Adita’s smooth, caramel-colored skin contrasted with her gossamer wings, which shimmered with shades of silver and translucent white. As she fluttered them to shake off the morning dew, the sun caught the intricate patterns of veins that ran through each delicate wing. She flew to the flowers by the open kitchen window and perched on a bright red petal to watch as the humans began their day.
The smell of freshly
brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers. Adita couldn’t
taste or eat like humans, but she enjoyed watching them go about their daily
routines. She observed as they chatted and ate breakfast together. As time passed
and the world changed, Adita saw simple foods like plantains and bananas
replaced with boxed cereals and cartons of milk. Despite changing meals, the
ritual remained the same.
Adita’s favorite was the
little girl with the frizzy curls, the one who always looked out the window
with wide and searching eyes. Her gentle voice would whisper to Adita as if she
could see her perched nearby. She sometimes left small offerings on the
windowsill, like a fallen bird feather, a smooth pebble, or a crumpled leaf.
They were tokens of a friendship without words. On days when the little girl
seemed especially sad, Adita felt a prickling ache in her heart, and she would
stay near her, hoping her quiet presence might bring comfort.
One morning, Adita
watched as she cried at the kitchen table. Her breakfast was untouched; her
sadness reached Adita and made her own eyes well. Though she couldn’t
understand their words, even after centuries of being around them, she felt
their emotions deeply. During the past few weeks, there was an abundance of
sadness.
The mother kneeled to
comfort the girl, brushing her unruly curls away from her face. But beneath the
mother’s soothing words, Adita sensed a layer of anger and frustration that
pulsed beneath. The girl stepped outside, and Adita followed her to the bench
near a large tree that was her favorite spot in the valley.
While sitting on the
lowest branch, Adita watched the girl’s tear-streaked face as she hiccupped
between sobs. “I know you’re here,” the girl said, looking up at Adita with
tearful eyes. “We have to leave.” The girl’s curls absorbed the sun’s rays,
creating a frizzy halo around her head.
Adita understood. The
family would leave this place, like so many before them. The valley, with its
flowing stream and tropical woods, saw countless families come and go in the
many years she’d been there. She barely remembered the first ones, with their
tattered clothes and bare feet, but she remembered the love they brought to the
valley.
“Can’t you come with us?”
the girl asked, her gaze filled with yearning. Adita’s heart broke. She tried
to follow others in the past, but a force always held her. Adita was bound to this
valley like the roots of the old tree, like the stream that flowed through its
soil. She could no more leave than the sun could abandon the sky.
The girl must have
understood because her tears fell harder. Her tiny shoulders shaking with
sorrow. Adita hovered above her, a helpless witness to her pain. Her jagged
cries made her mother come outside. Despite not being able to see or hear
Adita, the mother felt a sense of calm over her. The mother hugged the girl,
and they went back inside.
Adita perched on her spot by the kitchen window, watching as the family packed their belongings into large boxes. The girl filled one box with her favorite possessions, occasionally stealing glances out the window at Adita. She watched so many families come and go over the centuries, but this departure left a hollow ache deep within her.
Adita fluttered to her
perch on the windowsill. She took a deep breath, expecting the familiar scent
of brewed coffee, but dust and stale air replaced it. She searched through the
house. The once-vibrant rooms felt vast and echoing, their emptiness pressing
in on her. Her delicate wings trembled with a sense of loneliness as she flew
around each room, inspecting every corner for any sign of human activity. She
returned outside where weeds overtook the garden, filling spaces once carefully
tended.
Adita flew up to her
favorite tree. The grass on both sides of the road had grown tall and unruly,
obscuring her view of the neighboring house on the hill. A new family would
arrive, sometimes they just took a little longer.
Time passed, as it always
did. Occasionally, men with strange sticks and maps would wander through the
valley. Adita felt a creeping unease, as if something terrible was coming. She
couldn’t shake the feeling that her valley, her sanctuary, was changing in ways
she couldn’t understand.
One morning, the air
trembled with an unfamiliar, menacing hum, a deep vibration that seemed to rise
from the earth itself. The ground shuddered beneath the trees as three hulking
yellow machines lumbered down the road. Their massive metal frames gleamed
under the harsh sunlight, and their jagged, rust-streaked claws reached
forward, ripping into the earth. Adita hovered, frozen, as the machines churned
through the soil, scattering roots and rocks to the sides of the old road.
When the machines reached
the house, they paused only briefly before they attacked. One claw plunged into
the roof, ripping it away in a single motion. Desperation gripped Adita as she
darted forward, her wings shimmering with urgency. She fluttered in front of
the machine’s claw, her tiny form dwarfed by its size. The claw swung forward,
oblivious to her presence, smashing into the space that had once been the
family’s kitchen. The counters splintered, the walls crumbled into rubble, and
the smell of dirt, concrete dust and splintered wood replaced the once-familiar
scents of brewed coffee and blooming flowers.
Adita turned to the
trees, the sky, the streams. She called out to the birds, to the animals who
had once filled this valley for help, but the valley was empty. She was alone.
Her delicate wings trembled as the machines continued their relentless
destruction.
Over time, the valley
remained bare. The animals that once lived there never returned. All that remained
of her cherished old tree were its fading roots, now blending into the tall
grass. Where it once stood, Adita perched on the metal rail.
While cars occasionally
passed, no one stopped or seemed to notice her. The wind carried the scent of
exhaust instead of flowers, and the sounds of laughter and conversation long
faded. Adita’s wings trembled with the memories of what was gone.
One afternoon, a car
pulled to the side of the road and stopped in front of where Adita perched. A
woman stepped out; she was vaguely familiar. It was the girl! All grown, her
hair tamed and face more like her mother’s now. She reached into the back seat
and carried out a little girl with a halo of curly hair. Adita flitted above
their heads. The girl giggled and reached out towards Adita, who playfully
dodged her chubby fingers. Adita felt a warmth fill her; a sensation so close
to love it brought tears to her eyes.
The woman touched her own
cheek, wiping away a tear. “I knew you’d be here,” she whispered, voice soft
and full of memory. She looked at the girl in her arms. “This is Grace,” she
said. “I wanted her to meet you.” She reached into her pocket, took out a
smooth white pebble, and placed it on the metal rail.
Adita fluttered close, to say thank you, to tell her how much it meant that she came back, even if only for a moment. Her wings shimmered with all the light of the valley, carrying with them the memory of every family who had called this place home.