sol.ace_r

I lifted my feet from the cold, damp sand of the shore.
The soft yet unstable texture beneath my soles,
the feeling of countless grains slipping through my toes—
all of it slowly faded into nothingness.
The rhythmic breath of waves breaking in the distance—
that faint sound that made me still feel connected to the world—
grew dimmer until it vanished completely.
As I turned inland, toward the island’s unseen heart,
strange, unfamiliar sounds began to fill the silence around me.

The border between the beach and the forest was never a clear line.
The seaside plants, heavy with salt, gradually disappeared,
and I realized—irreversibly—that the ground beneath me had changed.
The gentle sand gave way to cold, hard soil
strewn with stones both large and small,
some sharp as hidden blades that bit into my soles.
The ground was uneven; every step trembled with uncertainty,
sometimes sinking deeper than expected,
while jagged rocks jutted out, threatening my ankles.

Each movement demanded absolute focus.
When my foot slipped on the damp earth,
my body lurched forward, desperate to regain balance.
To stay upright, I tensed every muscle,
a raw, primal vigilance seeping through me.
My heartbeat quickened—uneven, anxious, alive.

The sounds beneath my feet were nothing like those of the shore.
The sharp friction of soil and stone,
the wet squelch of crushed weeds,
the dry snap of brittle branches breaking—
all merged into a harsh, dissonant symphony,
intensifying the island’s strange, threatening air.

Only the wind remained—
a dry, haunting whisper weaving through the leafless branches.
And somewhere in the darkness,
the faint stirrings of unseen life.
All other sounds of the world had vanished,
replaced by the island’s raw, untamed voice—
distorted and incomprehensible,
yet heavy with meaning,
as if the land itself were speaking to me
in a language deeper than silence.

The forest thickened as I moved forward.
The further I went, the denser it grew,
until the sky was entirely veiled
by the suffocating presence of trees
unlike any I had ever seen.

They were nothing like ordinary trees.
Their shapes were grotesque, impossibly twisted,
their bark black and coarse,
as though deformed by long years of agony.
Their bodies followed no natural rhythm—
only the ruthless distortion of pain and time.

Branches bent at impossible angles,
reaching skyward like sharp spears,
or curling like twisted fingers,
or gaping mouths mid-scream,
or arms frozen in despair.
They stood leafless, covered in rough, dark skin,
like living beings petrified
in the moment of their last cry.

Some crouched like beasts,
others bowed as if mourning in silence,
and some twisted violently
as if trying to escape their own roots.
They did not move,
yet their presence pressed upon me
with a dreadful, almost sacred weight.

I pushed through them—
carefully, desperately, sometimes painfully.
Branches tore at my clothes;
the ground shifted beneath me,
and every misstep sent my heart plummeting.

Time dissolved.
I no longer knew how long I had walked,
nor how deep I had ventured.
All that remained real
was the uneven ground beneath my feet
and the act of moving forward.

The deeper I went, the darker it became.
Even the faintest light above disappeared,
and the world sank into endless dusk.
The ground grew wetter,
the air colder, heavier, and damp.
A musty scent of earth filled the air—
mingled with something acrid,
something like decay.

Every sense sharpened.
I could feel something watching,
lurking close, unseen.
My skin tingled; cold seeped under it,
slow and deliberate.

Still, I walked.
Drawn by a force I could not name—
perhaps instinct,
perhaps the conviction
that something waited in the island’s heart.

I looked again at the twisted trees.
I studied their contorted bodies,
not with fear this time, but with a strange, quiet ache.
The sharp dread I had felt began to soften.
In their warped forms,
I could trace the marks of time—
the pain of enduring merciless storms,
the scars of survival.

They were no longer monsters to me.
They were solemn, wounded testaments—
stoic witnesses of existence.
They had suffered, but had not fallen.
Their very being was a kind of victory.

Deeper in the forest, I began to find traces of life.
Tiny, stubborn fragments clung to the earth and stone—
moss rising from damp soil,
fungi glowing faintly green in the dark,
weeds rooting themselves in cracks of rock,
and small insects crawling silently
along the bark of dying trees.

Even here, in the heart of this desolate forest,
life persisted—quietly, stubbornly, desperately.
Their faint motion, their will to exist,
carried a message—
of endurance, of defiance, of belonging.
They were fragile, yet undeniable proof
that life endures.

I knelt and touched them.
Beneath the cold, damp moss,
I felt a faint warmth—
the tender texture of grass,
the slick tremor of a living creature.
Amid all this darkness and decay,
it was the first gentle, living touch I had felt—
a fragile, quiet warmth
that reminded me I, too, was alive.

They comforted me.
Even here, in this harsh and alien land,
life refused to surrender.
It whispered that I, too, could endure,
that I belonged—
to this island, to this world.

Those small lives became silent companions
on my lonely, desperate journey.
I spoke to them,
and they answered—
not in words, but in presence,
in the subtle language of wind and motion.
Alive.
Here.

When I finally rose again,
my steps were still cautious,
the darkness unchanged—
but I was no longer ruled by fear.
The grotesque trees still surrounded me,
but within their twisted forms
I now saw wonder—
the gravity of time,
the sheer will to survive.

They were no longer enemies.
They were monuments—
witnesses of pain,
and proof of endurance.

Carrying the faint light of those tiny lives within me,
I walked deeper,
toward the island’s heart.
The path ahead was long,
and I did not know what awaited me.
But that first encounter—
the fearful beginning,
the touch of life in the dark—
had given me strength.

In the darkness, I sought faint light.
Amid strange sounds, I heard my own breath.
Through cold and pain, I learned warmth again—
how to survive with this island,
how to live alongside its silence,
and how to find fragile hope within it.

The forest spoke to the deepest part of me.
To my very existence.
It said—
Live.
Go on.
You are not alone.