The Place

      This place, ruled by the Ancient Others, was outside the World's Circle. Every occurrence of any echo heard here reverberates still; and it is a shrill cry of everything lost. Here, what is felt, rather than what is seen, is the only illusion permitted, as there is no conception granted to outsiders. What is truly here is not permitted to be seen. It is a dark wood that outsiders call More Forrest. No one knows what the real name is because nothing is revealed, and to dwell within its depth is to dwell in obscurity.

      Within this place is a particular tree that appears to have its mouth open screaming from the flames; the hollowed base, a constant reminder of its continued agony. The pedaled bark is imprinted with the images of lost souls mired into the agony. At the base of the tree, vulnerable with the absence of bark, is the impression of an Ancient One crouched with his offering of fire, embossed into the wood. A hairy beast seeking escape stands upright, frozen in time that had no beginning, as a gnarled sentinel of mutated wood. Giant trees stand sentry to this particular tree, catching those seeking to flee, consuming them into the cambium of time eternal within their bark and manifesting them as a distorted formation. 

      It is quiet here, but a shrill cry permeates the soul. Pain and life are one - happiness and tranquility are absent here. It is a place without essence. There is nothing to believe in - there is no hope. It is a place without a soul that devours them to feel its emptiness in vane.

     Once, on a quiet day a violent power struck, and reclaimed the place as separate from any intrusion. The Ancient ones and creatures in their keeping were frozen in time as the earth opened, splitting apart into a repetitive reverberation of madness. The vines began to wrap around trees and snare the path to the glen where the only sunlight could be felt. Darkness fell and seeped into every living thing. The ground shook and the creatures within the formation of the beastly trees screeched ominous words of a foreboding nature. Those who were able crashed into one another, crawled over one another and trampled each other in an attempt to survive. Broken pieces and parts bleeding on the ground were being grasped by the tendrils of green growth that belied themselves with blue flowers of innocence. It is here, within this wood, that the ground offers its blood sacrifice in eons of degradation to the holiness of innocence. Clouded formations of dragons coil around the wooded formations of the looming giants that grasp ever-mutating branches into a pagan darkness. Rock formations, encapsulating the place, rumble rhythmically with words of damnation, creating a taunting pulse with each pounding thud. Intermittently, trickles of blood seep from ancient wood that remembers with fleeting rumbles, and then quickly forgets. Saplings began to seed where blood has made its way to the earth. 

      White-robed ones bearing the light of knowledge approach the boundaries of The Place. The elements scream in discord, "Do not Trespass", but the white-robed one bears the palm of her hand into the darkness and a light shines forth piercing the entanglement of anguish that thrives on the blood of despair. Screams emanate from the foliage and a raven, black as the darkness itself, flies toward the white robed one in an attempt to pluck out her eyes defending the place and it's truths. The bird snatches a lock of the white robed one's hair as she flails to protect herself, and the feathered creature falls to the ground, then is sucked into the gnarled wood of a nearby tree, it's remains augmenting the grotesque collage. Again, the white robed one bears the palm of both hands, this time emanating rays of white light in the direction of the particular tree. A moan and a fierce wind that seems to come from the bowels of the earth pours fourth from it's gaping mouth, creating a centrifuge of leaves whirling in it's wake. The white robed one steps back and waits. This time a serpent slithers toward her bare feet, arching its spiny body in preparation to sink poison into the vulnerable flesh of her bare feet. She shines the light from her palms in the direction of the reptile and it recoils and shrinks into a dry powder that is sucked into the hungry earth of the forest. The rock formations reproduce themselves; reinforcing the protective wall around the woods and rumble in discord, "Go away." The white robed one raises her palms to the dark heavens of The Place, then, glancing over her right shoulder, summons others of her kind to it's parameters with the blue light of her piercing eyes. Then with words that shoot from her lips like lightening she commands: "Be free". Other white robed ones raise palms of radiance into the dark forest, and a battleground is manifested as a hurricane within the entanglement. A tree is felled in its wake.

     Dr. Sarah McGlone put her white jacket on for her daily rounds. Jimmy Moore sat stone faced on the bench in the corner of the room, never moving save for the violent outbursts that subsided back into a catatonic state, his mind a jungle of thoughts not seen by anyone. Dr. McGlone, assisted by the new nurse on the ward, walked over to the silent man and gently placed the palm of her hand on his shoulder and spoke his name, then said to her co-worker, "One of our goals as a team is to find the path to free Mr. Moore from this place of entrapment and bring him back into our world."

     The eyelids of Jimmy Moore fluttered slightly on his wooden façade.
                                                        

                                                        written by Jennifer Grant

and Chris B.