by Amy Tasillo

We’re lost, but that’s beside the point. I don’t know how long we’ve been wandering—I remember nothing before we ate the fruit. We grabbed it by the handful and ate desperately. It grew low over the forest floor, its crimson inside gelatinous and painfully tart.

Feeling dizzy, I yell, “Stop.”

The man walking ahead of me calls back, but I can’t understand a word. All I can tell is the ground beneath me is breathing. And I’m running, and the sky is green, and something is following me. And there’s no man ahead of me, and possibly never was.

Amy Tasillo

Amy Tasillo is a writer and filmmaker based in New York City. She lives with her extremely judgmental Jack Russell Terrier mix. Her screenplays and short fiction focus primarily on gothic fantasy, and she works as an educational animator by day.