As the queue creeps forward and spreads out, deforms, I wander away. Moving farther and farther away from the rest of the herd. I've decided that I want no part in the 'killing'.

I look back. There's this medium sized, single storey 'official' looking building, from where the people trickle out. I spot Walter. And then there's the newspaper girl. I back quickly, so that I'm not spotted. I need a little privacy.

The woods, I see, are huge. Of course they are. They are woods. Woods are huge.

So...just wandering. Feeling the roughness of the trunks, watching the people at a distance take out their knives and... I can't explain why (this finally, is the truth) but I ran.

It's an emotion- running. Dictionaries will tell you that it's a verb. I'll give you the truth. Running is an abstract noun, which signifies flying and letting go. The twigs crunch beneath me. I jump over rocks, roots, I'm flying. Smiling. My foot catches on something and I fall sprawling forwards. It stings. I've got a nasty cut on my left cheek and bruises all over me. It's quiet. Eerie quiet and I wonder if I've made a bad decision. Damn. What was I thinking? Fuck me.

It's kinda scary being alone in the forest.

I hear my heart beating. Hard. It goes- tick, tock, tick...

I hear every note of my ragged breath.

I hear the echo of the sweat forming and crawling down my brow.

I hear-

The scream. High pitched, female. Absolutely human.

My heart changes tunes- thud, thud, thud...

The bodiless scream had come from my left. And I did the only thing I could do. I followed.

Here is a part where my writing fails me. I can't describe how my feet led me, squishing the dead leaves, soil and grass, through the thickets, and... I can't explain how I got there, but just that I did.

So now, I write random things to describe my reaching there.

Keep with me and you'll find secrets. Yet don't try to search my heart in the midst of these thorns. You'll only find blood. Blood and roses.

'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.'

We, readers, are going to die.

And God said- 'Let there be light.' Yet there was only darkness.

God- that's a sensitive topic. Not that I don't love him, trust him, ask from him. But I also fear him (or her). I always fear the unknowing. Sometimes I wonder if we all.

This ink blots the paper and cries out to be burned.

Sweet, sweet dead Leia, did you have to cut up my heart and tread on it, kiss it and lie to it to oblivion, love me yet dissolve in the night?

Shit. I shouldn't have written that.

Shit. Shit. No.

Ah, well, we're here.

I stop when I see a complete change of landscape. Who would build a shack in the middle of these woods? (I never quite liked the word- shack. I wonder if there's an alternative.) It seemed to pulsate. Bleed out moisture. It was just so wet. And there was this huge, mesmerising, curved and branchy tree (I never licked that word either- tree. Seems too lame t o describe majesty). It went around it and just through the roof, breaking, yet not quite deforming it. Just like my soul. Broken but not deformed. We, mossy, muddy, quiet, dark, lovely, lonely, broken, sad, dead- adjectives that describe my current place of being.

I open the door of the shack.

I enter.