Lost in the Woods

The darker shadows of the trees, cast down by the full moon’s light, left him disoriented. Smith had misread his map, taken the wrong trail and was now irrevocably lost.

Making matters worse, there were the odd noises coming from all around him. Some he knew, such as the scurry of a mouse, still others like the snapping of a branch or a heavy footfall left Smith questioning his safety.

“Please don’t be that thing again,” he mumbled tearfully.

He felt like he’d been this way or that way before as nearly everything took on the same dense tonality. Still Smith knew he could not stop for any reason – his intuition told him that danger was nearby – that he was being watched and to halt would be death.

“So, as you can see Mrs. Smith, your husband’s delusions are increasing,” the head of the psychiatric ward cautioned, “And the prognosis of a cure, to be completely honest, is becoming less and less likely.”