Forrest
the air still smelt the same, though the landscape had changed
The trees were the only thing the same. They stood, unchanged by the test of time or the efforts of the local community to wipe this whole forest clean off the map. Tall, thick and strong; the branches of these trees over lapped and created a canopy, locking him in like a stronghold. The trunks were evenly spaced, like they had been planted carefully with precise measurements and calculations. They had of course; everything in this area of this forest had been prepared with meticulous measures, no detail spared. After all, who would ever look in the deepest part of the woods?
Jack stood in the centre of the clearing, remembering. He could remember growing up here better than the fuzzy memories of his parents and their new children. He remembered the cabin that stood off to the right of him, shrouded in trees and their shadows. He still knew every inch of that cabin like the back of his hand, and sometimes he still dreamt of it at night, and missed the warmth of the others around him. He especially missed Gander curling round him as he crept to bed later than the rest, and wrapping strong arms around his waist to keep him safe and warm. He never knew until after he was ‘rescued’ what Gander was doing late at night with Nick and Jason.
Sometimes Jack wanted to go back. Back home. The world was too big for him; the world too big and he too small. Home to Nick and Jason, to Lizzie, Gander and little Max. Not back home to his parents and siblings he never knew. Life wasn’t the same anymore, it wasn’t right.
At Christmas his family used a fake tree instead of a fresh one cut down by Nick and dragged home by Gander, and they refused to use tinsel like at the cabin and insisted on baubles –”tradition,” his mother insisted, “it’s good for your brother and sister to grow up around tradition.” But he couldn’t shake off the worst Christmas offence, they didn’t sleep clustered around the tree, each tangled around their small present; his family slept separately in their own beds all night, and awoke with shrieks and gasps to run downstairs with thundering feet to rip and tear the wrapping paper off of many larger presents.
Jack missed it all; he missed life with his old family. He sometimes wondered where they all were, but he knew with a sharp pang that they would never be together again. Nick and Jason, his daddies for most of his life, were locked away in prison, and Gander had died suddenly; only months after the police had found them. Suicide, the reports said. Traumatic experience. Lizzie had been taken to a mental institute by her parents, to save her, they said. Max was gone, whisked away from the spotlight before the little five year old could ask questions or understand anything. But her remembered, and missed his loved ones every day.
Jack stood in the centre of the clearing, remembering. He could remember growing up here better than the fuzzy memories of his parents and their new children. He remembered the cabin that stood off to the right of him, shrouded in trees and their shadows. He still knew every inch of that cabin like the back of his hand, and sometimes he still dreamt of it at night, and missed the warmth of the others around him. He especially missed Gander curling round him as he crept to bed later than the rest, and wrapping strong arms around his waist to keep him safe and warm. He never knew until after he was ‘rescued’ what Gander was doing late at night with Nick and Jason.
Sometimes Jack wanted to go back. Back home. The world was too big for him; the world too big and he too small. Home to Nick and Jason, to Lizzie, Gander and little Max. Not back home to his parents and siblings he never knew. Life wasn’t the same anymore, it wasn’t right.
At Christmas his family used a fake tree instead of a fresh one cut down by Nick and dragged home by Gander, and they refused to use tinsel like at the cabin and insisted on baubles –”tradition,” his mother insisted, “it’s good for your brother and sister to grow up around tradition.” But he couldn’t shake off the worst Christmas offence, they didn’t sleep clustered around the tree, each tangled around their small present; his family slept separately in their own beds all night, and awoke with shrieks and gasps to run downstairs with thundering feet to rip and tear the wrapping paper off of many larger presents.
Jack missed it all; he missed life with his old family. He sometimes wondered where they all were, but he knew with a sharp pang that they would never be together again. Nick and Jason, his daddies for most of his life, were locked away in prison, and Gander had died suddenly; only months after the police had found them. Suicide, the reports said. Traumatic experience. Lizzie had been taken to a mental institute by her parents, to save her, they said. Max was gone, whisked away from the spotlight before the little five year old could ask questions or understand anything. But her remembered, and missed his loved ones every day.