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I think, after yesterday's post, I have the beginning of a story.
A childless woman found a black kitten dead in the late snow, a few
weeks before spring was due. It looked so peaceful, not a mark upon
it, that at first she hoped it might only be asleep, and stroked its
fur gently. But no animal lies down to sleep in the snow like that.
She scooped an few handfuls of snow aside, and buried the little
corpse in the black earth beneath. The days continued to get longer
and the trees began to stir and bud.
One night she heard a child crying outside her back door, and opened
it to find a naked little girl, with cold pale skin and hair like a
scrap of night. As she wrapped the girl up in a blanket and brought
her in, the woman noticed the paint on the outside of the door was
scored with fingernail scratch marks.
Days passed and though the woman asked around, no one had heard of a
missing child in the area. Weeks passed and she began to call the girl
Nine, and Nine began to call her Mommy.
When summer faded, Nine's adoptive mother sent her to school, where
the teachers were unsure what to make of her. It was not that she was
a stupid or slow child. She was mischievous, and alternately impatient
and affectionate, but so are many at that age. It was her ignorance of
all human matters that puzzled them, though she learned from her
errors and seldom made the same slip twice.
"Open your book, Nina," her teacher had said on the first day.
"Nine, M'am."
"Nine what?"
"Just Nine, M'am. My name is Nine, not Nina."
"Well, Nine, open your book." Glancing at the other students, the girl
carefully lifted the cover and let it fall open. As she did so, the
front pages stirred and fluttered; and Nine slapped her palm down on
the paper with sudden vehemence and stared at it intently as if she
suspected the page might try to fly away again. the other children
laughed, and Nine looked up at them with mild curiosity.
"Nine! Careful, you'll hurt the book." The teacher wondered for a
moment why she'd said "hurt" instead of "tear" or "damage." "Now, what
does the first page say?"
"It doesn't say anything."
"Yes it does." Nine frowned and put her ear to the page, then gazed at
her teacher with wide, innocent eyes.
"I don't hear it say anything."
A childless woman found a black kitten dead in the late snow, a few
weeks before spring was due. It looked so peaceful, not a mark upon
it, that at first she hoped it might only be asleep, and stroked its
fur gently. But no animal lies down to sleep in the snow like that.
She scooped an few handfuls of snow aside, and buried the little
corpse in the black earth beneath. The days continued to get longer
and the trees began to stir and bud.
One night she heard a child crying outside her back door, and opened
it to find a naked little girl, with cold pale skin and hair like a
scrap of night. As she wrapped the girl up in a blanket and brought
her in, the woman noticed the paint on the outside of the door was
scored with fingernail scratch marks.
Days passed and though the woman asked around, no one had heard of a
missing child in the area. Weeks passed and she began to call the girl
Nine, and Nine began to call her Mommy.
When summer faded, Nine's adoptive mother sent her to school, where
the teachers were unsure what to make of her. It was not that she was
a stupid or slow child. She was mischievous, and alternately impatient
and affectionate, but so are many at that age. It was her ignorance of
all human matters that puzzled them, though she learned from her
errors and seldom made the same slip twice.
"Open your book, Nina," her teacher had said on the first day.
"Nine, M'am."
"Nine what?"
"Just Nine, M'am. My name is Nine, not Nina."
"Well, Nine, open your book." Glancing at the other students, the girl
carefully lifted the cover and let it fall open. As she did so, the
front pages stirred and fluttered; and Nine slapped her palm down on
the paper with sudden vehemence and stared at it intently as if she
suspected the page might try to fly away again. the other children
laughed, and Nine looked up at them with mild curiosity.
"Nine! Careful, you'll hurt the book." The teacher wondered for a
moment why she'd said "hurt" instead of "tear" or "damage." "Now, what
does the first page say?"
"It doesn't say anything."
"Yes it does." Nine frowned and put her ear to the page, then gazed at
her teacher with wide, innocent eyes.
"I don't hear it say anything."
