A Silent World

It was a quiet world, a death world. The forest was silenced by the eerie wind of passing life. It was not silent out of respect, but fear. Fear that any part of it could be next. The gentle wind rocked a few of the taller, scrawnier pines, but they seemed to do so unwillingly, reluctantly.

The wind, ever intrusive, also played at the fur on the empty animal form, causing it to ruffle and wave. Wave as it had done when the body had life. It was mocking, in a way. But, of course, the dead cannot be mocked; cannot feel any anger at the sick jokester.

But living things can.

A second figure stood over the still form. It was also silent. And even though it's mouth was hanging ajar, as if it were about to say something, no words came. Because even if it could speak, there were no words to describe what it felt, what it had seen, had experienced. A small cloud of mist carried on it's warm breath escaped the gaping jaws, accompanied by a quiet distress sound. That is the only word that can get close to describing the pathetic noise that escaped the creature. Distress.

A few yards away, a Woodpecker drummed his beak against an old, towering pine, disrupting the silence. The careless, happy taps seemed to ask "Is it safe now? Can I come out now?" But the forest did not respond with it's normal chattering and rustles, and the Woodpecker quieted himself once more.

The living creature lowered it's great head to gently touch the cold, still face of the empty shell. And although the animal was not blessed with verbal words, it's eyes spoke clearly of what it thought; "Why?" However, the forest rarely answers such questions, and this was no exception. But slowly, the rustles began to return, the animal departed from the carcass of it's dear friend, and birds resumed fluttering back and forth between their perches.

In the forest, there is little time to be idle.