It was a dark, cool winter’s night when the sound of tapping on the door awoke the girl from a wistful dream. She rose, opening the door to find a tall man standing in front of her. Not knowing the man wasn’t her father, she took his hand as he led her out into the night. The sky was black as midnight while they walked down the ice-covered street, towards the abandoned playground.
Once they reached the field housing the playground, the girl spotted the rust swing-set, instantly running towards it. The man slowly followed behind her, watching her small hands, so pale they were almost blue in the moonlight, as they motioned him to come toward her and push her swing so she could fly like the small bird she resembled. He walked over and began to push her. She squealed with delight as she rose higher and higher with each swing, grabbing at the stars above of her blonde head.
So sad, the man thought, that her life has to end so soon. He pushed her a few more times, before telling her that it was time to leave. The eagerness in her light green eyes faded for a moment, but flared up again as she took hold of his large hand, feeling the calluses on his palm. They made the trek back home but stopped midway so the man could look into the young girl’s eyes.
“Mia,” he began. “I’m so sorry it has to end like this.”
A look of confusion passed onto the girl’s face. “My name isn’t Mia, Daddy. It’s Bicé.”
He shook his head and finally everything fell into place for Bicé. This man could not possibly be her father. Her father had just been killed in the war; she’d heard her mother say so. She tried to run, but the man caught her before she got more than two steps away, holding her in place. As she struggled against him, the man pulled out a knife that gleamed in the night and whispered, “I love you Mia,” before slitting the girl’s throat.
He rose and picked up her lifeless body, laying her down in front of the house. He pinned a note onto he bright pink jacket, now stained with brilliant red, and left her for her mother to find.
“I will never forget what I did to you, Mia,” he said, walking away into the night.
Undetected, Bicé’s older sister, Magdalena, crept out from behind a gargantuan oak tree. She ran to her sister’s body, tears streaming down from her stormy green eyes, and uttered a blood-curdling scream. Neighbors from the whole street rushed out to the place where that horrible sound was coming from, witnessing the gruesome scene. A small body lay crumpled in the street and the girl was hunched over it. Magdalena sobbed into her little sister’s ruined jacket, screaming for their mother, screaming for their father. But no one came; the neighbors just stood and beheld the grisly image of the petite, cherubic face of the young girl they all knew and loved stained with blood and the tears of her sister, no one bothering to call for help.
Magdalena tried to wipe away the blood coursing from the wound in her sister’s neck, but only felt the soft skin that was now cold to the touch. The coppery scent of her sister’s lifeline burned Magdalena’s nostrils as she screamed and sobbed for her beloved sister not to go. Her ear-splitting cries echoed throughout the town for what seemed like an eternity before reaching the man who had done this to her baby sister. He stiffened and strained to hear what it was the girl had cried.
The words, now soft and subtle, caressed his ears as they whispered “What have you done?” before disappearing into the wind.