Friday Fictioneers — Wish No More
Consumed by slime and locked in haze, the forest wore a visage of enchantment. A once-loved spot in dank despair.
The odd array of outbuildings stared, open-mouthed and blank-eyed like a creature forever stunned. Not a peep from the birds, not an animal brave enough to show its whiskers. Even those of lightest claw or paw feared how the waterlogged leaves squidged underfoot and threatened to drag them under.
Then there was the wishing well, its waters a phosphorescent green, unmoving but for the coins tinkling in its depths; or was it the shifting of tiny bones? A child lost.