The Little Girl

In a faraway rolling hill countryside, there is a three point mountain range adorned with beautiful foliage, blooms, and savory grass. Crisp white gargantuan clouds paint a scenic backdrop to the three point mountain range, and an incessant fragrant aerial mist of warmed lavender and jasmine encapsulates the three mountains. Within this mountain range dwells a little girl. The little girl has black poofy ringlet curls, skin like warmed brass, wears a dainty frock that flows even in the slightest breeze, a perfectly woven straw hat is affixed to her head, and nestled tightly in her left arm is a wicker basket filled with blooms and savory grass.

The little girl is commonly referred to as a mystic, as those who dwell in the land believe she is the restless ghost or soul essence of a child gone to soon from the soft bosom of her mother, and warm arms of her father. Throughout the countryside there are many false speculations as to how the little girl came to be in her ethereal state of being. Some believe she fell from the hilltops while picking blooms, while others believe a wild beast of some sort was the cause of her demise. The speculative stories are endless and many naturally gravitate toward their own narratives.

Though none can truly derive or come to agreeance on the little girls ghostly origin, what is certain amongst everyone, is that those who encounter the little girl as they trek the hilly terrain are never seen again; or at least that was the common belief, until one day, a disheveled nomad woman from a far-off distant land ventured into the countryside and took rest against the base of a mountain. When the woman awoke, she saw a little girl standing before her. The child had black poofy ringlet curls, wore a dainty frock, a perfectly woven straw hat sat atop her head, and in her left arm she nestled tightly a wicker basket filled with an assortment of blooms and savory grass. “Who are you?” the little girl asked inquisitively, “it’s no never mind, I am just passing through” the woman said with a slight yawn as she waved the child off. “Passing through from where?” the little girl inquired further, “passing through from nowhere” the woman said annoyed at her own inability to recollect. “where are you headed? Maybe I can point you straight” the little girl said matter-of-factly as if she knew the terrain better than anyone. “Nowhere, I’m headed nowhere” the woman said becoming slightly perturbed by the little girl’s presence and questions. “Well, where have you been then?” the little girl asked as she sat down beside the woman, and then gently set her basket down and removed her perfectly woven straw hat. The woman let out a heavy sigh laced with indignation as she watched the little girl nestle in comfortably against the base of the mountain just a fingerbreadth or two away from her. Once seated comfortably the little girl asked again, “where have you been?”

A few moments of silence passed as the woman stared at the little girl peculiarly and then she uttered, “I’ve been, I’ve been on a journey” as she anxiously ran her hands through her hair and then bunched her fingers at the nape of her neck. “We’re all on a journey, even me” the little girl said, and then the woman scoffed and laughed as she peered into the little girl’s basket filled with the summation of her journey; blooms and savory grass, “oh but if all journeys were as fragrant, soft, and delicate” the woman muttered under her breath. “The journey of the blooms and savory grass are not as sweet as you may perceive” the little girl said as she cheekily locked eyes with the woman, the woman scoffed again, but the little girl continued, “just imagine, struggling against gravity, the scary sounding thump of feet upon the ground, as you push through the hard earth with all your might, only to be plucked to your death the moment your fragrant, soft, and delicate nature reaches full opulence” the little girl said, as the woman stared at her in bewilderment. “You’re not like most little girls, are you?” the woman asked eerily, “no, no I’m not” the little girl said with a slight chuckle, and for just a moment it appeared as if the little girl was translucent, and the beaming light of the sun was shining through her, causing the woman to shudder at the sight of her.

A few stray moments of silence passed and then the little girl said, "come, walk with me" as she reached for her basket, and put on her perfectly woven hat. The woman desired to say no, but her legs and feet betrayed her as she silently stood and began to walk beside the little girl. As they walked the little girl led her deep into the valley of the mountain range, walking just as steadily together as the stream that flowed through. As they walked the little girl began to sing an alluring folkish tune, as the woman listened to the song she fell into a deep trance, cheekily the little girl looked over her shoulder at the woman, as she continued to sing. The little girl’s song dissipated into a soft hum until it was no more and then the woman gently awoke against the base of the mountain. As she stirred she recalled who she was, where she had been, and most importantly knew where she was going. As she stood, she saw a man passing by, "excuse me, a little girl, did you see a little girl?" the woman asked as she approached the man, "no little girls roam around here, well at least not live ones" the man said with a hearty chuckle and then pushed by and continued on his way.

~ The End