Just wrote this. This story came to me entirely. There’s been no editing.
Painted Ladies
©March 13th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
The butterflies arose in a cloud of gold and black from fields of cheeseweed and hollyhock, and startled the air into flickering light.
The rain, which had fallen the night before, dripped off leaves and grass in pearlescent drops, and chilled the skin of the lone child, who stood there.
She had run away from a place where she’d been kept with other children, and she had been hurt in secret places. All she knew was that she had to run. And so, when the back of the scary guards were turned, she had inched away from the cages, crawling whenever she could, putting a finger to her lips, so that the other children inside the cages made no sound, but watched her curiously.
And she somehow got out into the twilight away from the hellhole. She had run and run, stifling her sobs, swift as a hunted hare, not sure where she was going. Then, she slowed down and stopped, for she was out of breath.
She didn’t know where to go. She saw a parked pickup truck on the side of the highway, and quickly hauled herself up, clinging to the sacks of potatoes that were in it. The driver, who had been off peeing behind a bush, returned, and pulled out of the emergency lane. He drove through the night, occasionally stopping at a rest stop. Once, he stopped to poo on the roadside, and she quickly hopped down from the back, and climbed into the passenger’s seat, desperately hunting around for something. She found some packets of chips, an old apple, and some peanuts, and a bottle of water. Stuffing these insdie her shirt, she hopped out again, shut the door quietly, and climbed back into the back of the truck. She lay back among the sacks, looking up at the stars, eating chips, drinking a little water, keeping the peanuts and apple for later. She had no plan but one: Not to be detected.
Then, the tires began to grind, and truck stopped abruptly. They were on a highway, and it was deep night. The man cursed, and jumped out. He ran into the bushes, and stayed there a while, grunting. He must have eaten something that disagreed with him.
She heard him finishing up, and walking towards the truck. She heard his footsteps come around the side. And she cowered down behind some of the sacks, making herself still.
He was checking something. What it was, she couldn’t tell, but she stayed motionless. He returned to the front of the truck.
That was when she knew she couldn’t be there any more. He would most certainly see her if she stayed.
So, quietly, very quietly, grabbing an empty sack, she slid off the back of the truck, and raced, bare-footed and frantic, into the bushes. Once she was clear of the truck, she looked. He was looking at a flat tire, back turned to her, and he was holding some sort of implement, clearly intending to fix it.
Her heart beat loudly in her little chest. She couldn’t feel the cold, not with the terror within her which made her burn.
She waited and waited. Finally, he was done fixing his flat. And he pulled away, with a horrible screech of tires.
Now, she relaxed, and sobbed dry, heaving sobs. She called aloud for her mother, and for her elder sister. Her father had died in the desert when they’d come over, and they’d had to leave his body to the coyotes. She’d been separated from her mother and sister, and taken by the scary men in uniforms. Her mother had cried out, as had she and her sister, but they they were beaten into silence by the scary men whose cold, pale blue eyes, pig-skin, and horrible leering faces had frightened her. And she never saw her mother and sister again.
Suddenly, she noticed that her feet were hands were bleeding – she must have cut herself getting off the truck. She barely felt it. It wasn’t life and death, anyway. She began to walk on the side of the road, the city-lights on the horizon making the night seem less terrifying. There was no one on the road, but she didn’t want to take any more chances. She went back into the tangled bushes on the side of the road, and soon found herself under a tree. She laid her stolen sack on the ground, intending to lie on it, but suddenly, with no warning, there was a flash of lightning, then thunder, then a huge downpour. Quickly, she covered herself with the sack, instead, and huddled under the tree, shaking with fear and cold.
She wept while the rain fell. And then, before she knew it, it stopped. She looked fearfully around, but saw nothing and no one. Exhaustion overcame her. Her eyes closed in spite of themselves. In no time, she was asleep.
When she woke up, the sun was up, and the sky was beautiful, bright blue, and shot through with gold. She almost felt joy, then.
Realizing that she didn’t know what she was going to do next, she sat back down, while the sun warmed her bones and skin, and her thin shirt began to dry, too. The skirt she was wearing was wet, though, so she took it off, and hung it on a bush, along with the sack.
So, here she was, alone, at age nine, with two packets of chips, an apple, and a packet of peanuts, and a bottle of water. She could make it last for a couple of days, she thought. What would she do after that?
But here she was, inexplicably in a field filled with flowers, and the butterflies arose in a cloud of gold and black all around her. She had always loved butterflies. Seeing something like this, she might have been delighted a year ago, back in her country, with her parents and sister close by, but now, she stood there blankly, gazing around her.
She sat on a smooth rock near her tree. Maybe I can make a shelter here, under this tree, she thought. There are flowers here, maybe a little pool of water, a tree, no one close by. I could catch a rabbit, and eat birds’ eggs. Maybe, I could live here. And suddenly, she began to laugh hysterically.
One of the butterflies settled on her hand. She calmed down, and thought.
I will go down this road, keeping to these fields and meadows. I will find someone. I will ask for help. I will keep away from men. I will find the women. Maybe, they will know my language. Yes, I will do this. I will grow up, I will remember, I will live.
The day was still new. Her skirt was still drying. The butterflies ruffled the air. She ate her apple, and some peanuts. She poured a little water down her throat, and a little bit over her cut feet and hands. She washed her face, and turned it skywards.
The butterflies appeared to rise up forever.
__________________________________________________