The forest is huge and very quiet. I hear voices but there’s no-one; my mind spinning. I am going in circles. It seems impenetrable; a silent force indifferent to my presence; it doesn’t let me in. My compass works, but then it doesn’t. The sun, shimmering through the dense trees, is the only reference to the outside world. As it slowly sets the temperature drops. Details fade into ever darker shades of gray. I hurry out before the dark digests it all.


Thousands died here. People walk into this forest never to be seen again, to take their own life. There are ribbons and threads allover, literally tracing their last steps.


Did they leave them to find the way back if they would change their minds, to escape back to the world of the living? Or to make a last bitter imprint on the world they were about to depart from?


I follow them, follow the threads that make up this invisible and desolate labyrinth. Hold them as I walk, deeper into the forest. They cut into my hand.


I can only begin to imagine what this place is.

Stijn Belle