The Painting On The Wall
written by the Vulpecula

It was an interesting place, what the world had evolved into. Sad, more like.

Her mother had dragged her along to the store for some human necessity they were in need of. It was not the girl's favorite place to be, not at all. She'd rather be home, anywhere but the scuffed floors and dirty walls that made up the supermarket.

The shrieks of infants bounced off the walls and into her ears. She shuddered and grabbed her mother's hand, following close behind.

“Lily?” her mother called. “I'm going to the ladies room for a moment, you just stand right out here and wait for me, okay? Don't talk to anyone, don't go anywhere, just stay right here and I'll be out soon.” She simply nodded and took her place beside the door, hands clasped, her dress falling neatly at her feet — the picture of innocence. She would wait as her mother instructed her to, like a good girl. She was always a good girl.

But then she looked around and a small frame, directly above the unsanitary water fountain on the wall, caught her eye. She couldn't help herself, and she had to go look.

It seemed very out of place, a beautiful painting by the restrooms in a supermarket. It was of a little cottage on a hill, with a big oak tree right in front. Butterflies danced and flowers bloomed, the sun shining brighter than ever, the sky bluer than the oceans. In the young girl's eyes, it was a masterpiece. But of all places, why was it there?

She glanced around over her shoulder. Spoiled children throwing tantrums over dolls and action figures. Trash on the ground that no one bothered to pick up. A food court with huge signs about losing weight. She stared back at the painting. No. It didn't belong in this place, and she wanted to take it with her. But...

The door swung open. “Lily? Where are you? Lily Christine?”

She turned around. “Here, Mother,” she said softly. “I'm right here.”

“Oh, good,” her mother said with a sigh of relief. “I was worried about you. Well, no time to waste, dear. Come along.”

Again she held her mother's hand, but as they walked on down the aisles of cleaning supplies and snack foods, she couldn't stop staring over her shoulder at the place where the painting was. She knew she couldn't tell her mother, because she wouldn't understand.

The painting on the wall... someday she'd see it again.