. A stench runs through my nostrils, reminding me of curded milk. The dim, cold moon illuminates nothing but the forgotten path, rugged and dirty from its loneliness. Demons appear to sneak out from the desolate trees, the bark damp and dreary, like my soul. I can taste the evil that surrounds me as it sourly envelopes my tongue, then slowly encompasses my whole being. I stumble as the dirty path curves unknowingly, and the bright headlights scream at me. I can taste the dirt in my mouth, chalky and dry, as the silent footsteps approach me. My eyelids close indefinitely as my invaded soul joins the weeping willows.





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