No Gods in the Forest

I’ve come to realize now, as I’m writing this, that the word ‘histrionic’ doesn’t even begin to describe me. I was fickle in every way a child shouldn't be, constantly shifting and molding myself into what I saw most fit in the moment. I would say what I knew others wanted to hear, expressed feelings that weren’t truly my own, and lashed out at things I couldn’t have cared less about. What I now refer to as my ‘condition’ was never truly diagnosed, which led me to feel confused and angry throughout my childhood.

Compulsive lying wasn’t the exact term I was looking for, since my words came out calculated and not by instinct. More than a ‘black sheep’, I would call myself the ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’, for I remained undetected up until this moment.

I considered many times to just fess up, so I could maybe find some sense to my behavior. But as the years passed, I grew quite comfortable with it. It got me what I wanted and where I wished to be. There had been no instances where I was caught, at least not any that I was aware of. I was told very frequently that I was a trustworthy person, after all.

And yet, the moment I saw that horrid creature between the trees, I knew for a fact no one would actually believe me.

At first, I thought it wasn’t very fair. It shouldn’t have been me. If it were someone else seeing it, they would’ve ran back to the town and warned the people.

‘There’s a monster in the woods,’ they would’ve said. ‘It was tall, with branches for arms, and a moose’s skull as a head.’

I was a true skeptic, but only when it favored me. When it didn’t, I would say that I came from a catholic household instead. God was real and full of wrath, but only when I believed him to be. I questioned for a moment if the sight before me was none other than God. It seemed angry and filled with childlike resentment, and it reeked of old bones and rotting flesh.

I ran like a maniac, as anyone else would. I tripped over myself a few times, but took no time to get back up, for I knew it was chasing after me. It made no sound as it scurried between the trees, almost in a graceful manner. I realized I had met my only, true adversary— a creature just like me, that danced through life silently and was never truly seen. Our insides were both rotten and our heart where they wanted to be. I almost sympathize with it as I fled. Two lonely things in the forest, one chasing the other and yet one in the same.

After what felt like an eternity, I was out of the deep woods. It somehow didn’t catch me, but I still ended up injured. But I was deeply thankful, despite the wound on my knee, that I didn’t end up in the creature’s jaws. Even if I had broken both my legs instead, I would’ve preferred it over finding out what it had planned for me. Only a soul like mine would know what it’d take to make me tick. If it had any soul at all, of course.

I have done many unforgivable, selfish things in my life. Things that crawl around me like bedbugs as I try to rest my mind. Little whispers in my ear that don’t go undetected, only ignored along the other sounds of the night. But none could compare to what I did next. More so, what I didn’t do.

I came back home mere hours ago, with tears in my eyes and a bad limp. I was fed the usual warm soup, which felt like ice as it travel down and through the knot in my throat. My wounds were taken care of, but they ached the same as if they were still bleeding. Before I knew it, I was ushered to bed. My mother’s lips on my forehead were cold like a corpse’s.

I waited for the house to fall asleep, and as the last words echoed through the halls, I quietly got up. I began writing this, but it didn’t ease my nausea as I expected.

When I picked up the pen, everything was still and quiet. Not one sound from the town, not even a single cricket sang its heart out. But I can hear them all now. The screams ringing out, echoing outside my window and through the streets. I suppose I shouldn’t have underestimated it, especially because of our similarities. But the only thing that set us apart was exactly why this is all going down now. The creature had the one quality I lacked, one that I had stopped yearning for a long time: honesty.

‘Leave the land before the sun sets’, the creature had whispered to me. ‘Tell your men to go far.’

Of course I’ve been leaving this information out. Up until now, at least, when it’s most useless. Like I’ve stated before, I’m anything but honest. From birth, my ‘condition’ has forbid me to be. I feel no remorse or regret, but there’s a sort of weight in my stomach that doesn’t sit right with me. It might be guilt, but I doubt it.

Either way, it’s completely pointless. It’s far too late, and it’s only a matter of time before it stops. The noise is getting louder now, and I’m beginning to wonder if this is what hell sounds like— a chorus of agonizing souls that never stop crying.

As I’m finishing writing this, I’m waiting for it to eventually cease. Not because of guilt or annoyance from the constant, ear-piercing screams. In fact, I prefer nights to be loud and messy, since it quiets down those cruel, unforgiving whispers. They torment me, make me restless in my sleep. So I welcome anything that dulls it all out, even at the cost of my people.

It won’t take long to finish the job, since there aren’t many citizens here. I have forsaken these people, I’m realizing just now. For this night only, I am God. But more than godly, I’d call myself a coward. Yes, perhaps that’s a better word than ‘histrionic’.