Incongruous: A short story I never finished

The “Weeping Forest,” literally the only thing that is sorta interesting about this dirty watered town. Most people only pass through or stop for cheap gas when traveling to the big city, where things are so expensive and bright it hurts to even think about it. Growing up here in Elegiac the most urban thing you can find here is a 2-game arcade where only one works at a time. The thing that keeps the outsiders in for longer than an ice-cold glass of water with lemon from the town’s only diner is the Weeping Forest. It's filled with Willow trees and supposedly antiques from so far back not even the town's elders know who owned them. The elders used to tell stories to the young about how the trees were made as our protectors weeding out the strange… If the trees believed your soul is estranged you get taken in as “the lost ones.” But don’t listen to me, what do I know? Nothin’ but stories to scare us to sleep. To know the truth of the estranged you gotta follow the wind to the Willows they see all, hear all, and speak to all especially when you least expect it. Like that small crack in your unfixable window that the wind blows through picking up all your emotions and the words falling out of your mouth. It’s annoying. And I’m tired of them only speaking to me, I’m now going to be the one who contacts them whether they like it or not. 

Going there to find out if my soul is losing its grip on its time and what truly happens with the lost ones is probably my death wish. Coming out alive though? I’ll have a hell of a story. Although I’m not scared to get stuck in there and become a lost one if anyone even notices I’m gone; my only “friend”  is the waitress at the town’s diner who pours my coffee and sits with me on her lunch break whenever she decides to take one. She’ll be the only one who can miss me, but if she doesn’t that’s fine too.  With all this worrying I forget I’m leaving in an hour- and that 20-minute bike ride is the only chance that I have to turn back and grow old here, with a soul or not…

         I finish packing my bag stuffing it with enough clothes, food, gear for a week, and a dusty book to help pass the time while I’m there. The sun has set, so it’s time for me to leave. Hopping on my bike with my bag mostly secure in the back, I pedal off.

         I decide to take a little detour to the diner, getting a large steaming cup of black coffee with two sugars for on the go. I leave my friend- the waitress a nice tip and a big thank you, as a just in case this is my last time coming here. Not even at the door yet, she stops me, gives me a big hug, and says, “Thank you, I finally have enough to turn things around for myself.” Giving her a little smile as I unlatch myself from her hug and wish her well noticing her eyes tearing as I walk out the door with an unhopeful glance.

         Rode down about four miles south of the diner on a nothing but dirt road with a few moldy wooden signs protruding out of the ground. Peddling into Weeping Forest's entrance, and taking a look around all I see for about a mile and a half is the one big Willow tree surrounded by long sheen grass and dead branches. This is where you’re supposed to stop, stare, or have a picnic for no longer than an hour or two…but of course, that’s not what I’m doing. Still walking forward, further and further away from the disguise. More into the fog, the harder it gets to see, yet as I’m still walkin’ towards the weeping sights feeling the grass getting taller and swallowing me in whole. My heart begins to pound louder than a drum knowing I only have a few more steps left before I reach the beginning of the truth. I close my eyes knowing that I’m taking my last step, scared to keep them open to see what I may find to be some corpses standing in the position of their last breath, waiting for me to save- no discover them. Slowly opened my eyes to reveal a garden full of Willows, but they were not all the same. It seems as if certain trees are in various stages and seasons of their life but circled every one of them is mushrooms or more mythically known as pixie rings. Never step into one. The elders say you’ll turn madder than the hatter who ran out of tea. Whoever stepped inside the circles thinking the fae will come with a warm welcome and reveal to them their homes, sheesh they couldn’t be more wrong.

         Moving ahead, not worrying about that death trap too much, in hopes of picking up more clues and reaching the Willows that are the forest’s true speakers and feeling the messenger’s winds. The deeper I go; the less pretty things start to look and the more drowsiness I begin to endure. It seems like I’ve been here for several hours, but it's only- 1 a.m.!? That… that’s not possible, my coffee is still hot and the foggy entrance is right th… nowhere to be seen as I turn around looking for it.  Trees are shifting abnormally. Faster but slow. Loud but quiet. I'm confused and I can’t move with my head beginning to spin and skip like a broken record. 

I-is this the test!? Has it already begun? 

“STOP MOVING…please,” begging into the harsh-coming wind and the further sloping trees as my knees crash against the cold grass. Arms covering my head, chest scrunched down to my knees. Prayin’ for nature’s wrath to complete its cries. 

It goes quiet. The wind no longer rushing through.