The Underwood Boy
Light dances in the eyes of the
The youngest leans forward:
‘Grandpa, won’t you tell us a story?’
‘Well now,’ says the old man,
poking the flames, ‘How about the
boy who ran away to the woods?
He wanted a life that was wild
and free, but the wood had other
plans. Trees grew up around him,
swallowing the light. Birds stopped
singing, animals fled. Some say he
suffocated. Alone. In the darkness.
Others swear they still hear him.
Crying for home.’
The boy shuffles closer to his father.
‘Don’t worry, Son. He’s not here.’
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