Under the Moon
Part II The Girl
'It's against the rules bringing you here.' Under the midsummer sun, an old man in blue robe is walking hand in hand with a young boy in pirate pajamas. They stop at the entrance of a playground. The old man turns to the boy, his voice quite, tinkling. 'And you must give your words. Don't talk to anyone, or touch anything over there. Do you understand?'
'Yes.' The boy, Sherlock, nods hastily. He gaze cannot help but fly towards the playground. He's still a bit daze being taken from his dark bedroom to a shinny park in an instant. But it doesn't matter. He wants to know. To see the girl who is bonded by the other side of the magical cord. The girl who is his…his what? Bothered? Girlfriend? Future wife? Doesn't matter. He just has to know.
'Over the slide, behind the hedge, upon a bench.' Old man gestures to the open space. 'You must remember…' His voice fades quickly as Sherlock ignores him. Darting past the entrance gate, he runs as fast as he can to the hedged end of the park.
Beside the thick green hedge, a small silhouette in yellow sun dress sits curling up on a bench, little arms wrap around her knees.
'Hello.' Sherlock says, carefully climbs up on the bench next to her.
'Shush!' The girl hisses hastily, eyes fixed at something in front of the her. Sherlock frowns. She doesn't have much manner as he has expected.
'What are you doing?' He asks a little louder. Why doesn't she turn her face? It's quite rude.
'Oh, no!' The girl exclaims, her voice with disappointment. 'Please don't go!' She hops down from the bench, tiptoeing across the narrow path, squatting slowly down before the trimmed bushes. 'Come back.' She pleads, pressing her hands and cheek against the ground.
Sherlock jumps down from his seat. 'What are you looking a…' But his question is cut short by a resentful look from her teary eyes.
Brown. He thinks.
'It's all your fault.' The girl bits out. Her little fists clench tightly. 'You scare them away. I try so hard to get them used to me. Now they're gone.' She sobs, burying her face in her palms.
'What are you talking about?' Sherlock asks, a little startled by her distress.
'The kittens…' She hisses, speaking from her palmed face. 'And their mum. They make a nest under there.' She puts down her hands and glares at him. 'Now they have to find a new home.' Her chokes become louder. 'My mum says soon enough the mummy cat will let me touch her babies!'
'I'…' Sherlock gapes. I should say sorry. He thinks. But for some reasons his voice doesn't come out.
It was an accident.
Suddenly, after a few more chokes, the girl takes out a pink kerchief from her pocket, drying her face and walking away from the hedge.
'Where are you going?' Sherlock blurts out, follows closely behind her.
'Home.' She answers briefly, small steps soon turning into a trot, bringing her away from the path with benches. Bypassing the bushes, she runs to the metal slide.
'Wait.' Sherlock reaches out, trying to stop her. But she is brisker than she looks. He wants to grab her arm but falls one step short. His fingers are caught up in the yellow fabric of her dress.
A sharp scream pierces apart the playground. Stumbling from the sudden tug of her cloth, the girl's head knocks against the edge of the slide. Blood spurts from her auburn hair. She falls, face down, hitting the ground without making a sound.
Sherlock stares, stunned by the gush of metallic fluid. He quickly remembers to kneel down and help. But his hands miss her, only moisten by the sticky red. Darkening void envelopes him. He struggles as his consciousness fading away. 'Let me help her.' He shouts, voicelessly, until his vision reduces into nothingness.
Thought? Advice?
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