My Gift

The grass was a sea of emeralds. Refined and dazzling, the blades swayed with each gust of summer air until the meadow’s floor became a wave, lilting across a quiet ocean.

Deep inside my gut, power hummed.

I opened my arms into the gentle wind and tilted my head back. I had it all. Strength. Beauty.

Purpose.

The rustling leaves, the deep-seeded roots, even the pollen in the breeze─they were all mine. I controlled them. I owned them.

And yet… my wrists were bound, my ankles shackled.

I was a prisoner.

I opened my eyes to darkness—utter and complete darkness. Iron chains dragged across the stone floor, as I crawled to the corner of the silent, hollow room. The damp walls sent shivers coursing down my spine, but I invited the numbness. I indulged in it. The chills, they kept me alive.

They kept me sane.

It wasn’t until my nails had dug through my palms that a sliver of moonlight sliced across the floor, right in front of my feet. Panicked, I scrambled back.

Didn’t they know? The light would hurt me.

My bare feet pattered across the wooden floorboards, as I scurried toward my father. He was sitting on the edge of his chair, ankles crossed beneath him, with his hands behind his empty plate and his fingers woven together. As soon as he heard my scurrying steps, his large brown eyes lifted, and in his gaze, he held something—something heavy.

I slipped into a chair beside him and curled my toes above the floorboards.

“Father,” I said. “I see things.”

His cracked lips drew into a frown. “Where have you been?”

“Just outside the village,” I said. “Where the stream meets the river. I was there. In the meadows.”

“Oh darling.” He reached out to me and cupped a handful of hair against my cheek.

I leaned into his touch. “I’m sorry I’m late. You needn’t wait for me.”

His hand fell away slowly. “What have you been doing?”

I cocked my head to the side, just a little. “What I always do.”

That sad frown of his deepened. “And what is that, my dear?”

“I speak,” I said, fiddling with the edge of the cloth napkin. “To the trees. To the wind. To the─”

“Ah yes,” he said, looking away from me. “You’ve told me before.”

Didn’t he believe me?

My face scrunched as I studied him. His cheeks were drawn, his skin leathered. Deep creases stretched from the corners of his eyes. He used to smile a lot, and laugh too, but now the grooves between his brows had grown. The shadows under his eyes had darkened.

“Are you feeling alright, Father?” I leaned closer. His brown eyes were glazed and foggy. Tired.

He patted the back of my hand. “I’m an old man.”

“Well, I’m here to take care of you,” I said. “You and the garden.”

The corner of his lips twitched higher but never broke into a full smile, and when he spoke, there was a somber tone in his voice, “Yes, the garden.”

Oh, Father. How he had been so devistated.

In my mind, a lost image of his face appeared─his square jaw, his crooked nose, and almond shaped eyes. I could see it now. Those worn features laced with heartbreak and disappointment. All because of me. I let my foolish imagination strip me apart, piece by piece, and now, I was abandoned in a tainted pool of my own despair.

But, I had told nothing but the truth. I had tried, so desperately, to show them who I was—what I was, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t see.

I stared at the wall. At the stones. Then, at the claw marks that trailed down to the cold, hard floor. I reached out, desperate to touch—to feel, but the shackles on my wrists bore into my flesh.

The pain was a reminder that I was still here. Still alive.

Still alone.

The eerie moonlight cast ragged shadows across the stones. Strips of black coursed down from the ceiling like iron bars in a cell. Across the room, a thin, ragged form stared back at me. I drew myself inward, curling my heels closer. I tried to get away, but when I moved, it moved.

I was not alone. Not anymore.

Golden sunlight poured down from the heavens and prickled my shoulders with warmth. Delighted, I skipped through Father’s garden, passing the rows of plump tomatoes, and dropped down in front of the bean stalks. I flattened my skirts across the soft, loose dirt and opened my palm.

The stalk twisted and turned. Thin, looping tendrils uncurled before me and wrapped around my fingertips. Soon enough, the small, well-watered plant was a mere extension of my nail.

I tugged my hand back to my chest, and the veiny tendrils unraveled.

“Father,” I called, still staring at the motionless plant. When there was no response, I yelled again, louder this time, “Father!”

Heavy boots scuffled across the wooden porch, and soon, my Father appeared at the edge of the garden, wide eyed and worried.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked. His fingers were painted with ash, his apron stained with grease.

“Hurry. Come here.” I waved my hand. “You have to see.”

He released the porch railing and hobbled down the steps, leaving deep footprints in his wake. When he reached my side, he tipped forward, bracing himself against his knees, and glanced over my shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Watch,” I whispered.

His unsettled brown eyes drifted with my hand as I stretched my fingers toward the bean stalk.

The pale, slender beans twisted on their stems, as thin tendrils launched out from under their leaves and coiled around my nails.

A wide, pleased grin spread across my face. I lifted my chin to peer at my father. “Look! I can control them. I can─”

His unkempt brows dipped low, wrinkling his forehead. I opened my mouth to continue, but something stopped me.

His gaze danced between my finger and the plant. Never once did it settle on the green tendrils that had grown toward me.

“You don’t see it.” I withdrew my hand, careful not to snap the thin, fragile tendrils.

He blinked. “I don’t understand. What don’t I see?”

“My gift.” The words rolled off my tongue dryly. “You don’t see it.”

“Darling…”

I pushed myself upright, and with one quick brush, I knocked the dirt off my skirt. “I’m not lying.”

His palm came to rest on my shoulder, but his reassuring touch felt poisoned.

“Maybe we should go inside,” he offered. “You’ve been in this heat for too long.”

My vision blurred, and I blinked away the tears. “I don’t understand. Why can’t you see?”

A loud gurgle reverberated against the stone walls of my cell like a growl.

There was a light patter of footsteps, then a creak of hinges.

My breath escaped me slowly, but I didn’t inhale again. No, I lay there, motionless and stared at the cracks in the ceiling until my lungs began to burn.

“Wash up,” a woman’s voice, hoarse and deep, cut through the silence and made me suck in a painful breath.

A metal bowl clattered onto the stone floor. The sharp, piercing sound was shrilling to my ears.

I sat up and pulled against the iron chains until I could see light glinting off the mirrored surface.

My gaze dropped.

Grey eyes stared up at me.

Crackled lips. Matted hair.

White scratches, like tears, trailing down red cheeks.

In that glittering pool, I saw helplessness.

I saw betrayal.

And I knew who had done it.