Foresting
Grannylou steps into the forest and a thousand Grannylous greet her.
A mess of baby Grannylous roll along the forest floor, plum-cheeked and pawing at squirrel tails, giggling at twenty-something Grannylous who slot themselves into predefined shapes and pop out rectangular.
Misshapen adolescent Grannylous hurl ghost-rocks at square Grannylous who sit on benches, etching shopping lists onto wooden slats.
Toddler Grannylous are stuck on but-whys. They want to dip their bare feet in where they shouldn’t. Grannylou tiptoes past knots of new-mother Grannylous and starts a riot of puddle-splashing. In the thicket, middle-age Grannylous, not yet ravenous for escape, pretend to show no envy.
Grannylou tarzans off branches, multiplies, yells come on you lot, and the thousand and more Grannylous follow, shapeshifting.
Time for a dance, time to bring wood to flame and gather.
Kik Lodge writes short fiction in France where she lives with a menagerie of kids, cats and rats. Her work has featured in The Moth, Tiny Molecules, Gone Lawn, trampset, Maudlin House, Milk Candy Review, Splonk, Bending Genres, and other very fine journals. She is currently exploring the character of Grannylou, in all her glorious forms. Erratic tweets @KikLodge