What a cruel forest. The area is devoid of life. Small eddies of wind carry the star-shaped leaves to the ground in a spiralling motion. It is as if a plague of fire runs through the forest as flashing splashes of orange, yellow, red and brown flow down around me. Some say this forest tells stories, others say it deceives those that speak to it and all believe it tries to lure its prey in before sending them on a journey of never-ending twists and turns between the countless trunks. They say that if you listen really closely to the swirling patterns of wind and leaves, you can hear the cry of past victims. The air was still warm from the receding summer, the day the forest took me. Ever since, the leaves are the only beings that have kept me company as they crackle under my shoes. They tease me with stories of escape and freedom before the cool breeze picks them up and takes them away. It is indeed a very cruel forest.
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