The Woods

     I had never expected the woods to be this frightening, especially in the daytime. In the night I don't have to worry about seeing corpses hanging on the trees; blood dripping onto the moss below. At night, I sleep so hard I don't hear them screaming. The screaming is gone by the morning, they've run out of energy and air.

    My hands tremble as I pluck raspberries from the bush. When I'm done plucking, my hands are covered in blood, and not just from the thorns pricking me. I oftentimes wash the berries so long that they completely break. Whenever this happens, I have to go back out and go through the whole agonizing process all over again.

    I really shouldn't be scared anymore. I mean, it is my doing. Plus, there's not much else to do when you live in the middle of the woods, many miles from anyone else. My father was the first I killed. Then, people came through and knocked on my door to ask about the body, and I'm sure you know what happened after that. 

    I sometimes fantasize about moving away from all that I am. But then I remember why I do what I do. It's just plain fun.