>>222
I visited my childhood home only to discover that after fifteen years the backyard had shrunk. The endless forest of my childhood was populated by shadows and mystery. Now it was finite and digestible, easily surveyed. I took a stroll, crunching leaves and trying to revive those mysterious woods. But the illusion was ruined by visible boundaries on all sides. I had grown too big to lose myself among these pitiful pines. I sighed and turned to leave, but stopped short when I found my path blocked by a large furry ferocious sharp-toothed brown grizzly bear.

I looked at the bear. The bear looked at me. I looked back at the bear. The bear returned my look with a look of his own, which I countered by looking at the bear, who was looking at me while I was looking at him. We looked at each other as the bear and I stood looking at each other. It was around this time that I realized I was looking at a bear, and more importantly, a bear was looking at me. This meant that I was exchanging looks with a bear. I was on the receiving end of a bear-look which I was reciprocating with a look of my own. Bears and humans looked. I was the human. The bear was the bear.

"Have you come to restore these woods?" I asked the bear. The bear growled back. It did not seem to understand English.

"If I defeat you, will I finally be free of those adult shackles called Regret?" I ventured hopefully. The bear stood on its hind legs and roared. I stood with my legs at shoulder width and slightly bent. I decided to fight first and examine the metaphorical implications later. The bear lunged, swiping at me with its large brown furry dangerous claw-infested paw. I stepped forward to the right and swung my left leg around counter-clockwise, dodging his blow and turning. Before the bear could turn around, I leaped onto its fleece back and threw my arms around its neck. It swung its arms wildly and staggered in circles, trying to fling me off, but I held on with the determination of a clever businessman giving the opening speech at an important conference.

The bear roared. The trees did not roar. I did not roar. The leaves did not roar. The wind did not roar. But my heart roared with the burning fiery spirit of a man determined to believe, despite fifteen years of being force-fed cynical worldly realism. The bear reached around its chest to grab my arms, but I vaulted myself over its head, flipping and twisting in mid-air. I landed on both feet and faced the nine-foot animal with a confident smile. The bear lunged. I pulled a marshmallow out of my pocket. I always carried a marshmallow in case of bears.

The bear froze mid-lunge and fell to the ground, its hungry rage turned to hungry curiosity. It gingerly sniffed the air in search of the marshmallow. I tried to throw the marshmallow far into the forest, but my weak arm and the marshmallow's puffiness caused it to fall sadly to the ground in front of me. As the bear bounded happily toward the marshmallow to feast, I fled.

Later that night I used alcohol to avoid thinking about the whole mess.

>>224
I demand you read my story and post a scathing review.