yet more novella



The cement ends here and dirt begins. I look to you in confusion.

            “Where are we? I’ve never been here before.”

You motion to the clumps of dark green growing solidly like giant broccolis at the base of the sloping mountain.

            “That way is the forest.”

            “A forest? A real forest? They don’t even exist anymore. All forests are just protected reserves now, filled with tourists.”

            “This one is real,” you insist.

            “How, then, have I never heard of its existence before?”

            “No one bothers to look for it,” you say and take my hand. A pale purple cloud floats over the morning sun and casts the earth in a moody shade. I notice old unused power lines dipping over the forest. As we walk toward that city of trees, I sense a shift in the earth: an infinitesimal movement in the tectonic plates, the leftover impact of the Big Bang. And a curious joy overtakes me.


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