The Second Forest
Devon had seen the second forest before. He hadn’t realized its true nature until today, but remembered glimpses of it surfaced in his mind as he lay in a fractured heap, staring at the upside down trees. Maybe the concussion was conducting this orchestra or perhaps gazing through one bloody lens was the key. Whatever the catalyst, Devon saw life as never before, and it was laced with magic.
Fifty miles per hour doesn’t feel all that fast when driving becomes second nature after decades of practice. The notion of piloting one of the 250 million four ton weapons on the American highways today fades into the periphery as the daily routine becomes rote. Only when the status quo is disrupted does reality slam back with full force into the contrasting forums of blinding speed and slow motion.
Something had flickered in the corner of Devon’s eye, movement in the forest. His gaze sought it for an instant only, and when he looked down the road once more, an encounter with a pair of gawking deer was imminent. A reflexive swerve was followed by the roar of gravel, and the metallic clip of a guard rail set the sedan to tumbling. An adrenalin soaked mind pontificated at the potential similarity to whirling within a tornado in the sluggish limbo seconds before airbags and blackness opened welcoming arms.
Dusk clouded the clarity of the second forest, or perhaps his consciousness was just slipping again. Devon continued to seek purchase on his mental focus, but the world was wrong. Gravity was wrong. The upside down tongue in his mouth was alien, a hot and weighty invader, disconcerting and distracting. He was in the process of trying to locate his hands when half a face appeared in the window.
Narrow eyes spiraled open and closed beneath a slanted brow beneath a slick of ebon hair as six fingers curled over the edge of the driver’s door. “Thankeetru borelord,” a piping male voice sung, “Forsparin tammersdin.”