Vanished

                                                        By Dianna Hesselman

 

 

She didn’t really know where she was heading.  Just leaving was what was on her mind.  Get out, now.  Travel light.  She knew she would be okay.  She had many friends.  They would take her in for a time while she found her feet again.

The weather had turned brisk and the wind found her skin even through the heavy winter coat.  The cold air carried the smell of snow.  It was exciting to her, even though it meant being chilly tonight.  Don’t dally.  Keep moving.  Forget the rumble in your stomach.  Hard to ignore…must keep moving. 

 

There’s the neighbors farm in the distance, warm and glowing in the surrounding darkness.  She was hoping for a good reception from them, but that just remained to be seen.  It could go either way, for sure.

 

She turned up the old dirt road toward the farmhouse.  She could hear shrill voices of children playing and dogs barking.  Keeping close to the out buildings, she skirted the barnyard in the shadows.  Her feet hit the ground softly, making no sound.  Anxiety gnawed at her stomach, making her innards shiver uncomfortably.  Silently she made her way to the lights of the farmhouse.  The children’s voices were gone now, and a silence hung eerily in the air.  She listened carefully to make sure she wasn’t being followed. The tantalizing aromas of food was bewitching the air with the temptation to throw all caution to the wind and run for the door and plead starvation.  Surely they would understand her plight.  But restraint was strong within her, and she stood true.  The time would be right, soon enough, and it would be worth the wait.  Or at least she could hope for a rewarding outcome.

 

Time seemed to stand still…But, there!  The door was slowly opening!  An excited shiver ran along her spine and a mixture of fear and anticipation overcame her fragile emotions.  She burst into joyful greetings and ran to the door.  A small child stood there smiling at her.  She so loved this child, the youngest of the family, a small blond girl of maybe four or five, but possessing the biggest heart of them all.  Quietly, a pair of tiny hands placed a dinner plate before her, containing a piece of liver and a pile of lima beans pushed to the side. “Here you go,” the child whispered, shutting the door against the wind.  Gratefully, she wagged her tail in thanks, gulped down the food, and headed happily back down the lane toward home.