The forest down the road has bodies in it.

Everybody knows that. The place is filled with trees that tower over the ground, casting dark shadows over the soil. People who just give up one day go in with a rope, or with a gun, or with a knife. And they disappear in the shadows and never come out.

People like me, hoisting a noose over my shoulder.

There’s been dares to go through the forest in the slight hope they’ll find a body. Something like a morbid curiosity, I guess. Most people refuse to go too deep in and turn back quickly, some people are brave to go farther. But everyone who’s come out claims they never find anything.

And come to think of it, no matter how deep I go searching for a good tree, I don’t see any bodies, either. A lot of trees, an uncomfortable amount even- but no bodies. Maybe some freak comes along and cleans it out every so often, like a vulture scavenging for bodies. Hopefully nobody’ll do that to me, I thought as I climbed a tree’s branches. Waiting until I got enough height.

They told stories of a lady, in some of the dares. Nobody knows how long ago it was- it ranges between last year and centuries ago. But they told a story of a woman who walked into the forest and never came out. The eerie part was she had no intention to kill herself- no rope, no gun, nothing. And yet she disappeared.

What kills a person who doesn’t want to die?

I was on a branch. Tying the rope to the wood and ironically trying not to lose my balance, I placed the noose around my throat and took a deep breath. Enough height makes it quick. Enough height closes the noose fast enough to snap my neck. I’ve had a life I never enjoyed and I’m ready to die.

So I threw myself off the branch and waited for the rope to kill me.

But all I felt was air.

And then I hit the ground, my right leg taking the impact instead.

Screaming out, I collapsed on the dirt and held my leg. Agony spread through my body. I expected to see my leg bent and broken, but I saw something else- a large, brown stick sticking out of my foot. And I wouldn’t have screamed as loud if I didn’t see it moving.

The pain grew worse. I couldn’t stand. The wood spread through my body quickly, invading my leg, spreading into my chest, roots flowing out of my mouth. I writhed in pain, trying to crawl away from this hell before it took me with it.

But I had chosen my fate. I wanted to die. And as the wood burst out of my back, sinking my body deep into the dirt, I couldn’t help but realize that I got my wish all along.

The forest down the road has bodies of trees.