A Fringe Story of the Tamed and Wild

Each house resembled a similar cut-out, like the village of a paper doll. One dimensional in thoughtless form, lacking any character. An array of new red brick and beige siding with dark blue doors hid the tenants and unwelcoming to any visitor.

Life only poured out through the children. They bursted from the suffocating suburban prisons, spilling out into pristinely cut grass yards that stood like square moats, absent of any wild thing. Sand-colored sidewalks ran in parallel up the central sea of black tar road that flanked the paper doll homes.

At the end of Direwood Drive was another world. Absent of sameness, a protrusion of diversity. The wood claimed the end of Direwood, severing all man-made impositions from the natural realm of beyond. Feathery green limbs of ferns crept along the edge, masking the secrets held by the forest floor.

A crooked path was worn through a thicket leading into the Dire Wood, pressing against the unnatural suburban landscape, it was made by the tiny feet of red maned foxes and curious children.

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