A response to Labyrinthia Mythweaver’s latest Salon of the Mythweaver prompt: There is an EXIT sign in the forest.
My eye had not seen, nor my ear heard, such terribly tangible things throughout my long slumber in this sepulcher of bone and blood, masquerading as the real. By ways and means beyond frail remembrance I had stumbled into the dark heart of a primeval wood, alive with the haunting sounds of every link of the Great Chain of Being. The deeper I ventured my senses slowly but undeniably melded into one, in complete rapport with the undulating thoughts of Creation.
The howls, moans, and shrieks which rose from the dense undergrowth dissolved into unshakable stillness. Fear gave way to awe as I spied, near the end of the arboreal archway, the glittering neon EXIT sign, framed by moss, perched above a weathered doorway. Seated next to it, serenely drawing on a stout pipe, was a hoary figure, exuding the quiet immensity of the Ancient of Days. He blew a ring of sweet scented smoke toward me.
“So, you decided to give up the charade, have you?”
“Charade?”
He issued a rumbling laugh.
“You have indeed dreamt long! Let me remind you:
‘I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High.
But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes.’”
The door slowly opened with the wave of his hand.
“You have played all the parts: rich man, poor man, beggar man, and thief, donning the garb of each and all in this world of eternal death. But you, as we all did, knew of this in the beginning. Without contraction there is no expansion. And now you have expanded.”
I freely entered, singing for joy, knowing full well what lay before me through that narrow gate.
© Conor MacCormack, 2026. All rights reserved.
This was fantastic. A great read and superb response to the prompt.
Very atmospheric. Beautiful language