Scars of the Green

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx.

The light from the fire against the tent cast some strange shadows, but nothing out of the ordinary, as Tony whispered that it was probably Bumi going to pee in the foliage. Leaning slowly to one side I raised the flap of the tent and stared out. Panic gripped me when I suddenly realized that the tent opposite, Bumi’s tent, was empty. Not only that, but his backpack was missing.

Why would he take his stuff if he’s just going to pee? I asked myself and then Tony, out loud. In response he told me not to panic. Surely wherever Bumi had gone he would be back by morning. I was less convinced.

Staring out through the small triangular entrance of the tent, past the glow of the fire, I could see the few splashes of illumination on the leaves, a deep verdant green that faded only a few feet back into a sea of all encompassing black. I resolved to close the flap, to lie back down and wait for Bumi's return the following morning. I would have done just that, had the sounds not changed.

From somewhere, deep with the twisted mess of tree limbs and leaves, vines and saplings, a chorus of sound erupted, as birds, insects and small monkeys began to scream and holler as one. I stared at Tony, whose mouth seemed to have fallen open and then fixed my gaze back onto the first and the sound, which was not only growing louder, but closer.

It was like watching footage of a tsunami, a great wave creeping closer, its progress huge, rapid and inevitable. As whatever was disturbing the wildlife moved forwards so too, did the wall of sound, as a new layer of creatures panicked and screeched in retreat and terror. It was then that I saw the light.