I’m more curious than anything—not thinking about ending my life. Honest. But he’s skeptical, because of my depression.
“They call it the suicide forest,” he says.
“It’s also rumored to be haunted.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, “I can imagine.”
“I’ll go by myself then.”
“No!” he shouts. He doesn’t trust me alone. How many times do I have to tell him the knife slipped. I didn’t mean to cut my wrist.
The next day, we follow the guide into the woods. He warns not to deviate from the path—otherwise the forest will consume us.
But a whisper in the wind welcomes me home, and I want to be eaten.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons