Through a Child's eyes

Two children and the world through their eyes

                Creaking was heard as a young girl slowly swung on the only remaining swing of a decrepit jungle gym. Her head was bent forward and raven black hair swayed in time with the movement of the swing. Little pale hands clutched at the chains that held her seat in the air. Mud splattered black dress shoes barely brushed the dead brown grass beneath her. A black velvet mourning gown was covered in a layer of mud, testimony to the fact that she had fallen several times on her way to that clearing. She could faintly hear voices calling her name, but she didn’t once respond, or even slow movement of her swing. The only two voices she was listening for were not calling. They would never call, at the age of seven she knew very well that the dead could not call.

                The petite girl looked up as she heard heavy foot steps coming toward her at a quickened pace. They belonged to no one she new that was apparent, for they were much too loud compared to the subtle steps of those in her house hold. Black shoes touched the ground as she waited; ready to run at any moment, should the situation become dangerous. The loud footsteps were almost to her clearing now. She tensed. Then trough the trees stumbled a small boy no older than her.

His too big clothes were ripped, covered in mud, and large crimson stains that appeared to be blood. Black hair had twigs and leaves tangled into it, and because of the mud coating it, it look almost brown. Thin legs trembled under him as though they could no longer hold up his weight. The arm that dangled uselessly at his side was covered in a series of cuts and bruises. She took a step forward as quietly as she could, but it was still enough to call the boys attention to her. His head whipped up to look at her.

Sapphire met emerald and in that instant something pasted between them like a bolt of lightning. But as the moment past, as all moments do, the young boy’s green eyes rolled up into his head, while weak knees buckled beneath him. Instead of hitting the ground, he was caught in the arms of the velvet clad girl. She then softly lowered him to the ground with his mud-spattered head resting in her lap.

For a moment all she did was just looked at him, observing the pained look on his face and how his chest barely move at each attempt to breath. Then delicately, so as not to disturb the boy, she reached under the collar of her dress, pulling out a simple black whistle on a delicate looking silver chain. With cerulean eyes still focused on the small child on her lap; she brought the whistle to her lips and blew.

Reviews

[C]

This is amazing. I'm glad I found a writer like you, for I was beginnig to doubt the talent of current day writers. This is one of the best stories I've read on this site, and again I like how you were able to put alot of detail and actions in to a small space. A great short story, in every way.

[Maya Rose]

Your words are absolutely beautiful.
It's hard to find a person who can look through someone else's eyes... you captured the feeling... the expression... movement,and everything in this short, descriptive story.
I admire your talent.