One Shots: Phan

Into the woods

Genre: FLUFF + small angst (also like fantasy?)

Word Count: 3304

Song: Stand by me - florence + the machine 

Warnings: Implications toward abuse.

Shout out to my girl Elizabeth for giving me this idea, love you xx

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The woods are better at night.

The peaceful sounds of the wind through the trees, uninterrupted by cars racing down the motorway nor the miscellaneous screaming kid. The slight crunch of twigs and leaves beneath my feet as I wander further into the darkness, where the overhead leaves filter out the moonlight. I stray off the path, squinting to see even my hand in front of me. Comprehending nothing but my own thoughts and the outlines of trees, merging closer together as I continue to walk. Must be getting close. The breeze on my face and beneath my shirt soothes me.

The trail I track through these trees has worn down, almost a path at this point, but so overgrown with vines and fallen trees that hardly anyone would follow it further into the depths of these woods.

The sounds of scurrying, rustling leaves, life, fill the night air. Joining the crickets and the owls and the silence. The overwhelming, intruding silence.

Every now and then I catch a small glimpse of luminous moonlight escaping the barricade of the leaves above. The silvery light milky and almost opaque in the pure obscurity of 3am. I sift the light through my fingers each time I pass, wandering deeper and deeper.

And then suddenly, just when it seems the undergrowth has become too dense to navigate, the path opens up and the trees disperse creating a small clearing filled with glittering moonlight and a small river that runs from the east to the west.

I let my bag drop from my shoulders and I sit by the water, watching the river flow past me as if it has somewhere to be. The sound of the rushing water melts into the night with the sigh that finally escapes my lungs. The cold air hurts, as if I am breathing it for the first time, but the sting pacifies something inside of me. A pain that numbs the others.

I flick my brown curls from my forehead before leaning down, gathering some water in my hands to quickly wash away the stress of the day from my appearance. The crispness of the water coaxes a gasp from between my lips but I still feel much better afterward. Refreshed, awake, alive. My chocolate brown eyes staring back at me as if I were watching myself from a distance.

I pull out the contents of my bag. A soft blanket, one that my father bought for me as a child. A book, Catcher in the Rye. A torch, just in case. A compass, to find my way back. And a thermos filled with hot chocolate.

I lay down the blanket, flat on the grass, and lay one side on my lap once I sit down. The moonlight bright enough to read by, I grab my book from the ground beside me and flick open to my page. Through the relaxation of a clear plate and losing myself into a good book, I find the sky in its beginnings of dawn. 5am.

In my delirious but overwhelmingly calm state I find myself drifting off, the morning birds chirping toward the rising sun, not yet visible over the horizon and definitely not from my quiet place in the woods.

I don't remember what woke me, but I remember it was important and terrifying. I jolt awake, feeling like I'm falling through the soft, damp earth I fell asleep upon with my book clutched to my chest and my blanket over my legs. I don't particularly remember falling asleep but I must have pulled the blanket over myself in the night. The sun is shining from directly above me, warming my face and shoulders as I sit upright and stretch. The sounds around me have come alive with the passing sun, animals dig and climb and adventure, birds sing, cars hurry along the highway to the north. The place even smells more alive and earth like. Like the ground has been dug up around me.