our own eyes.”“ That’ s if they even believe us.”“ Don’ t be such a spoil sport. We can’ t back out now, chicken.” The girl pulled her arm back and launched a stone in an arc that ended with a smack against the window, splinters of glass raining to the ground and a spider’ s web of cracks fanning out from the centre towards the worm-eaten frame.“ Stop calling me that,” she said, face flushed blood-red.“ Jeez, I didn’ t mean you to hit it that hard.”“ You shouldn’ t have made me angry.”“ You’ re angry? How do you think the witch is gonna feel when she sees that?” There was a pause.“ Maybe we should get out of here,” said the girl, dragging her hands down her dress to wipe away the film of mud and sweat that ran along the pathways of her palms.“… Well, Dad will be wondering where we are by now.”“ Exactly. We’ re not giving up …”“ Yeah, we just don’ t wanna get in trouble. I mean, we can’ t come back tomorrow if we’ re grounded.”“ Mm-hm.”“ Let’ s go.” The children scrambled to their feet, discarded stones tumbling down the banking towards the house. Both stole hurried glances at the broken window as they hurried home, each careful not to let the other see the furrows that wrinkled their brow.“ Are we really gonna come back tomorrow?” asked the girl.“ I dunno. I think I might be bored of the house now.”“ Yeah, me too. Let’ s do something else tomorrow.” The whistle of the breeze through the trees at their back swallowed up the sound of their sighs, thick with candy-sweet relief.
Nestled amongst the wool of a cushion torn open in curiosity, a mouse prepares to welcome her first litter. The sound of fragmented glass settling upon the floor like scattered stardust worried her. After all, she chose this place for its stillness, all previous semblance of life having fled the confines of these four walls long ago. Shredded newspaper clippings foraged from the cabin made ideal insulation for her new home; her babies soon to be cradled by crisp slivers adorned with whispers of a story long forgotten in a town left many miles and many years ago:‘ FIRE’…‘ CHILDREN’…‘ DEATH’…‘ MOTHER’…‘ HEARTBREAK’.
She luxuriates in this fragile sanctuary, her heartbeat slowing as peace resettles like a downy blanket once more; a near silence broken only by the creak of old rope and the brush of tiptoes against cold, hard floor.
***