The day has seemed to have passed me by without my knowledge or consent. The humid air hangs still above me reminding me that the day was warm. I can smell scorching fumes from the burning logs drifting through the trees in the wood.
I remember last night, as I got closer, I heard the car doors slamming and felt people brushing me by as they headed towards the heart of the woods. I was struggling to see and I felt anxious that no one had noticed me. Maybe thats why people were shoving me out of their way?
I tried to observe them through the flickering flames, I noticed how their shadows faltered, as they stumbled when they strayed off the path into the undergrowth, they’d just laugh as they rejoined the gathering crowd.
Every year they throw this party in the woods, celebrating the time when we all met. I could’ve told them that I wasn’t coming back that day, when I headed through the woods for the last time, but I knew if I did , then they’d never let me go.
I’ve heard that he’s still looking for me and hasn’t given up. I wanted to see them tonight to talk things through, but as I stand here I can see that they’ve all moved on now and I should too.
This is my response to Writing 101, Day 4: A story in a single image.