I made this 16+ because of the plot and cursing. It's not very graphic, I don't think.
It was late on a summer evening, when the sun makes its final rise in heat, hoping we won’t forget him during the night. The wind blew quiet as a whisper, sweeping past the humble farmhouses and scattering dirt off the roads. At the top of a hill, across a wide field and just about a mile from the nearest house, stood a girl, her delicate fingers tethered to her sides. Before her, at the bottom of her perch, was the edge of a misplaced forest. About a step and a half away stood a much taller girl, Maple, her hands placed meticulously on her hips.
The little girl’s hair was long, black and thick. It hung; pretty and rare against her pale skin. Her thick lips were naturally a passionate red and her eyes were a striking green, like the sea on a stormy day. The thin veins of her hand pushed against the surface of her skin, forming her tiny appendages into feathers, hardly clinging to her knuckles. Her hands clenched into soft fists. She held tightly onto the edge of her new, patterned dress until her palms were sweaty and hot. Tongue, pushing against her teeth, forced its way into the humid air. Her skirt hiked up to her hips and she tucked the loose fabric into her itchy, tan stockings.
“You stop that, nitwit,” the big sister turned and slapped the girl’s hands off of her skirt, “You better fix that now.”
The little one lifted her head, her eyes were dead-empty in her skull, “Mam’ don’t want you calling me names.” She enjoyed looking at her sister an abnormal amount. Often, she stopped and took note of her sister’s lanky, long body and sun-charred skin.
Today, Maple looked especially tall, in her brother’s brown shorts. Her unkempt, sandy hair collapsed over her full shoulders, and fell into the low cut shirt – which fell especially low because of her undeveloped chest.
“Your Mama’s a shithead. Fix your skirt. You’ll ruin it.”
The girl slipped her purple, flowered dress out of her stockings and patted it flat down. She reached out and took her big sister’s hand, who reluctantly and loosely gripped the tiny fingers. Maple lifted out her skinny, sun-burnt legs and started down the hill before them.
“Where’re we going, Maple?” whispered the young-one. She received no answer. Tripping through the long grass, she held strictly to her new dress, fearing its despoilment. Her guide clung tightly to the little hand, with a force too stiff for the flimsy, stringy muscles and joints. But the girl didn’t struggle, simply pulling her drifting skirts close to her body.
Once they had reached a thick, river birch, Maple instinctively sat in the patchy grass, her sister mimicked, but only after checking the ground for mud. The nearby stream rushed in and out of their ears. Maple slipped her hands into the satchel and removed a small capsule and a cheap dress. She lifted the capsule to her lips and drew a blood red line around her yellowing teeth. She rubbed a thick layer of green around her eyelids with a ballpoint pen.
“Keep watch.” Maple instructed. Even with her sister’s loyal, deep green view darting between the tree, Maple thrashed about until the dress covered her securely. Sighing and puffing out her lips, she turned to the little one below her. Her fingers pulled through her thick, dirty hair.
“Mam wouldn’t like you looking like that.”
“Will you ever shut your ugly trap?” Maple grabbed the bottom edge of her dress and pulled it down slightly, “Mam just mad cause your daddy never loved her.”
The undersized girl held her knees into her chest.
“Not another word from you. This is a learning experience. Like school. You’re in school, right?”
“Not until fall.”
“Well, you will be soon. So you got to get used to shutting up and listening to grownups.” Maple stretched her legs out and examined them. Her devotee did the same from her position on the ground. “And now we wait.”
Time past by quickly for the little girl, entertaining herself by piercing holes in the summer leaves that had tripped off the trees too soon. She plucked long weeds from the ground and spun them into a false crown, which she dreamily pulled down onto her dark hair. Shaking her head, she tested it’s hold and decided it was a perfect fit.
“How long do we have to wait?”
“Until my date gets here.”
“Why’d you bring me on a date?”
“Why the hell not?”
The little girl’s eyes shot down to the ground. Maple lowered her building hostility, “Mam says you’re pretty right?”
“I guess.”
Maple stared at the child’s attire. The girl’s fragile hands rested in the deep purple cloth. Maple’s head felt simultaneously hot and cold.
“Eventually you’ll be here waiting for a date. I got to teach you what to do.”
“I don’t want to go on dates in the woods, Maple. Aren’t they supposed to buy you a meal and treat you all nice?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Maple’s unsympathetic tone seemed to drone on and echo itself. Footsteps could be heard, pushing down the soft ground – fresh from a rainstorm.
Through a small entrance in the clearing, a young man slowed his pace at the sight of the girls. He inspected Maple head to toe; she posed against the river birch. His eyes fell on the toddler, but only for a moment. He got closer to the sisters, until his body made contact with the eldest. He took the opportunity to take an up-close look, and, placing his hands on Maple’s hips, gazed down her square body. She looked up at him, now standing partially behind her, and put her palm against his neck.
“Belinda, this is uh…”
“It’s Roy.”
“Roy.”
The man looked down at the little girl, and reacted as if he had yet to notice her. His hands pressed aggressively against Maple’s body, no longer broodingly.
“Is she yours?”
“God no. She’s my sister.”
“Wait, how the fuck old are you?”
“I’m… eighteen.” Maple took a step away and pulled her thin apparel up her torso further. She popped her hip and tried to pout to regain his attention.
“Bull shit.”
“Who cares. Are we doing this or what?”
“I don’t know. Get rid of the kid.”
“I’m supposed to be watching her. We’ll go over there. S’not like she knows.”
The man let a frustrated puff of air out of his nostrils. His cheeks started to blush red.
Maple absently studied her follower, “We’re not even real sisters,” she said under her breath.
Roy shook his head and stumbled, drunkenly, towards the stream. Maple followed closely behind. She turned her dreary eyes back to her sister. They shined with a petrified confidence only Maple could produce. She took the man’s hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. Their pace quickened and Maple’s body suddenly relaxed as they reached a distant cover.
Belinda rocked in her place. Her eyes were blank and sweat dripped off her insipid cheeks. She laid the leaves she had pierced in a row by which finger she used to do the deed. A shrill howl came from the trees beyond, penetrating the girl’s raw ears. Her fingers laced and she rocked faster, allowing her spine to scrape against the rough trees behind her until a thin streak of red slid down her pint-sized back. Her breath quickened as the screams abated and ascended again with the beat of the wind against the leaves.
The strident tone never ceased, despite its constant variation. The girl’s ears ached; she felt the clamor burning into her dreams. Her imagination wildly floated into unsafe territory as the pitch fit itself tightly to her future. Mouth open, nose bleeding, she tried to cover her ears but could not will her feather-fingers to entangle and protect her. Each cry for help left as a whimper. The unrecognizable cry, alien to the girl’s ears, began to stop.
The girl fell in the dirt and clenched her ears, too late. She ripped the crown of weeds, suddenly too tight against her flesh, from her thumping head and let the muddy grasses press against the beautiful cloth that surrounded her. The dress, dirtied and worn, ripped under the weight of her fear. She rocked back and forth, saliva drooped from her lip and her eyes fixed on the path the duo had taken. A figure appeared between the trees. Belinda wrapped her arms around herself and let small tears escape her head.
Maple’s makeup was smeared across her face. Her lips were ripped along the edges, and her body seeped with tears and sweat. A ring of blue surrounded her left eye, no longer gray but a deep, passionate red. Her skin was patched with bruises, green like the sea on a faultless day. A steady stream of blood was daintily laced around her fragile thigh. She was smiling. A thin, green paper bent over Maple’s first finger, her bony hand in a relaxed hold.
“Let’s go buy you a new dress,” She said.
