Day 2,324

There used to be a town here a few years ago, til the forest swallowed it overnight. That morning the people woke up to their newfound lives imprisoned deep among trees, with scraps of sunlight filtering through the uncaring canopy that whispered scornfully down at the little humans daring to survive.

Much like a lobster in a slowly boiling pot of water, people will get used to anything and often for the worse of it all. The townsfolk grew used to scarce food and scarcer light, too scared to light fires and ward it away in case it provoked the forest and rationing batteries over bread to last just one more night.

Little by little, day by day their homes were starting to wake up. The forest had been speaking to their homes while they were out looking for food, helping the wood remember what it used to be and how it had been broken, reformed into an empty shell where it used to shelter birds and squirrels through the long winters.

In a kinder story perhaps the houses would think of all the happy memories they had seen over the years - the weddings and birthdays and cozy dinners filled with laughter. Sadly, all these stories paled when they remembered the chainsaws and woodmills and endless blades coming down on them again and again and again to make them perfect, to make them useful.

The town disappeared in clusters, leaving nothing but saplings in their wake. The soil was richly fertilised with the hidden dead, the homes sinking down and suffocating them to feed the forest's growth. They had been perfect and useful.