It was a rainy summer day, the kind of rain that seems to go on forever and stow upon a hot and steamy vibe for all who happen to walk through it. The energy in the air was stale to say the least, and the supermarket, so it seemed, was full of angry customers. To overcompensate for the lack of lemons the store manager, Lily, who wasn't the brightest of individuals, decided that no one would be able to notice if she had some of the oranges painted yellow. Well, suffice to say, people noticed. Lemons by no means were a popular item, in fact, most of the time they just sat there collecting a thin layer of zesty dust. However, what people hate the most is when they no longer have access to something that they did previously. This rainy Thursday was no exception. The shipment of lemons that was supposed to come that day was caught up in the storm, not exactly a great thing, however not entirely unexpected either. The truck driver was highly unreliable and had mistakingly brought the original regular Captain Crunch, instead of the Oops, All Berries cereal, which ended up being far more popular than anyone expected. What people didn't know about the truck driver was that he had spent the night, along with many previously, completly wasted with his mistress and hadn't planned on driving that next day. But life leads to unexpected events and because of this he sat in traffic with a pounding in his head that was made sizably worse now that he had to deal with the deluge without end. By the time the rain had stopped the lemons in the truck were far too drenched to be used, or at least thats what was claimed by Lily. The air had returned to that sticky summer heat and the yellow oranges became something of a local joke that continued to last throughout the years. The truth is, sometimes life doesn't even give you lemons, sometimes you gotta paint them yourself.

Wispers. Growing louder and louder, screaming distantly, waiting to be heard. I walk closer to the forest, the source of the sound. The crunch of the fresh autumn leaves beneath my feet cleansing the silence into a satisfying and crisp echo in the otherwise still air. Louder and louder still the trees speak on top of each other. I touch the bark of one and all the noise haults in a shocking grasp of my being so strong I nearly fall over. The wind picks up in a way that makes even the smallest moments seem important, however, I realized,this was no small moment. I hear a deep voice call out to me. I close my eyes and concentrate. A familiar word is spoken, but never before has it struck such fear into my heart. Run. I open my eyes to see some of the trees shaking, vibrating, and then one by one they lift out of the ground, using their roots like legs. They open a mouth like shape and scream a terrifying war cry. A horrible sound that shakes the earth and calls the others awake. I run. I run and I plan to never look back. I hear laughing behind me, mocking my fear, laughing at my cowardice response. I turn in spite of myself and as I do I see a fellow witch, a green glow from her hands as she wispers the forgotten language of Hustumical, the language of witches. She grins with unmatchable menace. I see her shift her focus from the trees onto me, but by the time I realize, it's too late. As I take my last breath staring up into that big blue sky, I wonder why that one tree warned me, I wonder if the kindness of one tree can change the minds of the others.