Emerald Wings

Dear reader,1

The story I am about to tell should not be taken lightly. Perhaps I should not even have called it a story, for it is nothing similar to a fairy tale. It is only the gruesome truth, and it does not end happily. Not for me, and certainly not for my friends. But, dear reader, before I begin, I must beg you for something. Please, please do not go looking for the terrible object of which I will soon speak of. If you find it in my hands, hours after they have turned stiff and cold, you must not keep it. Destroy it. Please. My friends did not have the strength, and I do not either. There is no hope left for me. I am not yet defeated, but I will use the last of my resistance to write you this. To warn you. And then I must lose myself to the power of its beauty. Before I begin the story, I will light four candles. They will represent the lives of four young girls: Ella, Samantha, Rosie, and me. At the end of each life, I shall extinguish a candle. Only the dim light of one candle will remain as I go to my own death, and then it too will burn out like my life. But remember, do not go looking for it. And if you have it, destroy it. Destroy it for the sake of all humanity. 2

Sincerely,
Abigail Lynd, age 12
Miss Myra's Home for Girls, 19013


I wake up, startled. Was I dreaming, or did someone really scream? I hear the church bell ring outside. One, two, three, four, five times. It is only five in the morning. Surely I was dreaming. I roll over in my bed and let my eyes droop. 4

Suddenly, someone bursts through the door. 5

"Abby, come quick!" I recognize the panicked voice of my friend Rosie. She yanks the covers off of me and shakes my arm. 6

"What?" I grumble, annoyed to be waken again. 7

"It's Ella! There's something terribly wrong with her!"8

I roll out of bed and follow her down the dark corridor of the orphanage. It's surprisingly cold for October, and the floor under my bare feet feels like ice. 9

The door to Ella's room is already ajar as Rosie and I approach it. 10

"I had a bad dream and I went to Ella because I was scared, but..." Rosie trails off.11

"But what?"12

Rosie stops. "You go in. I don't want to again..."13

Slowly, I step into the room. Ella's bed is empty. But then I see her. She is sitting, her entire upper body slumped against the desk. I take a few steps towards her.14

"Ella?" I whisper. 15

Nothing.16

Gingerly, I reach down to touch her arm. I scream. Ella's arm is ice cold and as hard as marble. My hand quickly moves away from her, and the motion sweeps back her dark curls. I can see her face. Her eyes are blank and glassy. They stare straight ahead. 17

Rosie comes into the room so silently that I jump in shock when she speaks.18

"Is she...dead?" She whispers, her lips barely moving.19

I nod. Rosie starts to cry, but I am too shocked for tears.20

"I'm getting Miss Myra," I say, wanting to get out of the room. Rosie doesn't follow me. 21

A few minutes later, I am back in Ella's room, Miss Myra at my heals. I sit on Ella's bed next to Rosie, trying to tune out Miss Myra's exclaims of shock. How could something so terrible happen? I am shivering, the sight of Ella's glassy eyes fresh in my mind. I glance over at Rosie to see if she's still crying, but she isn't. She's is curled in a ball, gazing at something that she has cupped in her fingers.22

"What's that?" I ask. I get a short glimpse of it as Rosie shoves it into her pocket. It's a beautiful thing. A butterfly. It has long oval emeralds on its wings. 23

"It's mine now!" Rosie snaps. "Well, it was Ella's. I found it in her hand. But it's mine now."24

"Where did she get it?" I whisper so that Miss Myra can't hear. The butterfly looks very expensive. How could Ella have come by it?25

"I was outside with Ella a few days ago," Rosie mumbles. "A man stopped by the gates and Ella talked to him for I while. I dunno what he said, I was too far away. But in the end he gave her this. I saw it. It's so beautiful. But Ella wouldn't let me touch it."26

"May I?" I ask, stretching out my hand. I want it so badly. I am not even sure why. It is just soo pretty. 27

"No, it's mine!" Rosie says again. Before she runs out of the room, I catch the deranged look in her eyes. I am frightened.28


Now, dear reader, I blow out the first of four candles. 29


It is a beautiful day in late October. The air is rather chilly, but I am too distracted by the colorful leaves to care. They come in vibrant colors of red, orange, and yellow, and it makes me grateful to be a part of this wonderful world.30

However, one thing saddens me. I wish I could share this day with Ella, who has long since been buried. The doctors are afraid that she was taken by a strange disease, so we all take care to be healthy. Thankfully no one has taken ill so far.31

I am joyfully bouncing around in the leaves with my close friend, Samantha. Today we forget about being proper young ladies; we are having too much fun. Samantha tugs my hand and we run over to an even bigger leaf pile. In a matter of seconds the perfect pile will be destroyed, but neither of us cares very much. Fun now, punishment later. We are about to jump, but something catches our attentions. 32

Rosie?33

Samantha and I run to the other side of the tree where we see Rosie. 34

"I didn't know she was out here!" Samantha says, panting. 35

"Me neither. Do you think she's asleep?"36

We get closer and I can finally see her face. My knees buckle.37

Rosie's eyes are blank. It looks like she had been staring at something cupped in her hands...the butterfly. Automatically, I reach for it, but Samantha's hand gets there first. Her fingers close around those beautiful emerald wings, and I feel as though my heart had been ripped out. 38


Now, dear reader, I blow out the second of four candles.39


I am scared. Terribly scared. I cannot sleep at night, for I do not want to face the awful, reoccuring nightmare. I see Ella and Rosie's blank eyes, I feel their icy skin. But worst of all, I see the emerald winged butterfly. It fills me with such an extreme desire, and I cannot bare it. Many times I crawl out of bed at night and sneak to Samantha's room. I do this even though the corridor is as cold as winter. However, Samantha locks her door. She knows I want her treasure and she won't let me have it. I am afraid of the beautiful butterfly. I tremble when I think of what it has done to two of my friends...what it will surely do to Samantha. But still, I cannot resist. I want it more than anything. I long to cradle it in my own hands, gently stroking the glowing emeralds like I have seen Rosie and Samantha do. But I can't get near it. Every night, as if in a trance, I tip-toe to Samantha's, but I get no further than her door. I am forced to sit outside her room, listening to her as she softly croons to the butterfly. She never sleeps anymore. She never speaks to anyone, especially not me. Every chance she has, she is locked away from everyone.40

However, I hope tonight will be different. In my hands, I hold a small bronze key. The key to Samanatha's room. I'm not even sorry when I think of all the rules I had to break to get it. I have no morals anymore. I do not care about other people. All I care about is the emerald-winged butterfly, which will soon be in my hands. 41

Outside, winter has begun early. Snow is falling in soft sheets, but I don't feel my usual excitement. I am running down the corridor, one thought in my mind. It's mine, it's mine, it's mine. I get to Samamtha's door and silently turn the key.42

...Woosh...43

A blast of icy wind hits me straight in the face. Am I outside? I squint my eyes and look around me. I can see the outline of furniture through the swirling snow. Snow? Inside? And then I spot the open window. I run towards it, and after much effort, pull it shut. I look around again. Everything in Samantha's room is covered in a thin layer of snow and ice. The last of the snowflakes settle as I see Samantha for the first time. She is lying on her frozen bed. Her skin is the same color as the white snow beneath her, and even her hair is covered in a thin sheet of ice. But I don't care. I only have eyes for the little butterfly in her pale fingers. It's mine now. 44


Now, dear reader, I blow out the third of four candles. 45


I am sitting at my desk, only one candle still burning. My candle. My life. The emerald butterfly is in a little box on the other side of the room. I feel as though it were calling for me. And soon, I will respond. I will walk over to the box and tear away the lid. In the dim light, I will see how the green emeralds sparkle. I will cradle the butterfly in my hands, never taking my eyes off of it. And this is how my life will end. I'm not scared anymore. 46

But, reader, please keep your promise. Please remember. Don't let it take away your life as it stole Ella's, Rosie's, Samantha's, and mine. And now, dear reader, farewell. I truely hope that my efforts to write you this will not go to waste. Please rememeber me, Abigail, and the four extiguished candles.