A Dandelion's Wish

A tether to the world

Her father had left early that morning. The morning she went to look for him; cried out for him. His carriage had taken him down the spiraling road at 5 o'clock, just as the letter had promised.

This left his youngest daughter to close her own sister's eyes, on the floor of the room that held her captive for so many years.

Left his youngest daughter, to carry her sister to a grave she herself dug. Out in the sea of pearls and whispered wishes, under the smokey clumps of cloud that drifts carelessly across an unmapped territory marked as the sky; Milla was buried.

Free from the dull walls that caged her in, in the name of medicine. So finally, the oldest sister had had her wish granted. To see the field of clouds, held to the earth by emerald tethers.

A sea of pearls. A sea of unheard dreams.

But the world did not stop, nor did the sky weep for the young girl, resting beneath the field of swaying dandelions.

For that Emilia was glad. She didn't need such a sign to know she was not mourning alone. Milla can now walk among the baby clouds and watch as they adorn their golden petals once more under the unwavering stare of the sun. She can watch the moon rise and stars fall, time being but a comfort to her.

A green eyed girl, merely glancing the age of 9, slightly envied her older sister. Being out of reach of hunger, famine and thirst. It was selfish, and she knew it, but she wanted Milla to come back. She wanted her older sister to ruffle her blonde locks and smile again.

It was a selfish wish so she locked it away in the deepest depths of her heart, knowing that sister is much happier than she ever was.

Happier than she was when she sobbed her bronze eyes out into her blank sheets at the strike of midnight every birthday of hers. Oblivious to the blonde girl sitting against her door; as she muttered her prayers and her most desired wish. Her selfish wish.

It had taken many months but Emilia had learned to cook. She had watched her father countless times but she couldn't help but be clumsy. By the end of preparations the tiny girl would be supporting multiple scratches and cuts from where she had attempted to cut just a tomato.

Afterwards, she would kiss the cut all better and place a plaster over it. The first cut had taken many awkward tries, even putting on a plaster herself proved to be more trouble than she thought it was worth.

One thing Emilia was not struggling with though, was the vegetables. Her dad regularly forgot to tend to them and so she ended up being the guardian of rows and rows of tomato plants, potato and lettuce patches and even a little yeast at the very bottom of the back garden. He even occasionally allowed her to accompany him to the nearest market.

The market was a mystical place, and she often stopped to stare in wonder at the gold streamers and strange trinkets adorning every market stall.

For almost a few years she lived off of the minuscule savings left from the unused paychecks that were expertly hidden behind an old family painting. That and the food she grew.

She would sing and hum as she plodded up the makeshift road, stopping hesitantly at the closest house for miles around. It was no secret that they were better off than everyone else in the village, they boasting and others fawned over petty things such as columns holding up their cover on the front porch.

In her little leather shoes, the girl would slip over the fence, clutching a jug closely to her chest. Slinking beneath the windows, she would scurry around the side of the house to her target. The pipe was always leaking and it seemed either the family living here couldn't be bothered to fix it or didn't have the money. So much for the riches they claimed to have.