❝ when she looks into his eyes, she feels the gripping temptation to tell him all her darkest secrets; the names of the men she has killed, but she learned a long time ago that the only people who can keep secrets are resting in overgrown graveyards...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The last day of normality for Calliope Farrington went like this:
She danced with the rhythm of the smooth breeze beneath a canopy of trees, their spring blossoms thriving in the soft sunlight illuminating the day. Calliope tilted her head toward the sun, bathing in the warmness of the afternoon sky as her blue eyes squinted tightly. She stretched her limbs as high as she could, reaching up to the clouds like the evergreen trees around her. Maybe eventually—after stretching every day—she would grow taller. Being the shortest child in her village was a constant distress for Calliope. She wanted to be tall like her father, but no matter how long or how high she stretched her short limbs, they didn't seem to grow at all. Not even an inch.
Was she doomed to be small forever? What a nightmare.
Calliope opened her bright eyes as she relaxed her muscles. She leaned down over the forest floor, admiring the recent creation below her. She had used a thin stick to draw a picture in the dirt of the blue jay she spotted sitting outside her bedroom window earlier that morning. Calliope loved birds; she loved hearing their sweet melodies echo through the dense woods, reverberating through the leaves and branches. Calliope wished she could sing like the birds. She wished she could grow wings and soar above the trees.
She had a creative imagination.
"Calliope!" She dropped the stick in her hands and brushed the thin dirt off her fingers. "Where are you, Calliope?" She jumped to her feet, turning her head.
"Over here!"
A wide grin lifted Calliope's young face when she saw her mother's slim figure approaching her, "What have you gotten yourself into now?" Her voice was like honey; she could sing as pretty as the birds.
Proudly, Calliope pointed below her, "I drew you a picture."
Quirking her eyebrows with curiosity, Calliope's mother came closer to investigate the picture. Calliope leaned into her mother's side as they looked down at the drawing of the blue jay
"It's the blue jay," her mother smiled. "You are a wonderful artist, Calli."
The compliment made Calliope's spirit leap with happiness, "I gave him a name."
"You did?"
Calliope titled her head to sky as if she was expecting to see the bird to come swooping down, "I named him Freedom."
"Why did you name him that?"
"Well, because he can go wherever he wants, whenever he wants. He can fly and sing... He can do everything!"
Calliope's mother laughed lightly, "Freedom is a wonderful name for our little friend."
After admiring the drawing for a few more moments, Calliope's mother lightly nudged her daughter towards the path back to the village. Looking at the picture one last time, Calliope turned and sprinted to her mother with laughter. They chatted about Freedom as they walked. Calliope hoped he would return to her window in the morning.
