Dark, Gloomy Forest

A great prompt today, thanks Leslie.  I seem to be making a habit of creating openings, but never getting much further.  I think I need to set my sights a little lower!

Anyway, here is today's offering.  As before, I may make this into a full blown story, one day.

Andromeda returned to the heart of the forest.  The further she ventured, the more disheartened she became.  Only days ago this rich dense landscape was vibrant with a plethora of flora and fauna; the ecological centre of the mythical kingdom.  Now branches of trees hung down, their leaves covered in scaly red blotches.   Tall plants with firm spiky leaves now sagged; the stench of decay filled the air.

The strange mist that descended over the forest yesterday must have caused the devastation.  A large silver vessel in the sky appeared above the trees; it released clouds of swirling yellow mist that enveloped the forest with a caustic, choking smell.  Afterwards a violent thunderstorm erupted, drenching the forest turning the trails into a soggy cauldron of mud.

In the kingdom this morning many people were sick, their skin turning a pale yellow colour, their limbs became weak and their heads felt as though their skulls might explode.

Today's prompt; A person wakes up, not quite remembering what happened the night before, and is surprised and upset by what they see outside the window. 

Return to Sender

Martin awoke to the reassuring clickety-clack as the train slowed down at the end of his journey.  He didn’t remember climbing into the top bunk of the night sleeper fully clothed, but he seemed to have slept well.  He remembered the whiskies and the woman, and the other woman.  Feeling content with his restful sleep and in anticipation of his business meeting in Berlin he looked around.  There was no one else in the compartment; his head adjacent to the window, he propped himself up on his elbow to peep out of the window.

The grey morning sky was filled with heavy dark clouds.  The roads glistened with overnight rain as innocuous concrete apartment blocks slid by.  He blinked in disbelief; in the gap between streets a structure faintly reminiscent of the Eiffel Tower was visible.  Anxiously he waited for the next gap … it was the Eiffel Tower.  His brain whirred in overdrive; he had a meeting in Berlin this morning.  He’d got on the Berlin train last night, hadn’t he?  What was that woman’s name?   It began with an A, Angela, Angelica or Alison.  He looked at his watch, ten to seven; the date showed the twenty eighth.  His meeting was on the twenty seventh, it must be wrong.  The streets were busy with early morning traffic, the train slowed down to a crawl, rattling and bouncing over the points.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and sat up only to bang his head on the carriage roof.  Cursing he slipped off the bunk and stumbled as his legs gave way when they hit the floor.  He fell onto the lower bunk across the compartment, his head swimming with confusion.  The train lurched to a halt; slowly he picked himself up and sat on the bunk to collect his thoughts and retrace his steps.  It came to him, Marie; the name of the second woman, the one he met on the train.  She was French, but spoke English well, said she’d been to Oxford.