LISA
Deep in the Forest
He knew Little Red was heading his way. It was Sunday afternoon she’d be going to her Grandma’s house. The canopy of trees overhead sheltered him, like a leafy cave. He ran his tongue over sharp glistening teeth, sighed then in a contented fug curled up in a ball and slept.
She was stood over him when he woke holding her father’s hunting knife aloft.
“What a big mistake you’ve made Mr Wolf. Grandma needs a new fireside rug.”
She clasped his neck, stroking his hackles gently whilst deciding where to cut.
She chose.
And the thicket swallowed his howls.
RICHARD
The Orchard
See that thicket of trees, down at the bottom of the garden?
There were no trees there when I was a lad, and I used to sit there in the sun, eating apples and throwing away the cores.
Over the years, I grew up, and so did the seeds I’d sown. They became saplings, then trees, and there you see them now.
They remind me of those happy times: The freedom of youth, and the simple pleasures of childhood.
More than that, their gnarled and twisted bodies reflect my own.
And I sadly recall, that I am older than they.
TURA
Thicket
———
I heard a story from a Vietnam vet. “Fifty men walked into a thicket and never walked out again.”
That’s it, see. That’s the whole story.
I’d actually encountered it before, in a great-great-grandfather’s memoir of some colonial war in darkest Africa. “A hundred soldiers went into the jungle and never came out again.”
Back in Roman times, veterans would tell of three Roman legions that marched into a forest and never marched out again.
“All is vanity,” saith the Preacher, “There is nothing new under the sun, and fifty men walk into a thicket and never walk out again.”
LIZZIE
The tiny hops of joy brought light to a golden field. The sun. The warmth. Her smile covered by a mask. She motioned to pick a flower, but hesitated and smiled.
It wasn’t the time. Let them live, she thought. Let them live.
Cast a spell, the old woman had said. And she smiled once more.
Kindness. She nodded. Was kindness a spell?
Early bird and all that, but with kindness.
The tiny hops of joy brought a glow she could not explain, a glow of gold, a smile of joy. And she hopped, her face covered by a mask.
SERENDIPIDY
“Let’s play hide and seek!” You said.
I knew you would, it was what you always wanted to play. I never got to choose.
“I’ll hide, and you can seek” you said, “Turn around and count to a hundred.”
I turned around, and dutifully started counting. Like always. I never got to hide, you’d always become bored with the game by the time I found you, and then it was all over.
One hundred.
I won’t bother searching. You’d be hiding in the thicket. You always were.
I waited for the screams.
So, I see you found my man trap?
TOM
What Could Go Possibly Wrong 037
Bender took a step back from Red. So did Arnesto. Red’s eyes went wide, but she kept her composure. “No sudden moves love.” “Define sudden?” “One where we disappear in a cloud of smoke.” “Your move love.” Red lowered a hand to grab the com. “Ok boys and girl, clear the bridge. That mean both of you two.” she said to Cervantes and Bender. While unhappy with being removed from the equation, both back out gracefully. “So, where did you procure that hype-factoid?” Ford tapped the edge of the glass,” A thicket in Yorkshire in a very old Viking briar. “
NORVAL JOE
Billbert’s mother smiled and blinked rapidly several times. “See Billbert? Sabrina just wants to be your friend. Nothing dangerous.”
Billbert sat up, keeping the sheet across his lap. “She’s a witch, mom. She could cast a spell on me in a second. Wiggle her fingers and say, ‘Rabbit in a thicket’, and I’d be twitching my nose and hopping away.”
His mother laughed. “Son. You have quite the imagination.”
Sabrina nodded her head. “She’s right, Billbert. You have a really good imagination. The spell, Rabbit in a thicket, doesn’t turn you into one, it only makes you fast like one.”
PLANET Z
We pick up the map, and into the woods we go.
The witch waits for us. Watches us in her crystal ball.
An open fire.
A potion bubbling in her cauldron, green fog spilling across the weeds.
The woodland creatures breathe in the fog, their eyes glowing green.
And they sing. They sing a low, moaning tone.
And walk, and crawl, and fly around the cauldron.
“Hi,” we say, holding out the map. “We got your invitation.”
The witch sticks a finger in the potion, licks her finger, and smiles.
“It’s ready,” she says, and we all have a drink.
