The Woods

The scratchy sharp wood on the trees, stayed dead still in the gloomy low clouds that look like smoke just formed out of a fireplace. The birds scared to fly for they don’t want to be choked by the smoke. The grass colourless and flat. Branches stabbing the air and dismantling it.

Next the little boy only the age of 8 trips over a rock and smashes his face his nose sideways and bloody. He picks himself up off the ground and keeps smoothly running through these woods.