“The Rope Bridge”
By June Tun and Carolina Sapriza
There once was a little girl named Mary. It was her birthday, turning seven years old. Her mother had promised her that after she picked up her sister from school, she would bake her a chocolate cake twice the size of her head.
“But don’t stray from the dirt path,” her mother warned, “or else bad things will happen.”
“Yes, Mother,” replied Mary.
“Now off you go!” Mary’s mother walked her to the door and let Rosemary walk off onto the dusty dirt path.
Oh this path is so long, Mary thought. And quite boring.
“I should go to the rope bridge path. It’s so much faster. It’s my birthday after all,” she declared out loud. And she marched off to the Rope Bridge.
Oh, what a wonderful birthday, she thought, I’ll get back home quickly with my sister, eat that big chocolate cake and…
She halted. She was at the end of the Rope Bridge. She confidently looked up, expecting to see the other leafy green trees and a clear azure sky. However, the landscape was not at all cheery and bright. It was the complete opposite. The woods were bare, the sky was gray and bleak, and, at the center of the Rope Bridge, stood her raven-haired sister, looking downwards. Slowly, very slowly—slower than any human could move—her sister looked up staring into the eyes of Mary. But, her sister couldn’t look her in the eyes.
Because she had no eyes. Her face was completely blank, blank as a white sheet of paper. Mary gaped in horror, and let out the loudest shriek her lungs could manage. She whirled around and began to flee, not daring to look back. Mary ran all the way back to her home for safety. As soon as she placed both of her feet down in her house she slammed the door as hard as she could and locked the door. Mary crumpled in front of the chestnut colored door, panting like a dog. Two minutes passed and Mary finally got to her feet. Then she wondered, Where is mother…?
She walked around the house, calling and calling her name.
“Mother? Mother?! MOTHER?!”
She then heard a thunk.
It was coming from the kitchen.
She sprinted to the kitchen. She peered out, and there was her mother, sitting in a chair, facing away.
“Mother!” Mary cried, and ran to her, arms stretched.
The wretched mother turned; however, it was not her mother, but a white-haired woman. Without a face. Mary stopped in shock.
“Who…Who are you? And what did you do with my mother?” Mary trembled. The woman didn’t move. She simply sat there, head turned to face poor Mary. Where’s my mother!?
She tried to say, but her mouth couldn’t open. The world had turned into a black, noiseless, scentless oblivion.
Because she had no face anymore.