The Hundred Acre Woods
A well-worn path lays before me. One I had walked before, the hymns of the birds fill my ears as the lane of memories unravels in my mind. A young boy, skipping happily into a land of wonder and imagination. The robins chirped happily along the path, guiding the boy into where a world of fun and safety awaits. Where he would be eagerly rushing to jump around with bouncy tigers, to hold a frightened piglet's hand as they walked down the hill to a well-meaning rabbits garden was the norm. To indulge in honey sweet and sugary with a thoughtful bear. A wonderland where the trees went up to the heavens. The leaves brimmed with life, green, where the sun shined ever so brightly. The Hundred Acre Woods is a playground tender and free for this child to see. The walk along this path eventually became more urgent as time passed. The once playful hops now into silent, hurried walking. The robins' once happy chirps now were hushed, ushering the young soul into a rabbit hole. The trees are a shield from agony and pressure. The honey remained sweet compared to the dandelion greens of the young boy's reality. Furrowed brows relaxed as Heffalumps, owls, and an ever-loving bear came to greet the child. Happy as could be, ignorant to all that was and would be. It is the hundred-acre woods you see. Such feelings could not live here freely. Instead, the child would stare into the frees and feel the gentle breeze. Lie down and drink the honey as you see what could be. The leaves had begun to change shades. Yellow, orange, and red adorn the trees ever so lovely. Close your eyes, the bear gleefully said as he took the rose from me. A sign of relief, submission, and defeat. So he would walk the path many more times until the day the trees stopped swaying. The robins had stopped chirping. Instead, they lay silent and unmoving. The once bright sun now bore down on the child as the leaves were nowhere to be seen. A step down the rabbit hole was the next step, and everything would be as it should be.
His eyes adjust to the dark cavern in front of him. Images of woozles adorn the walls dancing and swaying ominously as a familiar figure stands at the end of the darkness. Loud, booming steps one by one as a pot of honey rolls across the cold dark floor, spilling its molded nectar. The bear stares at the frightened boy. A once kind smile is now a twisted and toothy grin. Panic sets in as the boy runs to the walls adorned by the flashing images, but every time he reaches the walls, they would vanish, adorning a new wall, their snickers, and giggles providing a dirge for the predicament. A hairy hand claps down on the boy's shoulder. His eyes meet the bears who stands ever so beastly. His hot breath hit the child's face like mustard gas. The bear shoves him to the ground before its pounces. Tears stream down the child's face and taste like honey as it hits his tongue, the taste of shame fill every tastebud of his. A toxin that inebriates the imagination and opens the ears. The boy stares, praying again to be back with his friends in the woods. His desperate pleas fill the room as the pang of realization resounds sourly in the young boy's mind. This is the hundred-acre woods, don't you see? I stand on the path to the woods now. The boy who once visited these woods was devoured in that cave long ago. The woozles sing where the robins lay dead. My footsteps heavily carry me towards a wonderland of escapism. A sham where once happy fuzzy creatures are now ferocious beasts unafraid to rip you limb from limb to satiety their own hunger. This well-worn path is before me, a path I walked for many years. I stare at the trees swaying softly and turn towards the right, my feet now in the dew-kissed grass. The woozles' necks snap in my direction as their song becomes a piercing cry. My senses scream to turn back, to sprint into the rabbit hole as I once would. I bite my tongue as the ichor turns into honey in my mouth and rush further into the uncharted lands. I run, and I run until the cries no longer are audible. I now stand in the clearing of a grove. I exhale as a virgin path is bared before me. The daunting task of again treading a path unknown, of finding the woods where my mind will swirl, and I drown in a well of honey. I close my eyes and step onto the neatly placed cobblestones with my feet wet and cracked. As the sensation of touch jolts through me, I open my eyes to see a robin on the path, staring back at me. It sings ever so sweet, "It's time to find your own hundred-acre woods, you see."
