I fell into a thicket. This one was the stuff of a grim fairy tales, ugly and hopeless. I was trapped and made to listen to an evil witch brewing her brew. If she can't destroy me in one way, she will find another. Vicious and unrelenting, as she is.
I'm not one to find myself easily defeated. That's for green-skinned witches and their cackly ways who melt in rain. As she mutters up a storm, I concoct a plan of my own. I am going to beat this witch and, then, I'll get as far away from this dark forest as I possibly can. Systematically, I begin to free myself of the ensnaring thicket from the top down.
I am so distracted I fail to realize I have thorns piercing my skin. Each attempt to extricate myself only makes it worse. Nevertheless, I will be free.
I ignore the cackling from above me and push through the pain.
There's blood aplenty. It flows steady in a macabre ombre but I don't panic. I remind myself that blood is a sign of life, not death.
It's necessary to experience the pain that will bring release so I cautiously lean into it.
That witch brews on because she is foolish in her pride and fear is her religion.
My last move hurts in the most lonely way. I'm not unscathed but I'm already on my way to Freedom.
I run, panting, because it's been so long, until I can see clear in the shedding light. I am alone again with my own thoughts.
It's bright and quiet and I'm a little dizzy but I keep reminding myself that a witch's brew is poison.
I'm not having that.