Jo Minus Amy
by Glenis Stott
Glenis Stott © 2014. All rights reserved.
Jo Minus Amy
Friday 24 June
Amy had always liked Morstell Woods, particularly when she was younger. She liked kicking through autumn leaves and stomping through winter puddles. But Amy wasn’t there on that hot June day; Jo was alone, her back damp from the exertion of the long walk from home, her shoulder wet under the strap of the leather bag that held only a single razor blade.
During the last eight months, the woods had been a comfort; or at least the idea of them. It had always seemed too difficult a journey though; she didn’t have the energy to make her way there. But the prospect of escape had stayed with her. Then today, Jo at home taking a day’s leave, Richard at work, today she had made it. She was in the woods. Alone. Without Amy.
She hesitated at the edge of the trees then took a step forward from bright sunshine. The grey air settled around her shoulders and over her face, making her shiver with its coolness; there was a green smell, with the freshness of leaves but a hint of long term decay underneath. Several paths led away from her; she followed the one which headed into the heart of the woods, walking on last year’s leaves, through green-tinged light-shade light-shade. Until she came to a clearing.