The sun was setting, its rays barely able to penetrate the dense woods that nearly surrounded their cabin. Instead, those rays struck only the cabin’s wet wooden boards and glistened off the water droplets that still clung there. It had rained earlier that day, and Cathy could see water still dripping from the roof. The rain had been so heavy she was afraid the outer walls might begin to rot. It was an old cabin after all, though well kept; Richard’s parents had given it to them six years ago as a wedding present. They had owned it for most of their lives. Richard’s father had built it himself, and Richard had spent summers there as a child. No, they wouldn’t want anything to happen to the cabin; it was so full of memories. She decided to have Richard check the boards when she returned.
As Cathy watched from her seat on the forest floor, a sparrow darted out from among the branches overhead. Her eyes followed it as it flew after the last of those dangerous sunbeams, which were quickly disappearing over the horizon. She looked away as the bird grew smaller in the distance. She hated it for its eagerness to bask in the sun, something her Sara could never do. She raised her head again as the final rays were blocked out by the thickly-needled branches of the pine trees around her, then closed her eyes and stretched slowly, listening to the faint cracks and pops of her aging body. The breeze that caressed her cheeks and tugged at her hair was like winter snow, but she didn’t shiver; she was always cold lately.
Once all of her aches had eased and she was no longer stiff from her long-held position, Cathy turned and pulled the blanket away from Sara’s fragile form. Shaking her gently, she began to admire her child’s pale features as she did so often. Sara’s cheeks were colorless as always, but now even the pinkish tint that usually crept into them during slumber was gone. Her small hands were curled, one in her hair; its silky, white strands strewn across her face, and one clutching her dress, which was so pale that it almost disappeared against her skin. Cathy reached her hand out and brushed the stray locks of hair from her daughter’s face; Sara’s skin was as dry and smooth as bone. If not for the steady rise and fall of that small chest, Cathy might have thought she was merely a porcelain doll, but there was no mistaking. This was her child, living and breathing, no matter what strange condition she might have, and Cathy loved her with all of her heart. Cathy stopped shaking her, content to gaze at her peaceful face and contemplate for a moment.
Cathy sometimes felt strangely guilty, as if it was her fault that Sara had been born albino. Her heart ached for her daughter, for the sunshine her baby could never dance in. She’d been told that many albinos could lead normal lives, but with Sara that wasn’t the case. They’d gotten all the proof of that they needed a week ago.
From the day they had brought her home six years ago the curtains had remained shut. They used candles instead of lamps; Cathy didn’t want to take any chances. Sara was allowed to go outside only at night, but it didn’t bother her, for she had never seen the sun.
Then, for her sixth birthday, Richard’s parents bought her some new picture books. These were different from her old ones because they showed her the sun. She became fascinated with the cheerful, golden orb that showed its face over castles and fantasylands, and she longed to see it herself. Cathy and Richard told her again and again that the sun was something found only in fairytales, but they could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn’t believe them. Sara had always been smart for her age.
They slept during the day, so that they could take Sara outside at night, but sometimes Sara would wake up early, and they would find her staring at the curtains and the outline of light around them. Of course, she never moved them, for she had always been a good child, heeding her parents’ every word.
Then there was that horrible day one week ago when Sara had woken up earlier than usual. It was three hours later when Cathy, awakening, immediately sensed that something was wrong. She woke Richard, and they began to search for Sara. By the time they found her she was unconscious and barely breathing; her skin was burnt so badly that her skin was peeling and bleeding in several places.
Cathy smiled grimly. The doctor thought that Sara would not make it, but Cathy had known that if she just stayed close and loved her daughter, Sara would survive. Now it was as if nothing had ever happened, Sara was back, and she and Cathy went to the top of their hill every night like they used to. Sara didn’t even have any scars; she was as perfect as ever.
Sara’s eyes opened slowly, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes and causing Cathy to break from her thoughts.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly. “ Did you have a nice nap?”
“Yes.” Sara yawned, then stiffened suddenly and looked around, eyes wide. “Sun gone, Mommy?”
The pain in Sara’s voice tore at Cathy’s heart, and she pulled her daughter close. “Yes, dear. The sun is gone,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady as she fought back tears. It saddened her further to realize that this new fear of Sara’s would be the thing to keep her alive when she was on her own. If only she could shield her child from such lessons.
Sara squirmed a bit. “You okay, Mommy?” She sounded worried.
“Yes, Mommy is fine.” Cathy wiped her eyes and let Sara go, standing up.
“Can we go now, Mommy?” Sara stood as well and grabbed Cathy’s hand, tugging excitedly.
“Yes, honey,” Cathy answered, smiling as Sara led her up through the forest, still grasping her hand firmly.
***
When they reached the top of their hill, where the trees drew back to make a clearing and the moon was directly overhead, Cathy smiled peacefully and looked around. Somehow there seemed to be a sort of magic in this clearing at night. For two years now, they had come here every night to play Ring-Around-the-Rosie by moonlight. Sara had adored the game ever since Cathy had taught it to Sara when she was four. Some parents would have grown tired of it by now, but when Cathy saw the happiness in her daughter’s eyes, she found she could play the game with her for hours.
Sara was pulling her anxiously to the center of the clearing, causing Cathy to snap from her thoughts again.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Cathy asked, grinning as Sara grasped both of her hands in her own small, delicate ones.
“They say, if we play tonight, you can stay with me forever!”
“They?”
Sara shook her head. “Just play, Mommy, please!”
“All right, sweetie,” Cathy replied, chuckling, and they began.
Around and around they spun, but as they did Cathy began to tire for the first time. The spinning continued as Sara hummed the rhyme over and over, but they never fell. Cathy’s chest began to hurt, and the pain increased with each turn. The moonlight seemed to be all around them now, blinding her, and the pain in her chest throbbed as the rest of her body started to go numb.
“Sara, we…” she gasped, “have to…stop!”
“No, Mommy! They say you’re almost there!” Her grip tightened, her fingers like ice.
“Sara, please! It hurts!”
She could no longer see-everything was going black-and she wasn’t sure if her eyes were even open anymore. She felt her hands go limp in Sara’s.
“Mommy?”
The pain was unbearable. She opened her mouth, unsure if she actually screamed or not.
“Mommy!”
She plummeted into darkness.
***
Cathy woke in a place so immaculate that she knew immediately that she was in a hospital. However, when she looked around, she found no doctors, nor even Richard. She saw only Sara, who was crying, but no tears fell from her eyes, only wisps of smoke.
“Sara, what’s wrong? What happened?” Cathy moved to embrace her, but found herself too weak to do so.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.” Sara looked up at her, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t know it would hurt you. I didn’t know I was dead.”
“What?” Cathy asked in disbelief.
“I saw my rock, Mommy, the one in the big rock yard with my name on it. They say it means I’m dead.”
“No…” Cathy whispered, beginning to remember now. The doctor had been right. Memories bombarded her, of sobbing helplessly with Sara’s lifeless form in her arms, the look in Richard’s eyes, the funeral, and how Richard had ignored Sara afterward. She began to cry silently as well, the tears warm on her cheeks.
“You can still stay with me, honey.”
Sara shook her head. “They say that if you’re not coming with me, I have to leave.”
“Then, I’ll come with you!”
She shook her head again. “Daddy needs you, but they say, someday I’ll see you again, you and Daddy!” She smiled sadly and stood up, turning towards the light that was slowly building up behind her.
“Sara, no!”
“Bye, Mommy. I love you!” The light grew brighter, and then it and Sara were gone.
“Sara? Sara!”
***
They say that those touched by the spirit world are forever changed, and such was true for Cathy. Ravaged by a mother’s grief and tormented by the realm she’d glimpsed, she was never the same. Never again did she smile, until the day of her death 30 years later, when she simply grinned and hummed “Ring-Around-the-Rosie” before departing this world.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing