Author's Note: Erm.I wrote this in a sort of frenzy, and am not sure if I should continue. Your input would be help me greatly, so tell me in your review if I should keep going..where I'm going with it, I'm not sure.

The Lacking Child

The wind outside was cool, a refreshing breeze in the immense heat. The sun blazed high in a dusty blue sky and shone down upon dieing grass and sick trees. All was quiet, not even the summer crickets singing their summer songs. She sat on the side of the dusty road, eyes closed against the bright sun. Her once white dress was beginning to turn a ragged brown and her once white skin was red and raw. She turned her burnt face toward the wind, allowing her too pale hair to flow out behind her. She had the features of a very small child, though there was something about her that suggested she was much older. Upon seeing her, one would guess that she had been out there for days, but there was really no way of knowing for sure.

He was the one that found her, sitting there in the hot sun, eyes squeezed shut, parched and miserable. He was the one that picked her up and carried her away from the abandoned street. He was the one that brought her into his home and nursed her back to health as best he could, not able to understand exactly why she had been left there to die in the first place.

Slowly, very slowly, she began to recover. Eventually she learned to eat by herself, able to swallow all of the soup that he prepared for her. Then she could stand on her own, and even walk, taking small baby steps to the bathroom and back again, clinging on to every piece of furniture in the house. Her skin healed, and the rawness was replaced with the fresh face of a young girl. Her hair darkened again, and soon after she was able to carry out the small tasks that every young girl was expected to do. She could brush her hair, fix her own plate for dinner, and make her own bed.

But not once did she speak.

At first, he thought it was because of some sort of trauma that she had experienced. Some horrible action that had shocked her into a complete and absolute silence. But as he examined her actions and movements, he realised that it was not from trauma that she did not speak, but from some other unexplainable force. She could function perfectly well in any societal situation, but she could not.. no, she would not produce the words in order for others to understand her. It seemed a choice with her, rather than something forced. He puzzled over this for many days, and finally decided to inquire about the oddity of the girl.

"Why don't you speak?" he asked one evening. A storm was raging that night, and she had wanted to go to sleep early. She simply smiled a sweet and innocent smile and crawled beneath the covers.

"Alright, fine then. Where do you come from, then? You've been living here for several months and never once have you explained what you were doing on the side of that road or why you were there." Her smile disappeared, replaced by a malicious scowl. There was a wild look in her eyes, and for a moment, he wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen. But she recovered herself quickly, a winning smile once again plastered on her face. She shook her head, as though it was too much for anyone to explain, and closed her eyes, leaning against the down pillows. He sighed, and left the room, crawling into his own bed, welcoming the darkness that was claiming his consciousness.