Girl in the Ruins

A lone pear tree sits in the center of the ruined village; from its branches hangs a single fruit, burgundy red. The sun saturates its leaves, a vibrant green; they flutter in the wind. Nearby, the girl flits from house to house, careful around gnarled roots that have broken through the ancient stones.

A millennia ago, the village was on a trading route in the region and home to a great king. Now, it decays, lost in a forest of oak and pine. The stone is matted with dank moss, and the ground is littered with debris. Grass and wildflowers have overtaken the once-grand streets.

On the walls inside the castle are faded frescos of long-dead royalty and shards of shattered pottery, painted with delicate designs. Underground are tombs host brittle skeletons in gold-adorned coffins. The steps outside are carved with elaborate pictures, telling the area's history in a language long forgotten.

The girl is perched on a boulder in a modest hut, its roof long-collapsed and its structure only hinted at. She can't remember why she's here among the ghosts. She doesn't know her name. She's been searching for so long, and yearning for something unknown. As if by instinct, she rummages through the rubble of the house and pulls out a straw doll with no face. The toy is dusty but new. Where did it come from?

She holds it close to her chest and ventures along the road toward the center of the village. She's hungry. The task is easy, as all paths lead to the pear tree, which is surrounded by high, vine-covered walls and red-petaled flowers. The rock is cold against her feet, and the breeze tickles at her calves. Her white dress sways as she walks.

With one hand, she grips the trunk and wriggles her toes into a knot for a foothold. She hoists herself up and reaches. She has it. The pear. It's firm and gives off a sweet, floral scent. She slips down over rough bark and falls onto her rear. She bites. The sugary juice drizzles down her chin and drips on her knees.

When she is finished, she lies back and observes the clouds. They're moving, a fast-paced dance of fluffy white against dark blue. She wrinkles her brow as day turns to night again and again. When the sky is dark, the stars rotate, the constellations taking new positions. Hundreds of meteors streaks through the heavens.

Beneath her, the Earth shivers, and the ruins rumble and quake. Sitting up, she watches the homes rebuild themselves and the castle shakes off its decay, leaving it pristine. Her breath is shallow and quick, but she's glued to her spot, watching as the world returns to an earlier time.

Swirling lights reveal people, laughing and smiling. They go about their lives buying and selling goods, playing with their children, and cleaning their entryways. A boy throws a ball at the girl, but she only stares in return. He sticks his tongue out and runs off with a group of other children, screaming with joy.

In the distance, cheering erupts. On the palace balcony, the king and queen wave, delighting the crowd below. They throw colorful bouquets and ribbons into the air, which then fall like confetti rain.

She's filled with nostalgia, on the brink of remembrance, when a hand strokes her hair. She looks over her shoulder where a woman stands, grinning. Her brown eyes are glowing with love. Against her breast, a baby is sleeping, strapped to her with a tawny cloth.

She whispers, "We've waited many years for you to join us, sweetheart. I'm so happy to see you."

Weeping now, the girl says, "mama."