Fiction structure example
The Woods Are Dark
You know of what I speak child, the shadows where the nightmares live. The places your mother tells you to avoid, where foolish children wander and never again return from.
She will never tell you why the men of our village light burning torches on the forest's edge when night falls, or why even the brave hunters count their footsteps so carefully when their prey vanishes amid the trees.
I will tell you now though. Because tomorrow you will be a man, and all men should know what it is that lives in the dark of the woods.
It is hate. A hatred ancient and primeval, born of envy and longing. The trees live you see, they think and feel. In times long gone, they would speak with men and offer their shade and fruit, their sweet sap would be given gladly in exchange for the stories we would tell.
The trees loved to hear our tales of far off lands and the journeys that took us so far from home. For they could not take the journey, never would they look upon the mountains save from afar. The beauty of the sea depths, the golden sands of the desert. No, the trees stand where they are born and never may they move for the gods who made them cared not for the desires of the the forest. "Stay in your place, and care to the ground" they told the trees. "You will shelter the beasts, and provide that which men need of you, that is your purpose and your lot." And the trees were happy enough, for they knew nothing of the world's wonders beyond their boughs.
And so the trees stood silent in their place, they sheltered the beasts and gave to men that which was needed, be it wood for burning or fruit for eating. They looked out upon the distant mountains, and though they wondered what might lie there, they were content. For they knew no better.
Until the day a hunter and his son took shelter beneath an ancient and mighty tree, and the great old one heard the voice of the man as he taught his son of the world. The old one listened to the tales of the
You know of what I speak child, the shadows where the nightmares live. The places your mother tells you to avoid, where foolish children wander and never again return from.
She will never tell you why the men of our village light burning torches on the forest's edge when night falls, or why even the brave hunters count their footsteps so carefully when their prey vanishes amid the trees.
I will tell you now though. Because tomorrow you will be a man, and all men should know what it is that lives in the dark of the woods.
It is hate. A hatred ancient and primeval, born of envy and longing. The trees live you see, they think and feel. In times long gone, they would speak with men and offer their shade and fruit, their sweet sap would be given gladly in exchange for the stories we would tell.
The trees loved to hear our tales of far off lands and the journeys that took us so far from home. For they could not take the journey, never would they look upon the mountains save from afar. The beauty of the sea depths, the golden sands of the desert. No, the trees stand where they are born and never may they move for the gods who made them cared not for the desires of the the forest. "Stay in your place, and care to the ground" they told the trees. "You will shelter the beasts, and provide that which men need of you, that is your purpose and your lot." And the trees were happy enough, for they knew nothing of the world's wonders beyond their boughs.
And so the trees stood silent in their place, they sheltered the beasts and gave to men that which was needed, be it wood for burning or fruit for eating. They looked out upon the distant mountains, and though they wondered what might lie there, they were content. For they knew no better.
Until the day a hunter and his son took shelter beneath an ancient and mighty tree, and the great old one heard the voice of the man as he taught his son of the world. The old one listened to the tales of the