For Thy Peace, My Soul

5.

It hurts. Unbearably. Cripplingly. A crushing pain that squeezes the heart until it rips apart and tears flow. And when the tears stop and the pain continues, I can only keen into the night. My wails bouncing off solid, uncaring trees – their hard skin immune to my cries. But people beyond the woods, they hear.

They think the woods are haunted.

I’m the ghost in the lone cabin. Waiting in the shade for poor lost souls to come my way, so I can devour them. I’m being only partially sarcastic. I don’t stay in the woods. I don’t hover near my home, never leaving. And I don’t have to wait.