Every day, the sky is a cauldron churning with hell’s wrath.
Every night, the stars watch my back like a constellation of vengeful eyes.
A voice hisses through the trees. “Turn around.”
The ligneous limbs reach for me.
“Turn around.” The voice mimics my wife’s.
I gaze ahead, not knowing who or what’s behind me…
“Turn around, daddy.”
I’ve forgotten what she looked like… why we were so ashamed of her… why we felt the need to bury her ugliness in these woods.
I’ve been walking for a long time.
Maybe it’s time to turn around…