First written for 7th grade English course at Greenhills School in 2018.

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“Jeremy! Jeremy?” the girl said through the fog hanging low beneath the elm trees. “Where are you? I can’t see you!” She broke into a run. Her bare feet tickled the wet dirt. “Jeremy?” she said, recalling her hand stroking thick silver fur. 

She stopped running. Her large grey eyes looked about. Before she stood the creek or what was left of it. It flowed once; gushing out pale blue water that cooled summer veins. All that was left of the creek was mud — cracked to the core. No fish, no life, lived in it. A body was there once. Of a puppy. Cute. Wincing in pain. Dead. The girl decided she only ever loved that puppy. Didn’t care for her own name, so folks called her Girl. Nothing more. 

 

The girl recalled carrying her dear Jeremy, giggling, when it happened. Leaping over the creek, she dropped him. Wasn’t trying to, but his tiny body flowed down the creek quick. The girl ran after the puppy, running and running. Too late. Thing was dead long before she got to him. 

 

It was as if she hadn’t recalled Jeremy dead. Not ‘til she saw the creek. The girl stared down at the creek, eight feet deep, saying, “I rather you be alive and I ne’er met you Jeremy. Best you be dead to my heart. I’m only seven; my heart ain’t got room for suffering.” Rain fell from the sky. Her loose braids wet. “I wouldn’t suffer then.” She stepped into the rainwater in the dried creek, laughing almost. 

 

“Suffer?” questioned a voice.

The girl flipped around to see empty space; no trees, no creek, nobody. Only her and a pale woman floating in midair. Her face melancholy. Hopeless. “What art thou name?” said the woman.

“I’m Sonya,” said the girl looking down only to realize she wasn’t standing on... anything. “But wish to forget my name.”

“Little lass, what is a… name?” 

Sonya walked (or rather floated) backwards, “You ne’er heard of a name, lady?”

“I had one before I came... here. ‘Tis forgetten. Dead am I, yet I answer to #259.” Although Sonya’s eyes sparked with thrill, the woman said instead, “Please… thou art not stay here. Heed my words, lassie...”

“No,” said Sonya. “I’m not leaving. 

The woman cried, “No! As a newcomer, it is still possible for thou to returneth home. All that needs to be done... is for thee to bethink of what thou treasures the most!”

“Treasure? I ain’t got nobody wait’n back there. They call me. Girl. I ain’t nothing more.” The woman started to float away. “Wait! Living… eh... here, do you ever… suffer?”

“Suffer? Little lass, I cannot suffer. This... where dwells the unliving is the world of no suffering. I remember no life! Nor pain! Nor joy! Nor both! Nor not pain and not joy!”

“Ain’t… that suffering #259?” the girl said as her own hands faded away. “Wait… what is... my... name?”

 

The next morning, bright and early, two sheriffs went up to the old creek to discover a girl of seven years lying dead in it. Her body all cold and frozen up. Right at the spot where the thing died. She had called it Jeremy.