Girl in the Pond

Olivia GoldRose November 12, 2021
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Adelaide was a very curious girl. Her mornings were spent in the garden with her mother, gardening and feeding the cattle. Her afternoons were spent in the towns, walking in the market and chatting amongst her friends. But her nights–Oh her nights were glorious.

Adelaide would slip out of her window, feeling the beautiful grass between her toes and the singing moon grazing her skin.
She would run and run through the farms, through the trees, through the bushes until she reached the very small pond.
Adelaide was very curious about the pond, of the small frogs that laid inside of it, of the plants that waved at her in the water.
And of the little girl who smiled up at her.

Adelaide had known the little girl all her life. A silent girl. She could not speak, could not move.
Except at night.
As the moon shone on the water, the girl would be able to sing and dance, to prance and glance, she could reach out of the water and drip onto the grass.
Here, in the night she was a real girl. Here with Adelaide, they could venture into the forest, into the farms and bushes and grass.

And as the morning rose, Adelaide would return to her mother, picking the flowers, tending the garden and feeding the cattle.
Every day and every night Adelaide adored the little girl, could not wait to see the little girl.

But one night as Adelaide slipped out of her window, the moon was hidden, cowering behind the clouds, the grass was dead and dry, spiking against her feet and the bushes were broken and tattered, piercing her clothes.
Adelaide ran to the pond, ran and ran until she found it.

All of the frogs were missing, all of the plants were crying and there–the girl was gone.

Adelaide ran home that night, wailing into her blankets.
That morning Adelaide had the courage to ask her mother: she had never ever mentioned the little girl to her mother until this day and her mother frowned.

“She needed to go home, Adelaide.”

Adelaide never saw the girl again, never knew what had happened to her but every night she still went to the pond, stared down into it, waiting for the frogs to leap, waiting for the plants to sing and waiting for the girl to smile.
But it never did.

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