Forgotten Forest
Written for the Unofficial Challenge, Munson’s Microfiction: My Tears Need A Minute.

Lightning cracks and streaks through the sky. The winds shift as I focus my energy. Rain falls. I feel the water cleansing me, healing. For I am tainted, broken and in need of repair.
The dirt beneath my feet begins to sink and turn into a muddy slop like consistency. My secret is buried below in the middle of a forest only I would dare to trespass in. As I get closer to unearthing the truth I try to think back to where and why this began..
There was a sign hanging on a tree with a chain blocking this path. It read
“Forgotten Forest”
and explained the dangers of entering vaguely;
“DO NOT ENTER
Enchanted”.
Still, I cannot recall what beckoned me to enter or why I ignored the warning. The path seemed harmless like any other, a simple dirt trail lined with the tallest trees on both sides. Prepared for anything I brought a backpack with water, snacks, a bag for rocks I might find to claim, a few little jars for herb harvesting, flint and a little baggie of dry kindling to start a fire, and a rope that also helped to secure a shovel to my back.
As I had ventured further down the trail it became clear the path had many forks leading in different directions. Paranoia about the likelihood of getting lost and not being able to find the way back out crept into my mind. Fear was not welcome, but why had night come so fast? Wasn’t it daylight when I arrived? Time became an illusion. Was I wandering for days or only a few hours I still do not know.
Something caught my eye and caused me to stop and realize I had not seen any trace of life here. No smalls animals scurrying, no prints from deer or raccoons and no flight from birds. A shiver passed through me as it sank in that I was utterly alone. Whatever caught my attention must have been a trick of my mind because nothing seemed out of place. As I looked around an overwhelming feeling caused me to start digging.
With a clang my shovel hits the box as thunder echoes around me, bringing my mind back to the present moment. I drop to my knees and use my hands to search the slurry for the edge. Once my fingers grasp the ring that’s bolted on I run my rope through it. Using tree limbs from above me, I create a pulley and hoist the heavy box from its grave. As I drag it underneath the nearby trees canopy of leaves the rain washes any extra mud off, exposing a raw oak and seemingly handmade crate.
It appears to have been lovingly crafted with notches cut for each piece of wood to create the rectangles’ sides. The top has engravings in a language long dead that sparks memories just out of my grasp. Carvings of a vine with the most delicate looking flowers outline the lid. An extra layer of thiner, darker wood had been notched onto the outer part of the vessels bottom and top creating a seal. With tender care I disassemble the pieces that were locked together and remove the top from the box.
My tears need a minute to find the edges of my face. If you’ll please excuse me.
For, I have found myself in this forgotten forest.
Authors Note:
Word count (excluding note): 570
Thank you so much for reading! This is my first challenge entry here on Vocal!! (Also my first piece published with a title instead of the date it was created, 5/29/2023) If you could take a moment to comment what you do or don’t like about this piece I would greatly appreciate it. I believe constructive criticism leads to growth!
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A huge shoutout and thank you to
for creating and sponsoring this challenge! You helped push me out of my comfort zone and create a story based on a beautiful string of words!
About the Creator
Sarah Wilcox
Momma 🐺 of two feral girls!
Poet.
Artist.
Wildfire.
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