cities or cars—only picket fen ces and distant hills where the tan roads seem ed to snake inward
and disappear.
The boy whistled and waved to his neighbour s as he passed, but in his green eyes, the depth
of his worries flared. He walked with an edge to his step, half hurrying, half skipping as if to pretend
he felt no concern.
But, as he looked to the last house, the open front door seemed to stop his heart.
Silence seized the sound of children laughing and shouting playful commands at each other.
Two breaths passed before the thump of his knapsack hitting the ground beside a new spring
blossom brought it all back.
The movie played in slow motion, making the distance between the picket gate and the porch
steps seem like a hundred yards as he ran, his heels kicking up clouds of dust behind him.
He stopped dead by t he open door, and the world gr ew grey, shadowing out the warmth as
the silence faded under the deep thumping of his heart. “Aunty?” he called cautiously, completely
expecting to h ear her call back. He slowly walked forward, each foot tracing the st ep of the o ne
before. “Arietta?” His tiny hand pushed the door; it creaked and waved in the strong breeze.
I watched the image from behind the boy—the scene of a raw pine staircase in front of him, a
door to the left, leading nowhere important, a bright light filtering in through doors of a room behind
the stairs, and as he stepped past t
he front door, a hall table laying on its side, with an
accomplishment of scattered blue pottery and six red roses layi ng snapped, crumpled and smudged
into the hardwood floors.
He held his breath, this boy with gold-brown hair and fair skin, and as he toed the edge of the
table, shifting it away, the sight of curled fingers, tipped red with blood, forced him to his knees.
Wordless, frozen, tears welled into his eyes but became imprisoned by a breath of fear as his
gaze traced the thin white arm, laying outstretched—reaching.
There lay Arietta, slightly hidden by the gate of the stairs, her fragile, slender body twisted
awkwardly, as if s he had fallen from something impossibly high and landed without bones in her
body. Stringy tendrils mocked what was once hair of gold, and as the boy r eached forward and
stroked it from her cheek , he turned her twisted neck toward him and let out a shallow, empty cry,
falling back on his heels to cover his own mouth.
A face unrecognisably human: eyes swollen shut, a deep voi d where the other half of her
skull should be, her lip torn up to her nose, and several teeth missing.
My heart, which had been steady the whole time, suddenly began to beat faster.
Shaking, the boy rose to his knees again and, swiping tears away from his youthful cheeks,
lifted the bodice of her dress and fell heavily upon the lump protruding from her blackened belly. He
felt helplessly around the dome of ski n, searching for the feel of life within, and whi le his body
shook with the fear of truth, he turned his head to see words inscribed on the wall beside him.
The memory didn’t show the words, but only the feeling that followed, and I knew that they
were a passage from the bible, condemning infidelity.
The boy, David, covered t he belly of his aunt and s at up s uddenly, his ears pricked, his
shoulders tense and his eyes wide. Then, he launched to his feet and extended his hand toward the
door. “Jason. Don’t come in!”
A boy, an exact copy of David, s topped dead in the doorway—his boisterous smile slipping
away from his lips at the sight of his blood-covered brother.
“Get uncle, Jason. Get uncle!” David yel led his command down the street, but Jason was
already gone—swift and graceful, he tore down the street, his lanky limbs blurri ng with speed until
he disappeared from David’s sight.
David turned back t o the body of his aunt a nd fell to his knees, weep ing. “I’m so s orry,
Aunty. I should...I should have b een here—” His body
and disappear.
The boy whistled and waved to his neighbour s as he passed, but in his green eyes, the depth
of his worries flared. He walked with an edge to his step, half hurrying, half skipping as if to pretend
he felt no concern.
But, as he looked to the last house, the open front door seemed to stop his heart.
Silence seized the sound of children laughing and shouting playful commands at each other.
Two breaths passed before the thump of his knapsack hitting the ground beside a new spring
blossom brought it all back.
The movie played in slow motion, making the distance between the picket gate and the porch
steps seem like a hundred yards as he ran, his heels kicking up clouds of dust behind him.
He stopped dead by t he open door, and the world gr ew grey, shadowing out the warmth as
the silence faded under the deep thumping of his heart. “Aunty?” he called cautiously, completely
expecting to h ear her call back. He slowly walked forward, each foot tracing the st ep of the o ne
before. “Arietta?” His tiny hand pushed the door; it creaked and waved in the strong breeze.
I watched the image from behind the boy—the scene of a raw pine staircase in front of him, a
door to the left, leading nowhere important, a bright light filtering in through doors of a room behind
the stairs, and as he stepped past t
he front door, a hall table laying on its side, with an
accomplishment of scattered blue pottery and six red roses layi ng snapped, crumpled and smudged
into the hardwood floors.
He held his breath, this boy with gold-brown hair and fair skin, and as he toed the edge of the
table, shifting it away, the sight of curled fingers, tipped red with blood, forced him to his knees.
Wordless, frozen, tears welled into his eyes but became imprisoned by a breath of fear as his
gaze traced the thin white arm, laying outstretched—reaching.
There lay Arietta, slightly hidden by the gate of the stairs, her fragile, slender body twisted
awkwardly, as if s he had fallen from something impossibly high and landed without bones in her
body. Stringy tendrils mocked what was once hair of gold, and as the boy r eached forward and
stroked it from her cheek , he turned her twisted neck toward him and let out a shallow, empty cry,
falling back on his heels to cover his own mouth.
A face unrecognisably human: eyes swollen shut, a deep voi d where the other half of her
skull should be, her lip torn up to her nose, and several teeth missing.
My heart, which had been steady the whole time, suddenly began to beat faster.
Shaking, the boy rose to his knees again and, swiping tears away from his youthful cheeks,
lifted the bodice of her dress and fell heavily upon the lump protruding from her blackened belly. He
felt helplessly around the dome of ski n, searching for the feel of life within, and whi le his body
shook with the fear of truth, he turned his head to see words inscribed on the wall beside him.
The memory didn’t show the words, but only the feeling that followed, and I knew that they
were a passage from the bible, condemning infidelity.
The boy, David, covered t he belly of his aunt and s at up s uddenly, his ears pricked, his
shoulders tense and his eyes wide. Then, he launched to his feet and extended his hand toward the
door. “Jason. Don’t come in!”
A boy, an exact copy of David, s topped dead in the doorway—his boisterous smile slipping
away from his lips at the sight of his blood-covered brother.
“Get uncle, Jason. Get uncle!” David yel led his command down the street, but Jason was
already gone—swift and graceful, he tore down the street, his lanky limbs blurri ng with speed until
he disappeared from David’s sight.
David turned back t o the body of his aunt a nd fell to his knees, weep ing. “I’m so s orry,
Aunty. I should...I should have b een here—” His body
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