i dream about a forest where the ground doesn’t quite hold and pinecones whisper. it’s not broken here, but the reading of it slips. the moon hangs wrong and the stars keep splitting. daytime never quite comes here. sometimes i don’t notice, sometimes i do, then i forget what i felt like i always do.

the forest folds around itself while the sparrows drift soft and watchful. they prefer to observe rather than to brawl. the grey squirrels move through the same space, twitching with the memory of their dead red siblings. they know what happened here, the pressure keeps building behind their tiny squinting eyes.

the birds fly through the canopy remembering the red squirrels they adored yet wordlessly witnessed the massacre of. they can’t remember why they allowed it to happen. a once-lofty eagle stands behind all of it. everyone waits for him to give into his ego, and deep down everyone knows it’s happening soon. in waking hours he can’t abide his present self. he used to be someone. princess sparrow watches where he once did, the pressure of indigo wings almost crushing her into a jewel.

they all feel the pinecones around them, their energy bleeding into their psyche. most of them welcome the feeling nowadays. princess sparrow overheard an acquaintance comparing a nearby pinecone to a lucky charm:

“a pinecone nearby keeps the bad luck away.”

they glow in tangles of abandoned fibre-optic cables left by past occupants; something or someone turned them into nests. most enjoy the warm, slightly wonky feeling in their heads the pinecones seem to provide. even the eagle has one of them on his branchside leaf. he is held by half-awake premonitions of a changed story. he won’t let princess sparrow move it, no matter how she pleads.

“ghastly things,” muses princess sparrow whenever she flies by. she trusts she can feel the true nature of these mutants, yet no one will acknowledge it with her.

she does not believe in their innocence.

“at least we don’t eat the rainbow berries!” thundered one of the squirrels when princess sparrow reprimanded him for hoarding these pinecones.

you soon take a walk through their forest and feel it around you. a pinecone falls from a nest; for a second your body tells you it’s a knife from your kitchen. without thinking, you move in the same fashion you would as if that were the case. you know what these are. your throat tells you to stay silent. you see it on the ground. it wants to be picked up. should you pick it up? you pick it up. the warmth spreads through you. 

you think you hear it speak, and you suspect you will forget it. 

“princess sparrow will be next.”

you haven’t let go of the pinecone. the warmth keeps spreading.