another one

The jungle was thick, canopies covering the sky above. Thick branches blocking routes, poking out into the forest, the hair of the trees hanging eerily down, thick, brown, strong. The mud was damp and sticky. The smell was earthy, with tones of green. The flow of water could be heard in the distance. They trudged along. Four women, three men. One guide.

Monkeys chattered as they swung by up above them, staring at these newcomers with curiosity. There had been none of their kind in this place in living memory. Of course there was them, but they were a part of this forest. They had been here since the beginning. But these ones, with their clothes, and bells, and shoes, and all these things, they had a different kind of skin. They had a different kind of smell too. It seemed busy, and fast and rushing, not like a gorilla barreling through the trees, not like a panther pouncing on its prey. It was fast and erratic, and worried, as if they could not control it either. As if they could not stop. The monkeys were fascinated. The birds, those who had flown to many places, and seen many things, they just screeched warning signs, flying over all parts of the forest, staying far away, and high in the sky. They tried to stay away. They knew this kind. They knew how bad they could be.

The sounds of the rushing water turned to stillness. The sun was high in the sky. Green light was being passed on through the canopy, a beautiful kaleidoscope of poetry swinging in through the branches. They trudged along. They pushed through a particularly thick weave of tree hair. They had been told not to cut through it, the locals around the forest had whispered in hushed voices. Those who made the forest angry never made it out. They had dismissed it as superstition but no one was willing to sell them equipment that could harm the forest. So they made do without. The guide was not willing to lead them in unless they swore not to harm kocha - mother forest as they called her.

As they pushed through the weave of hair, one after the other, they kept bumping into someone else just standing transfixed, staring at the scene ahead. The water was calm, but it almost felt alive. It was blue green, sparkling on the surface, smooth, almost as if you could walk on it. They were each tempted to do just that. Hair grew out near the shore, underwater weeds. One by one by one. They kept bumping into one another. They just stared. It was beautiful. The sky above was quiet, it was as if the sounds of the forest, the monkeys chattering, the birds chirping, the predators stalking, the trees sighing. None of them existed here. The apes had refused to follow them in, they stood outside and waited, some leaving, knowing what would happen, intuitively. Slowly, they each began to walk to the water, and then inside. Eight more victims of the forest.