By Dee
I was taking my weekly walk along Welchman’s trail when I spotted a large root across the path−thick as my arm. Caution succumbed to curiosity and I tugged at it; after initial resistance it yielded and I started walking backwards. Soon, more roots appeared then a trunk, branches and masses of vine. I kept on pulling until breathlessness consumed me and I gave one last yank then dropped it.
“What the devil did you do?”
My jaw dropped when I saw a dirt-covered young man, stomping towards me.
“Who are you?”
“Look lady you messed up my day.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s this place?” the man asked, surveying the trail.
“Uh…Welchman’s.”
“How do you manage to live underground?”
“What?”
“Cow is gone, now this.”
“Cow?”
“I was nearly to the top.”
The man cocked his head. “Know where I can get some magic beans?”
It was at that moment, I fainted.
Dee is from Barbados and writes poetry and stories featuring humorous, dark or social themes. Her work has been featured in ArtsEtc Winning Words publications and in the “Beneath” anthology by Ghost Orchid Press. She can be found on Twitter as @DHGrimesbb.
The Birdseed 