Seven

The girl is seven years old, and as lovable as broken glass. She stands, barefoot, in a pair of faded, threadbare jeans, staring out across the road with one hand resting on a skinny hip. Her dishwater hair is tousled, and floats up to frame a smudged, set face. She is frowning, staring intently at a small patch of dry grass across the road from her. A car speeds by, kicking up a sour dust that takes a few minutes to settle. The girl coughs, grimacing and waving a hand in a helpless attempt to clear the air.

She is chasing one of the barnyard kittens. A small, unkempt scrap of black and white fur that dashed across the road in a blind panic, and is now huddled, terrified, behind a fence post. Another car sweeps by, and as the dust begins to choke her, the girl shrugs one bony shoulder and turns to leave. She has gone a few feet when she hears a violent, muted hissing, followed by a low whine. In a flurry of fur and dust, the kitten rolls the rest of the way off the pavement, its back legs dragging uselessly. The small body is broken, but the kitten is still making a soft little panting noise. Eyes wide, the girl kneels, staring helplessly at the writhing animal. Finally she reaches out to stroke its sticky fur with one hand.

The kitten lashes out in pain, sinking its teeth into the tender flesh of the girl's palm. She screams, falling backwards and looking at her hand in shock. She sees two little holes, blood welling up to fill them as a few drops fall onto the dusty ground.

The kitten has stopped moving. The girl crawls forward again, and tentatively lays one fingertip on its cold nose. It doesn't react, so she goes back to stroking the fur. She presses her hand down to feel the contours of its tiny body, stopping when she reaches its back legs. One of them is oozing a thick, blackish blood, and the kitten's fur starts to clump. It leaves a long, angry red smear across both her palms, and she looks at them in surprise. Then she puts one hand up to her face, running her tongue over the sticky red substance. It tastes salty and bitter, and the girl grimaces and spits onto the dry ground. A dark spot has formed in the dirt around the kitten's body.

She picks up the hollow, weightless body, cradling it in her arms. The kitten's eyes are glassy, and she touches one lightly as she walks away from the road. It's cold and soft, and she begins to rub it slowly with her fingertip as she walks.

In the cool, semi-darkness of a thick patch of trees she stops, and brings the kitten up to her face. Smiling, she gives it a soft kiss on the nose, and lays it gently in a little hollow between two ropy tree roots. She bites her lip, looking down at the awkward little corpse, and then reaches behind her head to untie her apron. It slides to the ground, and the girl pulls it gently up to the dead kitten's chin, patting the cooling body softly. She lays a dry, sweet-smelling fern on top of the apron, then stands back to admire her work. Her face is somber as she blows it a kiss, then turns and runs back into the sunlight, shivering and rubbing her hands together.

Behind her, in the darkening woods, the kitten's broken little body lays, motionless. A small bulge underneath the girl's lacy apron. The trees move softly around it, and the wind tugs gingerly at a corner of the cloth, nudging it up to reveal a small, white paw.