Skip lies quietly beside me now. Listening tentatively to the black nights resonance. patiently waiting for the amber sunrise. I pray it never comes... what are we doing here? My mind is pricked by the illusion of security. we will never be safe in this bleak wood. or at home. Happiness however is only found here, in our wood. no one can find us here surely. no one can follow us here, surely. I still lie observant and on edge, nerves rush through me, the black of night makes me doubt wanting to stay here all night, Dad would be outraged if we came back now, but what choice do i have. stay here and freeze in the night or take a chance and face my fears. I'm scared. so is skip.
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The Yellow Wood
Short StoryThis is my first short story about the events of a curious and adventurous young boy and his dog named skip.
