Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Butterfly
Poppa told me never to go out after dark. He said that The Holi come out and take children while they play. During the day they're taken too, but Poppa watches me during the day and he'll chase The Holi away with sticks if they come close. That's what Poppa said. Poppa lied.
The Holi are creatures that live in the woods near Little Willow, the village Poppa and I live in. Megan from down the road said she saw a Holi, she said Holi are neither male nor female and their eyes are red, standing out against the pale sunken skin on it's face. They wear hoods pulled up, shading their features into shadows but those eyes shine through. Red eyes would, wouldn't they? Megan said that one of them grabbed her but she fought it off. Megan must have lied because The Holi can only be fought off by adults. Everyone knows that.
Poppa was working in his woodshed and I was sitting on the chair, singing softly. A tune from the back of my head, something my Momma sang before she was taken by the Girro, but that's a different story. I was sitting as I was told, with my legs folded up underneath my bottom and my hands folded onto my lap. A fluttering of wings near my ear first caught my attention, and I trailed off on my singing. I mean, you can't expect a four year old to have that much of an attention span, can you? I turned my head, ever so slightly, as not to disturb Poppa and watched the butterfly as it glided out the door of the woodshed. I glanced at Poppa and smiled slightly, he was busy. Hopping off the chair, as most short people would have to do on such a large chair, I tip toed out the door and followed the butterfly. Innocence at its prime.
I followed the butterfly, confident that if I got close enough it would let me stop and touch it. Let me feel the silky texture of it's wings against my fingertips. I giggled softly, oblivious to the shadows gliding away from the woods toward me. The butterfly landed against the rock, folding it's wings up so it looked like it had only one. I slowed down and crept closer, just like Poppa did when he was trying to catch Skip the dog. My bare feet pressed against the dewy grass as I walked closer in exaggerated sneaky steps. The butterfly moved its head. Before this moment I wasn't even sure if butterflies had heads, but it moved its head and stared at me. I was staring right back, my nose inches from it.
The butterfly changed, meshing into colors and inky shadows, crawling over the rock. Silence. I fell backwards, landing on my bottom, eyes wide. The butterfly grew and soon was towering over me, a black hood shading its features, two red eyes staring down at me blindly. My breath caught in my throat as a pale hand reached out, knuckles cracking as it formed around my neck. He lifted me with ease. I knew at that moment I was going to either be taken or killed. Even in my four year old mentality, I prayed for death. I looked around me and for the first time noticed the darkness. It was mid-day but the sun wasn't in sight, the sky wasn't in sight and to me it felt like the world was drenched in shadows. It was freezing, though it was summer and the light breeze earlier had turned into an artic wind. My teeth were chattering, grinding with pain, fear and chill. The grip on my throat tightened, trapping the air in my lungs. The very lungs that felt as if they were going to explode. He raised his free hand, revealing long burnt nails, charred and deformed. If he were making any sound at all I didn't hear, for the world was silent. My Poppa wasn't sawing anymore.
He reached out and pressed the tip of his nail to my forehead, the piece of skin directly between my tear-filled blue eyes. Pain. A pain no child of four should ever experience as he dragged it downward, splitting the skin. He was silent. Always silent. I screamed, tears spilling from my eyes and onto my blood-stained cheeks. The crimson liquid was pouring over and fading as it mixed with the salty droplets, turning from crimson to a lighter red. My throat was raw as he continued downward. Never stopping. Never speeding up. Never slowing down. He reached my chin and I felt bile rise into my throat, burning against the aggravated flesh of my esophagus. He pulled his nail down my throat, leaving a straight line, oozing with blood but not causes me to die. He continued down, down my chest and down my stomach, finally stopping at my belly button. I was panting by now, too tired to scream anymore. I was letting out gasps and whimpers but he didn't speak. It was finally over, is what I thought. I was wrong.
He reached out and pressed all five of his fingernails into my chest, splitting it further. A scream retched through my throat and my arms and fingers twitched. I was bleeding. Bleeding from every pore on my body. Bleeding like I was sweating. He continued, digging deeper and searched around, pausing as he felt my heartbeat against his fingertips. He hesitated for a millisecond before wrapping his hand around the beating muscle. My whole body set on fire, or that's how it felt at least. Vomit gurgled in my throat, trickling out the corners of my mouth. I was crying, sobbing. He pulled out, holding my heart in his hand and let the blood drip. It beat and I watched. My chest heaved but I was alive. Miraculously, I was alive. He tilted his head to the side, as if he was confused. I begged him, pleading for him to kill me. Imagine! A four year old child, pleading for his life to end. He ignored me. He looked up at me and reached out. I flinched. He brushed the sweaty and bloody hair from my forehead. A glitter of white passed into sight where his mouth would be located, but it was gone a second later. He replaced my still beating heart and wiped his blood covered hand on my shirt, the clots standing out against my used-to-be tan jumper. He waved his hand and I was healed. He dropped me and I was alone. The sky was a beautiful blue color and as I stared at the sky a butterfly fluttered over my head and disappeared into the woods.

Poppa said that The Holi come out and take children while they play. Poppa lied.

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This was written by me for my sister. It was suppose to be Gothic, with lots of blood and gore.
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