The watcher in the shrubs

The graveyard was dark and solemn. A soldier, in tattered military fatigues, was walking in the midst of this darkness, his bare feet crushing the withered leaves underneath. He did not know where he was heading, but he kept on walking, in a forest that was as thick as the night, as dark as his thoughts. It was as if his thoughts had become the living entity that was the forest, the trees and the branches, poking him in the ribs, eyes, legs…