Laughter

• Caitlin Adams, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2017

The young girl stood, looking out the filthy window. It was snowing outside, a blanket of pristine whiteness covering everything. The sun reflected off the snow, blinding the young girl temporarily. Children, covered in multiple layers were running around joyfully, snowballs flying through the air to land on some unsuspecting person. The child watched, in her tattered rags that she called clothes and the thickest blanket she had around her. Her mother was sleeping, a thin blanket covering her frail body. She was sick, the girl knew, but she was always sick. With a glance at her mother’s sleeping form she walked towards the wooden door. Opening it, shivering when the cold air penetrated her, she stepped outside. It was freezing, her lips instantly turning blue and her small body quivering. She took a few tentative steps towards the children, they paid the small, shivering girl no heed. She watched them, melodious sounds escaping from their open mouths. She looked on in wonder, the noises so alien, so strange to her. A woman walked up to her, her wrinkled face kind, and her eyes wise. She held out a thick blanket and the child took it without taking her hungry eyes off of the others. The woman only stood next to her, silent, watching the happy children.
After several minutes like this, the girl had enough courage to ask, “What is that sound?” Her voice was timid and frail.
The woman looked at her with a sad smile, “That my dear, is laughter.”