Passed On

• Taylor Goldwater
• Short Story
• 2011

The trees, tall and green, swayed in the wind, as though they were dancing to their own tune. A river, snaked through the forest, the gurgle a delightful sound to one's ear and the grass, covered the ground everywhere.

The tree-house, made of fine wood, was situated high in one of the largest trees one could find. Inside, the floor, made out of the same fine wood, was thick and a bed, neatly made with clean fresh sheets, was in a corner to the back of the house. A basket at the foot of the bed, was filled with clothes, neatly folded, and on top was a small dog, no bigger then a puppy yet it was full grown.

The dog's fur was snow white except for around its left eye and the tip of it's tail. It's small head was resting on its front paws and it's eyes were closed. Although it had been alone for the past day, he knew his owner was to return shortly. He was right.

With her hair tied up in a bun behind her head, a dark purple arrow with two strands of string dangling from the tip, Airlia entered the house. She wore a skirt, simple and white and that was tight, and a shirt, made of the softest cotton she could fine, and her feet were bare. Her eyes, big and wondering, were the brightest green you thought they shined with hope and joy and her lips, soft and thin, were red.

Her footsteps barely made a sound as she approached the dog. Resting her left hand on its head, she sang in a voice only described as one like an angel's. As she sang, her voice filled the room with happiness and seemed to be driving out the darkness from even the darkest corners of the hut. The dog's head moved slightly under the girl's hand and stopped. Its mouth opened in a tired yawn and closed again. He was asleep again.

As her singing stopped, it seemed that the birds were calling out for her to continue her song, to help them get their little one's, the ones afraid of the jungle cats that prowled at night, to sleep. Airlia knew she was needed in the jungle, besides, she couldn't return.

As she lay under her warm sheets, she had no clue that there were people out there, wondering where the little girl with the voice like an angle's had gone.

They sang of her with a song. The song meaning that she had passed on but holds onto the hope of returning but they know she can't. They sing of how they know she’s moved on to another world, and she must keep it as her own.

'Airlia sleeps, she dreams
Tucked away in a world she must keep.
Her dreams are filled with terror and hope
The hope she must learn to beat.
Airlia sleeps, she dreams
Tucked away in a world she must keep.'