When the Forks Forked Off (Part III)

The further she walked, the forks become fewer and further between. The light was fading; the blue night  falling like a soft cloak. Nora felt a little scared. She clutched the forks tighter to her chest., the metal cold against her skin. She tried to whistle, but only a hissing sound came out. Her father had tried to teach her, before he left. When she hissed he laughed and called her his little snake. Little snake with a forked tongue.

Forked tongue. Fork in the road. Fork of lightning. Torch and pitchfork.

Nora reached a fork in the road and bent down to pick it up. She lifted up to inspect it, and through its tines shone tiny lights. She let her arm drop to her side. There were tiny lights ahead of her, flickering in the ground. Not silver like the glint of the forks; not white like stars or lightning. Tiny fires, laid out in a line. Tiny torches to guide her way. Torches and pitchforks.

She approached, tentatively, and as she did so, she saw that the lights were candles, laid out either side of the path like a cinema aisle. And she walked down the aisle, clutching her bunch of forks in both hands, like a bouquet. A little bride, without her father by her side.

Behind her she heard rustling in the leaves, coming closer. Her heart thudded like heavy footsteps but she didn't look back. She couldn't. She just kept walking, hissing with her forked tongue, holding her forked flowers, brandished like tiny pitchforks, burning with orange light. And then, ahead, she saw a tall figure standing in the dark.

Nora froze. Then the figure stepped into the light. And she let the forks fall from her hands and their metallic fall rang out through the quiet wood, reverberating in the silence. Tuning forks. And she ran down the aisle of light into his arms, into her father's arms once more, her mother and Matteo following close behind her, sparks flying in her happy heart. Like forks of lightning, brightening the night sky.