On the side of the hill near the entrance to the metal tomb a sigil formed in the dirt under a fir tree.
“Tell me,” the forest began, “what is it that I have done for the devil to be growing at my base, poisoning my roots and scattering my leaves from the path of his scurrying advance?”
And the earth replied: “I know not the ways of the spirit – only the rise and the fall, the ebb and the flow. The wax and the wane.”

Written by: Zach.
Tags: 87 word short story, writing.