by Marcia Borell
I watch him. His mood is heavy. We took a shortcut through the woods. We found him, her, now it. A lost soul—no name. Bones captured in cloth hanging from the tree. The tree bore a carved heart within our chiseled initials. He called it in. Left no name. We told no one. Ice has a way of piercing the heart. Our souls ripped and withered. He walks the balcony staring at the woods.
I know he hears it. I hear it . . . sometimes. Singing, “Come to me!” He leaves. I follow. Back to the woods. Back to the tree. I see the flash of silver. He stabs the tree heart, again and again. The heart holds no letters. The tree bleeds. We are not free. Now we hear their screams.
First tree cut and burned
Its scream embraced the others
Their roots eat our souls.
Marcia Borell has never encountered an art medium she didn’t like. As she began doing more and more illustration work, she discovered that she loved to pair writing with illustration. That was when she discovered drabbles. These 100-word tales became one of her favorite writing activities. Then along came horrorku and a new love for expressing thoughts where once again every word has to hold its own.
Marcia is loving her life journey through writing and art.