Rain is pouring from a dark sky. A brook is babbling nearby. Six small feet in ballet flats walking to the place where they were to meet.
Pitter patter goes the rain clap clap go the feet. Into the woods past the brook right where they were to meet, those three wondering if this is where they ought to be. The wind seemed to whisper like a voice from afar saying this is what’s best, just stay where you are. In a second those three were gone. Into the wind go the last of their dreams, replaced by screams. The little girls’ voices, the last of their sounds, echoing, echoing all around.
No one hears them. No one searches for them. They are lost and never found. No one thinks of their deaths as profound. They are not the first nor shall they be the last. They feel for the other children who were and will be dead in the future or past. No one listens to their pleas for help, no one cares that they were out much too late on that dreaded night alone with no light.
Is it a creature or worse their own minds? Still no one looks for the little girls. The world is not kind; everyone gives their disappearance any mind. The only hope is that their souls finally get to fly.
But what really happened the night the children were destined to die?