/lit/ - Literature

You're walking through the woods as the day is just beginning to settle and a mere hour before the moon will begin to take it's shift. Children are joyfully running past you with bright smiles on their face with white teeth that had yet to be yellowed by time. The sound of their laughter and cajoling, as well as tiny feet snapping twigs bring life to the forest.

You can see up ahead a clearing in the woods with a large boulder where a man was sat, legs crossed as though meditating. Gathered below the rock was an audience made of tiny yet to be men and tiny yet to be women with pine needles and dirt bringing the smell of the earth to their once clean, well laundered bottoms.There were adults present, but only in body, in spirit they were no different from those sat at the foot of this stone stage formed by the earth it's self. Though their knees may have cracked as they took their seats, or their backs may not have been as comfortable as they once were on dirt floors, their eyes and ears still waited with all the same anticipation as years past.

Finally you take your seat among them, dirt caking your hands as you reach down to lower your body gently to the floor. The man stood and awoke from his meditative state, which brought a hush across the crowd. The children's eyes, with their tiny chins turned upwards, widened and glowed as if there were fireworks in the sky.

Then he spoke.