(For visually challenged reader, the image shows a road leading towards a dwelling in the forest. It is hidden in fog and surrounded by tall trees. A light is shining brightly out of the window of the house)
A finger of yellow light shines through the fog
This means life, hidden behind the tall trees
Am I trespassing?
My nosiness answered by a shotgun blast
Lifting the hair on my head
I ran, as if I had sprouted wings on my feet.
Believing myself far enough from danger
I lent against a tall tree,
Letting my body slide to the ground
My breath slowing,
my heart beating in time with fear
I remembered seeing a small cabin through the fog
Why did they shoot at me?
Had it been a warning, or did they take aim?
They could have just asked me to leave
Had they lost the art of communication?
Rested now, I decided to take the long way around
Avoiding any further confrontation.
This was not to be
The yellow light shone in my face
Blinding me to who may be holding it
I felt the sharp end of a needle enter my neck
On waking, I found myself in my own bed
I had no recollection of the two days that had passed.
Remembering the sting of the needle
Placed my hand where the needle had pierced.
I found a small raised bump
Now I realised the stories about the cabin to be true
I had been taken…
©anita dawes 2020