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by Seren 6/6/2011, 10:50 pmBeneath the looming branches, a young girl cried. She wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned against the tree, huddling to keep out the fierce cold. Her round face dripped tears from her normally bright, brown eyes, now puffy and red. Her body shook, and with each sob a soft cry crept through her lips. She whimpered as footsteps approached, boots crunching as they bored into the thick layer of snow.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
The girl started and looked up into an old man’s face, unsure. He smiled comfortingly, blue eyes radiating warmth.
“My…my mommy…” Tears threatened to consume her, wiping all suspicion from her mind. The girl’s finger uncurled and pointed right. Following its path, the man saw freshly overturned dirt, and a single rose. A small, lone stone poked out of the grass, one simple word written on the smooth surface: Mommy. The corner of his lips twitched into a small frown, but he soon pulled them up into a sad smile. He turned back towards the girl, her head buried in her arms.
“What do you want to say to your mom?” he asked. She parted her lips to speak. No sound came out.
“What was that?” The man tilted the girl’s chin up with his gloved hand.
“So many words,” She sniffed, rubbing her eyes. “But...”
The man looked down at the piece of paper held loosely in her hand, and at the small, red crayon clenched tightly in the other.
“But what? You have all you need,” the man said, gesturing to the paper and crayon.
The girl shook her head, bursting into tears once more.
“But I don’t know enough words!” she yelled, raising her head to the sky.
The man smiled and took a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and showed it to the girl, watching as a questioning look melted across her face. “What do you see?”
“A-a tree.”
The man shook his head, pointing at one of the many leaves covering the delicately drawn branches. “Really? I see a thousand words.”
The girl’s eyes widened, and she looked up, smiling through the tears falling from her cheeks. The man gently pushed the paper and crayon closer to her chest, grasping her hands in his own. His meaning was clear.
As the girl began drawing the crayon across the paper, the man watched, smiling. Soon, she was done.
She showed him a drawing of two stick figures. The first’s stick-like arms and legs poked out from a triangular dress. A round face was framed by a cascade of long squiggles, and a simple mouth curved upwards. Next to the first was a similar drawing, but smaller, with shorter hair. Their hands connected in the middle, fingers curled around each other.
“What does it say?” the girl asked, hope etched into her features.
“That, little one, is all up to you. You and your mother.” And so the man left. He walked away without another word, boots crunching on the snow once more.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
The girl started and looked up into an old man’s face, unsure. He smiled comfortingly, blue eyes radiating warmth.
“My…my mommy…” Tears threatened to consume her, wiping all suspicion from her mind. The girl’s finger uncurled and pointed right. Following its path, the man saw freshly overturned dirt, and a single rose. A small, lone stone poked out of the grass, one simple word written on the smooth surface: Mommy. The corner of his lips twitched into a small frown, but he soon pulled them up into a sad smile. He turned back towards the girl, her head buried in her arms.
“What do you want to say to your mom?” he asked. She parted her lips to speak. No sound came out.
“What was that?” The man tilted the girl’s chin up with his gloved hand.
“So many words,” She sniffed, rubbing her eyes. “But...”
The man looked down at the piece of paper held loosely in her hand, and at the small, red crayon clenched tightly in the other.
“But what? You have all you need,” the man said, gesturing to the paper and crayon.
The girl shook her head, bursting into tears once more.
“But I don’t know enough words!” she yelled, raising her head to the sky.
The man smiled and took a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and showed it to the girl, watching as a questioning look melted across her face. “What do you see?”
“A-a tree.”
The man shook his head, pointing at one of the many leaves covering the delicately drawn branches. “Really? I see a thousand words.”
The girl’s eyes widened, and she looked up, smiling through the tears falling from her cheeks. The man gently pushed the paper and crayon closer to her chest, grasping her hands in his own. His meaning was clear.
As the girl began drawing the crayon across the paper, the man watched, smiling. Soon, she was done.
She showed him a drawing of two stick figures. The first’s stick-like arms and legs poked out from a triangular dress. A round face was framed by a cascade of long squiggles, and a simple mouth curved upwards. Next to the first was a similar drawing, but smaller, with shorter hair. Their hands connected in the middle, fingers curled around each other.
“What does it say?” the girl asked, hope etched into her features.
“That, little one, is all up to you. You and your mother.” And so the man left. He walked away without another word, boots crunching on the snow once more.
