A short story inspired by this piece: Sunset. Permission to write story granted by creator...

This is the first part of it\the only part I've finished so far. -__-;; (Such a horrible procrastinator.)

*****

She was sitting on the simple plank swing, her head bent, her form silhouetted in the sunset. One hand clutched one of the ropes from which it hung, suspended, over the pine-needle covered forest floor; the other lay limply in her lap. She wore a white nightdress with long, loose sleeves gathered in at the wrists, despite it being the height of summer. A pair of simple leather slippers rested haphazardly on the ground not too far away, as if she’d kicked them off; her bare feet were pale and golden in the receding daylight.

She was there every evening. Sometimes she rocked the swing so that it moved, very softly, causing her nightgown to flutter before her, or to cling to her thin legs. Her shadow swept across the ground, and intermittently over the tree trunks, like a dark wraith. Maybe she stayed there throughout the night, a wisp of a phantom floating over the pine needles, burnished by moonlight to slivers of metal. Whatever the case, she was gone when the rest of the village rose. The wooden swing never moved, as if it had never supported anyone, whether a child or a flirting lover, in its whole life.

Nobody in the village knew who she was. They knew nothing about her; her name, her age, where she came from, how she got there. They whispered that she was a ghost, a lost spirit. She had drowned in the lake, many years before, and was waiting for her parents to take her home. She was a gypsy child who was killed when superstitious villagers (none of them, of course, nor their parents, but from generations past) raided her caravan, fearful of gypsy magic. She was a shape shifter who took the form of a deer, a chipmunk, a badger by day, and was only free to her human form at night. She was their guardian spirit, barring any harm from beyond those trees at the forefront of the village.

Many tales were spun up about her, or inspired by her ever-lingering presence. They enjoyed sharing them in the square together, on quiet afternoons, or in front of each other’s fires on sleepy nights. It was such an enjoyable past-time, nobody bothered to find out anything factual about her... They all believed one fantastical version of her past or another.

Nobody knew anything real about her. Or if she was even real at all.

But Kara knew that she was real. And that she was lonely.

Once, Kara had sneaked down to see the Girl on the Swing (as everyone called her, with capital letters- more a title than a name). She had been hurrying, for the sun was already falling, and she wanted to be back home before night took over and stole her sight away.

Going to see the Girl on the Swing had become a tradition for the children- almost a ritual, akin to staying the night on the outskirts of haunted bayous, or climbing the highest tree around in record time. Kara was ten, and it was time for her to go. Her brother, who was sixteen, had been urging her of late.

“Or are you scared?” Mar had teased.

“I’m not scared! It’s just.... it’s getting dark out.”

“That’s when she comes out, wood-for-brains.” He’d knuckled the top of her head fondly, stating over her loud protests, “You’d better hurry before the sun sets.”

It seemed that her mind had been made up for her.

Slowing her pace, she walked on towards where the swing hung from a sturdy branch (nobody knew just who had put it up there, either). Then she inhaled sharply and ducked behind a tree. There she was!

It was just as the villagers said (except that she did not have a horse’s tail, or a missing arm, or glow from within as if lit by starlight, or-). She was sitting there silently. As Kara peered at her from behind the trunk, her heart jolted as the girl raised her head, causing some of her long, dark locks to flow over her shoulders and down her back.... Then it started pounding in mixed shock and relief as the Girl on the Swing did nothing else but stare up at where the peachy-gold sun was starting to descend below the tree-line.

Kara stood there for a long time, watching the Girl on the Swing, who was watching the sun. All of the children held fast to the belief that she was a ghost. And so Kara waited with bated breath for any signs of ghostly activity- drifting off the swing into the forest, feet floating inches above the ground; summoning the forest animals to do her bidding; calling forth other ghosts to keep her company; or merely fading out in time, perhaps leaving nothing but her slippers behind.

The Girl on the Swing did none of these things. She just swung her bare feet back and forth, in lazy circles, as the sun fell further and further away behind the black forest canopy of leaves and an ever-deepening cloak of indigo was drawn across the sky.

It was that dusky time of day when your eyes start to get confused. It’s light enough to see, but you still risk stumbling. Everything is slightly blurred, somehow, unreal, as daylight fades away.

Kara started wondering; was the Girl on the Swing even real? Or was she indeed a ghost? If so, were ghosts solid? Could she feel things? Why was she there at the swing, every night? Did she have a family? Or anyone to talk to at all?

Maybe she’d find out something if she got a little closer. That tree just behind the Girl on the Swing and to her left would be good. Slowly, she slipped out from behind her tree and began tip-toeing over with utmost caution. But before she’d taken more than five steps, the Girl on the Swing turned her head and looked directly at her.

Kara froze, one arm stretched out before her for balance as she raised herself on her toes, the other half-crooked behind her. It would have been comical in any different situation. Neither girl moved until the Girl on the Swing said in a tranquil voice, “Many others have come down here before. But not one of them has come out into the open. And after only a short while, they would run away.”

“I-I think they’re scared of you.” Kara blurted out the first thing that came to her head.

Fortunately (or unfortunately?), the Girl on the Swing didn’t seem very dismayed. “Scared of me?” She twisted around so she could continue looking at Kara without straining her neck. The hand that had been in her lap was now splayed out on the wooden seat to compensate for the shift of weight. Her expression was not one of hurt or anger or surprise... only curiosity.

Still looking at the girl, Kara ducked her head and replied uncertainly, “They... think you’re a ghost.”

“Do you think I am?”

“I... don’t know....” Kara was ashamed to hear her voice creak like a weighed down ship at sea.

The Girl on the Swing took on a distant look, as if she was thinking. She then extended her hand to Kara, palm out. Kara’s heart slammed its feet into her chest and ran; She is a ghost! She’s going to cast a spell, or spirit me away, or-!

Then she noticed that the Girl on the Swing was doing none of those things; or anything, for that matter. All she did was look at Kara and wait.

Kara walked up slowly until she was only a few feet from the Girl. Then she hesitantly put out her own hand.

She felt soft, yet firm skin, warm with life despite the slight chill that had taken over as the sun began to disappear. Solid, living flesh. Not at all like a ghost, Kara was sure.

The Girl on the Swing didn’t seem to be a threat. This instantly emboldened Kara. “Who are you? And why are you here? Where do you live? Do you have a family? What-” She was babbling, as she tended to do whenever she was excited about something.

The Girl took it all in stride. “I am Lastly. I am here because Morrow sent me. My home is someplace that I cannot go back to, and that you could never hope to reach. Morrow, and my five other sisters, were my family.”

Her voice held no trace of sleepiness now. She answered so matter-of-factly. Nobody Kara knew acted this way, not even the schoolteacher, whose main goal in class seemed only to be to get his students out of the schoolhouse as soon as possible everyday so he could go down to the pub. Suddenly, she was shy. Backing up a bit, she said, “Do... do you mind me asking you these things?”

The Gir- Lastly shook her head. “No. I have not talked with anyone for a long time.”

“How long?”

Lastly paused and looked up at her. A lingering strand of sunlight twisted across her forehead and fell across her face like a bolt of translucent silk. With a jolt, Kara saw that Lastly’s eyes were like nothing she had ever seen…. One a deep, soulful blue. One hazel-green, like Kara’s neighbor’s, Sharda. “How long is your lifespan....” Lastly trailed off expectantly.

Kara waited. Then realization hit her. “Oh! My name is Kara.”

“Kara.” Lastly bowed her head in acknowledgement. Then she waited again.

“My lifespan,” Kara started eventually, “I’m... ten years old. That’s almost a quarter of how long I’ll probably live.” At least, she thought... Maybe school wasn’t completely useless. “Is that what you mean?”

“Then I am many, many times your lifespan,” Lastly said. “Many from your village have been to see me, over the years... And I have not aged. You are still a child. So am I, but in other ways, I am not.”

Kara was confused.

“Would you say I am a child, Kara?” Lastly asked.

Slowly, unsure, she nodded.

Lastly turned her head away, back to the sun that was only a sliver, the blackened tree line. The sunbeam slithered from her face, like “I can see you are curious. But now is not the time for tales. Return to your home before true darkness falls. I will be here tomorrow... Like always.”

*****

Some parts I'm not really satisfied with, but I don't know if it's just me. So please tell me what you think. ^___^;;