Sierra looked upon the leaves and wept. Aged and autumnal, brittle to the touch, they lay spread across the root of a tree. A shallow and wildly-carved line tipped-with-an-arrow pointed down to them. She knew what the leaves had said were true.

She remembered being in the forest, but not for how long. Spring ’97. The forest lush with shadesof-green, yet there were autumnal leaves. “THE TREES, THEY LIE” read one of the brittle leaves as she bent down to inspect them, the warning scratched haphazardly into one-side by a fingernail or other sharp object. “THEY WON’T LET YOU LEAVE”, “DON’T TRUST YOUR EYES” “THIS IS HOW THEY FEED”. Who had authored these warnings?

Where were they? Where was she? She still couldn’t recall how long she’d been there. Sierra felt the rising of paranoia within. What did it mean that they wouldn’t let her leave? Was the forest watching? She remembered how she felt its pulse beneath her feet, smelt its earthy scents. No sound, only a suffocating silence. Her watch read; 11PM; The sun remained fixed-in-place high above her. A sharp wind from all directions pinned Sierra in-place. Too cold for the current season. There was no warmth from the daylight. “THEY CAN CHANGE THE LIGHT.” She took in the panorama around her. The trees repeated, endlessly. An infinity mirror of wood and daylight. “THIS IS HOW THEY FEED” what did this mean?