Jessamine
Drawing the hood tighter over my head, I weave through the woods, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. My stomach flutters as knotted nerves unravel. A loud roar splits the air from a distance, sending the birds perched on the trees flying.
I haven't been back in these woods in years, but it is almost the same. The paths I created when I was a child have all closed up, but the markers mother put on the trees are still here.
My fingers trace each as I walk past, and my heart clenches at the sight of the familiar boulder that had served as a gate for my home.
I halt in front of the little mud hut I grew up in. Memories assault me and I shove them down, deep into the box of things I don't like to look into. Each step is heavier than the last as I approach, and I convince myself, a
