No Real Danger
short story
I made my escape into the dark, the dirt and the ferns and logs and fungi. I didn't have to look back to know that no one noticed. I promise you, no one noticed. No one saw. No one was glancing in my direction. And the person I was talking to moments before had no motivation to look to see where I went, he probably assumed I walked away to the group I came with.
I really did disappear within just a few yards. The lights were dim and the forest was so dark. Pitch black.
Just as soon as I disappeared, my heart rate began to quicken. I could barely see, I was a stumbling anomaly to the creatures of the forest. What sensed me, I still don’t know. But something must’ve that night. My mind quickly imagined bears, mountain lions, predators in all surrounding directions,
but I kept trekking.
I wanted to get far enough to guarantee that no one at the party would even sense me — not even a blackness in the dark distance.
I got far enough and sat. Sat so long I wondered if anyone even noticed I was gone. I was sad, but I couldn't cry. I tried. No tears came. I wanted to cry so awfully.
I just sat.
Occasionally turning my phone’s flashlight on to check that no monsters were there when I heard rustling within a few yards of this stump, some ferns and I.
I laid down for a little bit. I put my hood over my head so that no dirt would be left in my hair when I returned to the party and laid down and let the Earth comfort me. In that moment of defeat I couldn't have cared less if a bear was on the other side of the tree I was laying against planning to devour me. I was terrified, but I figured that if a bear really was there to come and eat me that it was God’s will.
For whatever reason,
nothing came to eat me whole.
I returned to the party.
Downplayed my despair.
Never spoke of it to anyone. Not entirely honestly, at least.
A sacred, secret half hour between me and my most hidden shadows and the forest.
Nothing of the sort that you could even begin to explain.
It’s not and will never be that simple.