Jacqueline Forster
Bio
An always improving, aspiring writer from Reno, Nevada. I love baking and staying home with a book my favorite t.v. shows, and my tabby Lucy. I write in as many genres as I can find inspiration for.
Stories (2)
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The Cabin in the Woods
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Though I had heard talk of a small unoccupied hut deep in the forest, I never saw it. I chalked it up to an urban legend. I always stuck to the path, never dwelling any deeper than that. I used to run here everyday. Everyday 4 Pm without fail. Grief took that. Grief took a lot and changed a lot. The thing I’ve learned about grief, in my recent, very serious relationship with it, is that grief doesn’t operate on a schedule that is easy to follow. Unlike the path I had grown accustomed to running everyday, knowing every turn to round and branch to jump, grief likes to keep you guessing. The first few weeks are a dark and empty void of depression. It will be all consuming, nearly life ending. You will feel nothing but unrelenting mental and physical anguish. Then maybe if you’re lucky a sliver of light may break through and you might get out of bed or get out of the house. Soon you may find yourself enjoying things again, life may begin to feel whole. Until, completely out of nowhere you feel it. The darkness creeps back in, the pain starts to tickle your mind and body. You’re reminded of whatever brought you to the doorstep of grief, and you begin to sink. The darkness and loneliness are still the only places where you can be with what or who you lost. It’s scary there, but it’s where they are. For a time. The length of time that the love you have lost resides there, is up to grief. Grief decides everything you do, everything you feel, even everything you say. You wander around a ghost of happiness, anger and isolation shield you from any ray of joy that may try to break through. You’re back in the place where nothing lives, except painful memories and sorrow. Your suffocating in your own grief but it’s where you feel close to what’s been lost, you can feel and hear them. Grief tricks you into thinking this is where you belong, but grief is wrong. After a time, you begin to see the facade. You look in the mirror and it’s not a monster you’re fighting everyday, it’s you. You’re holding the key to the shackles of torment. You’re the one letting grief decide you. What you love is not really there, and you can see the bars of the prison grief has built for you, and you know you must escape. You begin to accept what has been lost is gone and that remembering them will be painful but nothing is as painful as loving them in darkness. You can’t do that to their memory, waste the love you have for them and they for you. You bring your love and memories, painful and beautiful, into the light to be seen as they should. Losing someone or something and feeling the pain of their absence is the part of life you can’t prepare for. It never gets easier and it never stops. Grief will always be somewhere in the back of your mind and it may scratch at your brain with its black, needle-like finger nail. You may sink back into it occasionally, feeling the air violently ripped from your lungs, by those dirty old fingers, but you can climb out again. You can stitch the torn pieces back together, every time adding a scar to remind you of the pain you’ve endured. These reminders of survival build up over time, providing a roadmap to guide you through the next journey into the cold and ghastly forest of grief.
By Jacqueline Forster4 years ago in Horror
