The trail was virtually non existent. The sign was there, pointing at it, but all I could see was an overgrown piece of woodland, thorns in my hands, blueberries scattered around the place and foliage so thick that I could not see the sun. I walked in there anyway, only to stand still for ages on the spot where the sun came through the leafs of an oak tree that had already began to shed. I had been walking in the sun all the way up here but I only came to appreciate it in the middle of a dark forest with a burn of an overlooked nettle on my leg and a piece of fern in my hair.
Words by Rebecca Rysdyk
Photo by Théo Gosselin whom we published in issue #3
It was dark, people were getting ready to leave their homes and pour into the city in order to drink and dance and hit on other people, or hit them, depending on the mood. V and me were on the roof, watching our neighbours joining the crowd, listening to their drunk conversations, empty bottles rolling down the street.
There was a chill in the air that night and I was wearing V’s fake fur coat over my whimsical summer dress. We had a fire going on the roof, despite complaints from our downstairs neighbours that the protective layer was getting too hot and the lamps were coming down.
This was our revenge for them keeping us up at night. This, and opening their parcels when we were drunk.