Free Pure Illusion by Michelle M. Watson

willow tree in front of
my house.
    “Um
huh,” she replies, giving me a soft shove from behind, sending me higher into
the sky. “And during the spring and fall most of the cherries end up in the
river.”
    “I
guess that’s kinda cool.”
    “You’re
six, sweet pea. Everything’s ‘kinda cool’ to you.” My mom catches the swing in mid
motion, bringing me back to her. My legs dangle from the black tire,
shoestrings from my red Converses unlaced on both shoes, but they don’t reach
the ground yet. I’m not tall enough. She turns me around. At first the bright
sun rays filtering through the treetops obscure her face. It’s just the
brilliancy of the white-yellow sunbeams and loose strands of her light wheat
blond hair that escaped her long braid and her white flowy dress. She looks
like an angel. I squint and my eyes slowly adjust. She smiles at me with
gleaming green eyes.
    “I
love you, Isabel.”
    “I
love you, Mommy.”
    A
small cry echoes from the house. She glances at the front door, then looks back at me. “Looks like your baby brother is up from his nap. After I feed him, I’ll bring him outside
to play with you, alright?”
    “Okay.”
    She
kisses my forehead, then her hands release the rope of the swing and she
strolls up the side of the house and up the yellow wooden steps to the porch.
Mommy pauses at the glass door and turns to look back at me. “Don’t leave the
front yard, sweet pea.”
    “I
won’t.”
    “Promise?”
    “Promise.”
    She
smiles and nods, opening the door and walking inside the house.
    I
shift the swing back around and before I can make another move, someone
suddenly pushes the swing, sending me flying across the yard. I go tumbling to
the ground, landing on my belly. My knees and hands are scrapped and bleeding.
It hurts and stings so bad. I open my mouth to cry for my Mommy but a warm hand
pulls me off the ground.
    I
wobble a little as I get back on my feet.
    I
look up and a boy with blue eyes and long ashy golden hair, wearing overalls
and white pretty shoes. He presses his finger against my lips. “Shhh. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a prank.”
    Something
wet drips down my legs, I look down and see lots of blood coming from my knees.
My eyes fill with more tears. The pretty boy covers my mouth with his hand.
“Don’t scream. I’m not supposed to be here. You’ll get me in trouble. I’ll kiss
it and make it better, okay?”
    Sniffling
and wiping the tears with the backs of my hands, I nod.
    “I’m
gonna remove my hand and kiss your sores. I know it hurts but you can’t
scream.”
    I
nod again.
    He
stares at me for a while and then drops his hand and picks up both of my mine, flipping
them over so he can see the red scratches on my palms. He lifts my hands to his
face and kisses each palm.
    His
lips make me feel funny.
    My
tummy hurts.
    I
close my eyes as tears roll down my cheeks. He lets my hands go. I feel his
warm lips touch the wetness on both my knees. I stagger back from the funny
feeling in my chest and tummy.
    I
feel sick.
    The
boy catches me by the arms before I fall again.
    He
smiles and dusts off the grass and dirt from my dress. “I got you all dirty.
Will your Mama be mad?”
    I
shake my head.
    His
smile gets bigger. “That’s good. I get dirty all the time and my Mama whips me.
I never cry though. But she doesn’t cry when Daddy whips her either. Mama says
Daddy lost his mind when his brother Smith died.”
    I
ball my fists up, even though they hurt and my tears fall faster.
    He
puts his hands on my face, wiping them away. “Does it hurt that bad?”
    I
look down at our shoes and shake my head.
    “Why
are you crying then?”
    “I’m
sad.”
    “You’re
sad ’cause I pushed you off the swing?”
    I
shake my head again.
    “Why
then?”
    I
sniffle and wipe the wetness from my nose with my arm, then I glance into his blue eyes that look like pure water from the sea. “Because
your Mommy whips you, I’m sad for you. I’m crying for