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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2232131-Indifferent-trees
Rated: E · Short Story · Mystery · #2232131
If something is true, and if it isn't, what is it.
Fantastic feedback on my first offering, am hoping for the same again, is this a story, is it worth reading, what can be better.

He enjoyed a yoghurt rich in fruit and sugar, licking the spoon clean after each mouthful so he could see his face looking back at him. Unmoved, he washed the spoon clean despite it being free of appendage, sitting down on a wooden stool, taking the opportunity to straighten his back. Reddening light strobed across his face, slowly fading as night overwhelmed another day. He looked at the clocks placed throughout the kitchen, the same time telling him they would be outside by now. He took deep breathes, looking at his shaking hands and putting them between his legs.

He opened the door and stood just inside for safety. He would wait for the whispering to start before coming out, working out where they were. They hid behind bushes that were equally placed from each other, each tall enough to act as a disguise. Taunts would emanate from here, get caught on the wind and carried over to him. He was outside now, holding a jar of water that was holy enough to be used to protect him.

Then the taunts, thick with every weakness he possessed, hitting his ears like rocks that wanted him to bleed.

“Begone, begone, damn you” he screamed, his eyes bursting from his head. He threw the water in the direction of three bushes, thinking this was where they were and where he would do the most damage. He swelled up with faith, treading cautiously on the twigs and leaves spread across the ground in a peculiar fashion, wanting to see them up close

“Brave, not brave, eyes not able to meet mine. The end” he insisted, wiping his brow.

He picked up a stick, one with a pointed end that looked like it would hurt. At each bush he used the same tactic, a slow approach, waiting for a moment for a sign of movement, then forcing the stick inside before resting when he was sure they were gone.

Enough of the moon was visible to light his path back to the hut, its sombre tone befitting the calm now descending around him, safe for another night again. Inside, he put the remaining water in a pan to heat on the stove. He pulled the curtains shut, leaving a slight gap just in case. He always left the gap, it made him feel he could be still, not needing to move all the time. He made himself comfortable, leaving the door unlocked, knowing his faith was right.
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