The tropical night was shrouded in darkness, adding an air of mystery to the night. The clouds above us are heavy with rain, it is nearly suffocating the captivating emerald grass. The rain starts to drizzle and the bright rays of sunlight, just nearly peeking through the dark and light gray clouds that covers the sky. The rain briefly transforms into a dazzling display of colors before fading away. I like when it’s gloomy outside, but not when it’s for days, I ’ve been locked in my house for days. All you can do outside is play field games and play on the playground, but all of that will get you sick. You could try to find a dry cubby to sit and talk with your friends but that only slightly decreases the chance of getting sick, but I can’t get sick. Not with finals in 5 days.

Smells of coconut plumeria I’m the air Salt water breezes Life with no care

Sunny sandy beaches Tropical oasis Ocean filled with creatures Beautiful places

In a shadowy tropical landscape, towering palm trees loom overhead, their fronds swaying like ghostly figures in the dim light. An eerie fog clings to the ground, swirling around gnarled roots and curious vines that twist like skeletal fingers. The air is thick with moisture, carrying the faint scent of decay and the distant echo of unnatural sounds. Hidden beneath the underbrush are vibrant flowers, their vivid colors seeming almost unnatural against the murky backdrop, as if they lure unsuspecting travelers closer.

On the shore, dark waves crash against jagged rocks, sending spray into the air like whispers of secrets long buried. Pools of brackish water reflect distorted images of the sky, while shadows dance along the shoreline, creating an unsettling sense of movement. The cacophony of strange bird calls mingles with the rustle of unseen creatures, adding an ominous pulse to the night. This mysterious setting, layered with beauty and danger, beckons curiosity but warns of darkness lurking just beyond sight.

Gözlerim muhteşem güzellik karşısında şaşkınlıkla etrafı seyre dalmıştı. Güzelliği anlatmaya kelimeler yetmiyordu., yağmurun arka'sından parıldayan güneşin aydınlattığı kenarlara sıralanmış gibi dizilmiş her cins ağaçlarla ve çiçeklerle bezenmiş, görüntüleri ise renklerin her tonuna boyanmış gibi rüzgarda hışırdayan usta bir dansöz gibi sağa sola ahenkle kırrılıyorlardı.

The sand so white Trees blowing in the wind The smell of salty air And sweet drinks in coconuts. A minute, a day, a week Just getting away from it all Smiling, swimming, sleeping Every day is perfect Laughing, lounging Soaking up the tropical sun Thriving In a little slice of heaven

The rickety boards creaked and the rope bridge swayed as I inched across the ravine, desperately trying not to look down.

The only way out was over. If I just made it across, I would make it to the main road and back to the beach. I could turn around and retrace my steps — but the terrain was too dangerous, filled with jagged, slippery rocks, and it was getting dark.

I was flanked by vines and trees so thick I couldn’t see any of the jungle’s creatures that kept breaking my concentration with their chatter.

I felt the sweat build on my upper lip and drip down my lower back. Partly from fear of the staggering depth below and partly the stifling humidity.

I took a deep breath, cautiously gripped the fraying rope at my sides and willed myself forward.

Straggling from the aircraft, I could have almost sworn my arm was broken. “Where am I?” I wondered in the midst of my groans. I crawled onto sand that tried to consume me. The specks that clung onto me were the last thing I needed. What I saw before me was a landscape of palm trees. Coconuts budded about eight feet high. Through the ringing of my ears, I could hear pigs squealing and scrambling around the terrain. Once my vision was truly clear from the blur of the impact, I realized that I was in the Pigs’ Paradise.

It tasted of rotting fruit and decay, an anti paradise of an Eden left abandoned and overgrown.

Like that forgotten apple long ago, the one that bore the bite of sin, sappy juices seeping from its incision, the forest too was a symbol of evil. A thing once whole who’s fleshy peel had been breached by naïve, greedy teeth.

•••••••••••

Thick canopies of moss fanned across the earth, it’s outstretched tendrils not unlike the sticky netted trappings of a spider’s web. The viridescent velvet coated everything, blanketing long forgotten carcasses and tree roots that curled along the floors like gnarled fingers.

Flat, broad leaves palmed from thick stems like tabletops, their surfaces unnaturally dark, navy and sheened with luster like the backs of beetles.

Dotting the trees, growing around their thick trunks or atop forgotten bones, were the all-consuming fungi. Some white, some mucus yellow, and others, bright red beads of fresh blood seeping from fissures in the umber underbelly of the terrain.

Within and throughout all this ugly, flowers still bloomed, tiny white and periwinkle blossoms that studded the heavy fullness. They were beautiful trivial things, fingernail small with petals that curled towards their centers at nightfall and bloomed into papery fans by day. These blossoms, sprouting from the crooks of rough bark or pushing through soupy undergrowth blinked like lucid eyes, forever forced to endure the vileness of the first mistake of man.

But this contrast, this carefully sprinkled delicacy amongst all the unkempt darkness, did not work in the forests favour. Instead of being a symbol of thriving beauty it instead, resembled something sinister, something uncanny; like funeral flowers lain upon a fresh grave. Their powdery sweetness filled the gardens with the sickening cloy of sun – baked fruit spent too long in the heat.

The creatures that roamed the forest had furred or hairy flesh, bristling bodies that scratched against the vegetation like brush bristles against leather, shining the leaves to reflective disks.

One would imagine that without this second skin, they would feel the thick wet heat that hung in the air. This tangible ambience that bound to flesh like latex stretched thin over heaving lungs, suffocating and choking.

In a place where sunlight often failed to hit, the forest appeared murky, drained of vivid hue and rendered in shades of grey, navy, and black. The rare exceptions to all this waxy darkness were the spots of glossy wetness that drenched the tongues of unfurled leaves. The silvery dew drops that surfaced the leaves shone like mirrored jewels, a failed attempt to conceal the dreariness in a veil of gaudy splendor.

For all its lack of colour, the forest was still very much heady with sensation. A pulsing thrum seeped from the damp soil, creeping into bones and blood, and anything living. It slithered along the skin, this second heartbeat, burying itself deep under meaty tissue so that one might imagine a second forest soon blooming inside their own bodies. A forest festering with thousands of tiny crawling legs and feathery leaves that brushed against their throats, threatening to consume even their tongue and teeth.

•••••••••••

In the aftermath of the great fall, this is what will be left behind.

A single red apple gone rotten that will metastasize, proliferating its ichor like a disease, a dark decay that will eat and eat until nothing remains.

My cookie jar is a world. A fairyland with turquoise and chartreuse sands, baby ferns, and in pride of an emerald tailed mermaid. I wanted a rainy day project for my children. The boys and I made terrariums on the generous dining room table. They died. A row of glass shrouds snaked the ikea blonde wood.
Next came the parsonage window sill. The days of rainy day activities gone. Looking for whimsy during the pandemic, I popped out the carcasses and popped in begonias, then a few jades, then a wandering Jew. Each died. I would lift the lid with hope. Only the mermaid figurine remained, queen of the dead.

New house, perhaps our last house, I tried again. A layer of charcoal, a layer of smooth stones, fresh soil sifted through my fingers. This time I added plants ideal for terrariums and already skittering towards the mortal coil. I expected nothing but the enjoyment of making. Adding a handful of pretty shells and colorful beads, I tucked in my shopworn siren and let nature run its course. Now, I collect succulents. Cheek to jowl, baby toes and ogre’s ears, redheaded Irishman and Eve’s needle jockey for sun in every window. Among the spikes and the velvety plumpness, a tropical miniscape of verdant moss, sensuous orchids, and fuchsia polka dots thrives, a world in a cookie jar.

We trudged through the forest. I had been camping before but it had never been like this.

Well ok first of all I guess we were backpacking.

But beyond that I was gross. We hadn’t come across a bathing body of water in a number of days. The river we refilled our skins at Gawain deemed too fast moving to be safe.

My rough cut hair was greasy and I had dirt under my fingernails. The air was neither hot nor cold it just was. I walked in my tunic and boots, my leggings tucked into my pack.

“Trees, trees, and more trees” Alex said. I nodded.

Shea, hearing talking, bounded back to us. I scratched her behind the ears.

Alex found a stick on the ground “ok go!” He yelled as he threw it.

Shea raced off. Gawain looked back at us, perturbed.

“What! Do you never play with your dog??” Alex asked.

Gawain shook his head. “Dogs are dedicated workers. They don’t need to play.”

I grimaced. “Yikes.” I said.

Alex laughed at my uncomfortable face.

“Dogs are dedicated workers.” Alex said, mimicking Gawain’s deep tone.

I laughed but tried to hide it when I saw Gawain’s shoulders tense.

“Aww bud,” I said, “we’re only playing.” “Oh wait,” I added, “do HUMANS not do that also??”

Gawain’s mouth twitched and I felt proud. That mfer never smiled so this was very close to a win.

Alex threw the stick for Shea as we continued. I kicked the small pebbles on the path, scattering them along the dusty trail. Very quickly past where the sandy parts ended, the trees grew thick. We pulled off to sleep at night, hidden in the branches. But moving through it on a consistent basis proved too difficult for the ole dainty twins.

When I cried from a thorn scraping my leg in the brush, Gawain had decided that we could risk walking out in the open.

We saw no one, crossed no paths. Just a straight shot to somewhere.

The trees had leaves still here, the usual colors. Some had more of a bluish tinge than I was used to. I mean truly who knew where we were. Gawain told us it was the harvest season which I guess meant fall?? But if the leaves don’t fall what do they call it ya know.

Some trees had berries and like in our world, red meant bad. But the purple berries with the little seed pods were fun to eat. They exploded in your mouth like a Gusher. Without all the stick-on-your-teeth sugary bits.