A night passed, and Father still didn’t return home. I savored a tranquil sleep. When the morning came, I’m delighted that Mother didn’t wake me early to help around the farm with her. The woods await me.
As I stood in the front door, the sight of a hanging coiled rope caught my attention.
A rope swing.
I could make a rope swing in the woods!
Filled with so much excitement, I ascended the terraces' narrow dirt stairs. Farmworkers appeared, gathering the last bit of good cabbages they could find. I dashed past them; my presence appearing unbothered to them. Rows of the green terraces continued as I ascended; my little legs ready to collapse, and beads of sweat leaking on my forehead.
On top of the mighty high terraces, the woods live there and I’m finally here. I’ve been here before a few times to which I managed to memorize my supposed destination within the woods, but this time I wanted to change course since I saw a cliff nearby.
What an unexpected view! Instead of massive green farm terraces, It overlooked the town.
The tiny grey galvanized houses spotted all over the green canvas of the farm. A narrow dirt road snaked to every house; the only road to be able to leave this town. I felt the push of the howling wind.
But then, a sudden faint sound of painful grunting replaced my astonishment into terror. The wind went quiet.
It’s awfully familiar.
Backing away from the cliff’s edge, there was more faint grunting.
YOU ARE READING
Dirsh
Short StoryTwo "gossiping" acquaintances and a "detached" family revolves their life around a serial killer.
