It has worn, curling edges and the image is fading. It was given to me a long time ago.
They say a photograph is like a frozen memory, a millisecond of truth captured from the past and propelled into every moment of the future, ageing and yet ageless.
Well, every other photograph is like that. But not this one. With every moment, the picture gets closer and clearer. It carries an image of a day that has yet to be. And this tiny square of worn, photographic paper might well be my last resort against the enemies who wait at the edge of the trees.
The sky grows dark, not by giants blocking the sun this time, but by the night slowly covering the day like a blanket. My eyes feel heavy and the gentle hum of the forest sings to me in the half-light. I carefully open the flap of my satchel and return the Hope to its hiding place. It is hidden. I am hidden, at least for the night. I close my eyes and the world drifts into the melody of sleep.
---
We can starve him out.
Mhm.
What do you think?
Might work. He needs to feel like he can beat us.
Really?
Oh yes. He needs that.
Pathetic. We'll crush him when he crawls out of there, tired and hungry. Little idiot.
Crush. Squish, squash. Like an ant.
What ho?
No news, sir.
Squish, squash. Crush him to the ground.
Very good you two. Crush him to the ground and then I prize it from his dead, twitching fingers.
You will!
What happens if...
If what?
What happens if he... realises?
Realises what?
You know.
Oh man.
Don't say it, don't say the name.
Don't you dare say the name!
Well. I don't think he will remember.
Hmm. Uselessness is right. He is distracted. Distracted by this... 'battle'
Yes. Yes he is.
He needs to beat us. On his own.
Pride.
Forgotten.
Good as dead. Ha. Dead proud.
We can't lose then?
We cannot. Loneliness, Uselessness, stand guard through the night. Tomorrow we smoke and we starve him out. And then we crush him.
Squish squish.
Squish indeed.
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