English | Original Fiction

The Awaiting

The breeze grazing my cheek softly giving me a chill. Together with the soft-cracked sound beneath my shoes, I am accompanied in this new, yet familiar surroundings. The smell of the damp forest is foreign but the dull brown leaves and the mist seems natural.

The memory is vague, even though, I simply walk among the trees. As the ground covered by falling leaves, no footprint left when I walked on. A glitter thought of the past, the same feeling of being watched and directed exist.

I was here, when I was a kid. My dad brought me here to visit grandma—from my mother side—who was living in the mountain, not so far from the main city. I remember I used to explore this forest.

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