It was a cold morning in Hestatt Town. A soft, chilly rain was falling from the musty skies, hitting the pavement head on, splitting into tiny droplets like haze. Street sellers were shouting to prise the attention of passers-by. Rice, tomatos, cucumbers, aubergines, carrots. Against the pale complexion of the morning's greyness, the colours felt like a natural attempt at oversaturating this common street. And there she was, holding her small wooden umbrella, walking amongst and through the passers-by; unseen.
Most umbrellas are made of plastic or some light aloy, to accomodate those carrying them. They have a waterproof membrane, to protect them from rain and the elements. Hers was wooden, like a toy construction, and instead of a waterproof membrane, it had a sheet of paper covered around it. On each end, she had painted something with blue and red ink.
But the water drops were staining the paper, discolouring the ink and washing away the paintings. On one corner, one could still tell the picture of a small animal -- perhaps a dog. It was running across a sunny valley, towards a small hut. The other corner was already washed away. Perhaps it was that she had not drawn something precise on it, but all one could tell was a messy blot of ink. From an angle, you could say it looks like a butterfly. Then again, almost anything looks like a butterfly from a certain perspective and in the right kind of mindset.
Emily -- that was her name -- was not a normal girl. She was a freisthaar; a spectre of winters yet to come. And this is why she could walk through the street sellers and the passers-by unseen. At most, they could probably sense the breeze, or a sway in the winds. A déjà vu. A feint memory or a tiny voice. But most wouldn't notice. Except for Anton. Anton noticed Emily, because he could see the wooden umbrella with the paper membrane. At first he thought it was a game: An umbrella, connected to some unseen rope, hovering over the street. But then he realized that no one else could see the umbrella. He tried to move closer, but it was hard to navigate around the swarms of bystanders and passers-by.
The light rain had turned into a windier storm. The drops weren't larger, but they came more often, and wind would throw them at Anton like needles. It was the sort of rain that soaks you all over, whether you have an umbrella or not.
Yet Anton followed the wooden umbrella, until he lost track of it.
He was at a crossroad. On one end, he could see the docks -- bells chiming in the wind. On the other end, there was a valley, with a hut on top. Ahead there was the town clock, more passers-by and more shouting street sellers.
Instinctively he took the way towards the valley, perhaps not noticing the little dog barking to his left. Whether he caught a fleeting glimpse of the car coming from behind is hard to tell, but then again, his eyes were fixated on discovering the wooden umbrella. A thump; then shouts. Screams. A break in the pattern of this small rural town.
Emily looked back, but only for a moment. She waved her hand, as if to say goodbye, then disappeared into a new corner, heading for the docks.
A drop fell on the little dog painted on her umbrella, washing it away and turning it into a blot. From a certain angle, it almost looked like a butterfly. Then again, everything looks like a butterfly from a certain perspective, and with the right frame of mind.
This short story was written and edited in August 2011.
Notice: It has come to my attention that some website has reposted my short story 'The girl with the wooden umbrella' without permission. I would like to explain, first and foremost, that I am an avid supporter of endorsing and helping creativity in people. I am against 'copyright' notices, and I do not believe that any person owns the work they produce. Instead, what we produce, as artists, humans, engineers, scientists, belongs to humanity as a whole. But there is a fine line, and when someone attempts to usurp another person's work without proper permission, referencing or acknowledgements, then this goes against such notions of creative commons. My work is free and open for everyone to read, use and make the most and best of. It is not however open for direct or indirect exploitation of any kind, including passing it on as your own in order to make money. If you need to re-post something from this blog, feel free to do so -- I am happy that you care about it in the first place. But please, say where you found it, give a link to the original blog and cite the writer or the writer's pseudonym. That's how simple it is. The same rule goes for any derivative work. If you create a work directly based on something you read here, make sure to tell others about where you got the original idea from. All work contained in this blog is considered under a non-commercial creative commons license of attribution and share-alike ethos.
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