11
FOR MOTHER
YAP SHI QUAN
Mom, I’m heading out for awhile. Gary said, heading straight for the door. He glanced at his
mother; the televisino had illuminated the dark, living room, elongating his mother’s shadow.
Say goodbye to your dad. Gary. His mother said. Gary hesitated for awhile, looking at the silent
silhouette at the corner of the couch. Bye, dad.
Gary rushed out of the door. His heart thumped against his ribcage, and he tried valiantly to
clamp down the churning in his belly. Percy had woken him up from his sleep with a phone
call, exclaiming Gary, you gotta go to the forest just at the outskirts of the town. Now. Then he
had hung up, leaving Gary dazed and confused.
Gary shuffled towards the forest. The moon seemed really big today, he thought, as he walked
through the empty streets. A thin veil of mist descended, with only street lamps to map his
journey towards the forest. The large expanse of trees hanging like guillotines from the ceiling
of the night soon came into view, and standing at the edge of the outskirts was Percy.
What’s going on? Gary said, when he caught up to Percy.
You won’t believe what I found in the forest. Percy whispered, as if fearing somebody would
hear him.
What are you even doing in the forest?
Never mind the specifics! Come with me! Gary’s stomach lurched slightly. He didn’t like
entering the forest, especially not at night. But as he opened his mouth to voice his protest,
Percy had already disappeared into the foliage. Only the sound of leaves crackling with a
blurred, shadowy figure advancing into the heart of the abyss was left for Gary to follow, and
so he did.