I remember being left behind, because they were always doing that. Turning back and giggling, faces close, dressed the same, as if they had some codeword.
Maybe they did.
I sometimes tried to follow them, but they would run ahead, until all I could hear was their laughter. Then I’d pretend I’d just gone into the woods to gather berries, or leaves. I’d pretend I didn’t care.
I pretended so hard, for so long, that I lost track of what I cared about. I was like a locked book, key lost in the forest.
A quick flash of fiction for a wet Sunday and Mindlovemisery…