Sleep always threatened me with a good time, and as I yawned away the exhaustion my body was feeling, the sunlight shining down through the tall, thick dark trees gave a false sense of security.

At times, it seemed the trees and overgrown vegetation were more in tuned with the cycle of day and night than I was. As the vines dehydrated, shrunk, and toughened during the day, they would become more vibrant at night, especially under a full moon.

To the untrained eye, the differences probably weren't detectable, but living in the Scalded for so long allowed me the luxury of reading the changes more quickly and easily than the outsiders.

As we strolled through the forest, the soles of our shoes crushed the dried and dead leaves that had fallen from the trees. Lilac turned to face me, walking backward but keeping the pace. "What if they manage to burn all this down with their flammable chemicals? See, I always knew the walls of the fortress would not last forever, but because it held up this long, like us, you forget that it is not guaranteed to stay that way."

"Why can't everyone just let us be?" I watched as he stepped over large vines and roots without even looking, showing his familiarity and knowledge of the terrain. "We're not putting anyone in danger. We're not doing anything to affect them directly."

"Sure, but the Scalded seems to be expanding, as you pointed out." He narrowly avoided a tree by angling his body to avoid it just as I was about to warn him. "Imagine them allowing the circle to continue to grow and take over. Seems unlikely."

Impressed by how he maneuvered through the forest, I took in his enigmatic confidence and knowledge. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know, a year a two." He shrugged.  "What is time anymore?"

I nodded in agreement. "The only reason I become aware of the time is by the position of the sun, moon and stars." It's a skill I've grown to excel at, knowing by day everything in the land was a little more bizarre. Only in the red place was the date available on the wall in the form of a calendar with an image of a forest in autumn and its changing tree leaves that haven't took place in this forest since the couple years we've been here. Made me wonder how accurate the nightmare's calendar was compared to reality. Especially since the seasons never changed in the Scalded, remaining a comfortable temperature like the regulated warmth of a green house.

As we walked and talked, taking in the sites, examining the weird vegetation that I've yet to become accustomed to. A tree before me stood out for the weird round notches in its trunk. Round coin sized holes hacked deep into the bark. The holes were arranged in two single lines on both sides of the tree and spaced out around a foot or so. Black sap oozed from some of the holes but much of the fluid had dried and hardened.

"Look at this." I pointed up the tree to a small treehouse of sorts, made from old, mismatched wooden planks. It seemed to be the right size to accommodate a human. "Hello? Anyone up there?"

A cough emanated from the structure. "No one's here. Keep moving." The voice was deep and husky. It reminded me of Dr. Johnson who had smoked cigarettes for most of his fifty-something years.

"We're just looking for people like us," I called up there, making sure not to sound threatening. "The hunters from the city want to tear this place down. Burn it right to the ground."

"Good." The man said, coughing up a throat full of phlegm. "Let 'em."

I huffed in frustration. "Sir?"

"Who am I to stop someone from doing what they want to do?" He coughed again, so much so I felt bad for encouraging him to speak. "I suggest you keep moving. There's no one here that can help."

I looked to Lilac who shook his head pathetically. "There is no use talking about a problem unless you talk about a solution."

"Hey, sir?" I cleared my throat, maybe expecting him to do the same. "My name's Kyla and this is Lilac. What do we call you?"

"Call me whatever you please."

"You remind me of my former doctor from Knoques Hospital." I paused to see if he would say anything. "Do you know Dr. Edward Johnson?" No answer. "He had a daughter, about my age, should be sixteen or seventeen years old now. Dr. Johnson used to talk about her following in his footstep to become a doctor—"

"Like I said, no one is here besides a bitter old hermit." There was a sadness in his tone. "If you must call me by a name, call me that."

I dropped my gaze, a hollowness formed in the center of my chest. I don't know what I was expecting. So much has changed in the last two years. I went from winning the best fiction story contests out of all the girls who participated. Writing crazy stories about happy woodland creatures and their community who had to find food and supplies to last them throughout a cold winter, and things quickly changed to not being able to use my imagination the way my heart wanted me to.

Back then, depression set in, especially when the things I created in my fictional stories suddenly began to manifest into reality. So many told me I was seeing things, that my imagination was too vivid I couldn't differentiate actuality from fiction. The meds were meant to block the creative side of me, stripping away what made me unique and special.

I didn't even have the urge to create fiction after taking those pills. Reading others' stories did nothing for me, watching television and movies were out of the question as well. A direct order from the doctors—that could've been scribbled on a prescription pad and signed by Dr. Johnson himself—as engaging my imagination interfered with my treatment. And for so long, things remained that way.

Normal.

Until one day, I had the urge to stop taking my meds. I could've sworn something inside me promised if no longer took the pills I would feel more alive. That something guaranteed I would be able to fully express myself if I ceased putting the poison in my body.

And so, I did. No more pills. And it only took a couple hours after that decision to start questioning whether the big, dark creatures that visited me every night were real or not.

The more I questioned, the more they came. Convincing me that they did indeed exist. That they were real. Even as nurse Jane and the other staff repeatedly assured me it was just my imagination.

It wasn't until nurse Jane mentioned smelling the stench of burnt sugar that everything changed.

"Maybe we should just leave him to his lonesome." Lilac stared up at the makeshift wooden structure in the trees.

I nodded, giving in reluctantly. "Let's try the other side of this place."

About fifteen minutes into our trek, with the sun moved across the sky to the west, we maneuvered through the thicket of trees. The trunks seemed to be wider and sturdier as I realized they were a different species under the black sap that grew and hardened over all the trees and wrapped them in a leather-like skin. The sap transformed the existing trees over time to the puffy bundle of leaves that protruded from short branches at various parts along its length.

I could only speculate what tree used to be under the growth of these wide trees. Sycamores? There used to be an abundance of those along West Theodor Road and Lincoln Lane. There was also a pizza place that served special thin crust brick oven pizzas that took less than eight minutes to cook to perfection.

"Do you miss pizza?" I looked to Lilac, seeing the smile widen on his face.

"I miss crisp, red apples."

"That's not what I asked." I chuckled at his answer and remembered the taste of melted mozzarella and spicy pepperoni, then envisioned the sweet taste of a red and crisp apple. "Do you miss eating them?"

His face took on a weird expression. "I guess not, to be candid. See, I have not thought about pizza or apples in who knows how long."

I narrowed my eyes. "Isn't that weird?"

"Why would that be weird? We have what we need in the thistles." He gestured to the puffy leaves in the trees that resembled the shape of my curly afro.

"Thistles?"

He nodded. "Right. I do not really miss anything. I never have cravings."

"Except for the ... thistles." I corrected. Obviously, it was easier to reach the roots at the edge of the radius than the high and tender parts of the puffy tree leaves. "Don't you also crave the plants when you're hungry? Those are all I ever want to eat when I'm empty. I just want to replenish myself with the vines and roots of the forest."

"We have lived on them for years." He gestured to the plants before us. "They keep us alive. And there is nothing else here that could do the same for us. So, no. It is not weird to have a hunger for them."

I nodded, taking in his words. Still, something didn't seem quite right about the situation. Maybe it was me remembering my past and how things used to be; crowds, writing, pizza, everything that was but no longer isn't.

That was easy to do with company. It was normal to start asking questions about the stranger you just met to get to know them and simultaneously come up with your own answers to those questions.

Grudgingly, we trekked on toward one of the high-rise buildings. Surely someone was living there. It looked like the first place anyone would search if they were searching for life.

We passed the old cars that were parked on the side of the road and in the parking lots. A lot of what stood still for so long had been completely covered with vines and vegetation. The blackness stretched far and wide, creeping up the side of the buildings, and in some cases completely obscuring and changing the look of them.

Busted or missing windows on the buildings and cars were normal, as were the collapsed and fallen structures. If I didn't know any better, I would have assumed some sort of environmental catastrophe destroyed the city and left it a foreign wasteland. Like a scene from a dystopian science fiction movie, the sun beamed down on a desolate and oddly quiet city.

Years ago, stray dogs and cats roamed the streets alongside the restaurants and convenient stores for scraps of food, tucking themselves in corners and crevices to hide away from danger. A flock of birds would fly overhead or sing from the trees where nests of their young rested. Maybe a few pigeons pecked around the sidewalks near the fast-food joints for ant covered crumbs and leftovers. There used to be life and noise everywhere.

None of those things remained.

Not even the tiniest ant.

Standing at the entrance to one of the tall buildings, we looked up at what used to be fully occupied business offices that now had glass double doors barely hanging on their frame. Black vines and growth had long forced their way inside.

I stepped in and carefully looked for signs of life. It quickly became apparent that no one lived within the run-down walls anymore. To the left were a series of elevators. One of the elevators doors were cracked open a sliver allowing the sun to shine into the space.

Inside, black vines had grown through and over what was left of several human skeletons that lay scattered on the elevator floor like a pile of ancient fossils awaiting excavation.

I placed my hand over my mouth to prevent a scream. It wasn't fear that drove the urge but the grief. I gulped just as my heart dropped into my gut.

I had done that.

~~~

Thanks for reading!