the forest unintentionally, or maybe get into a mess of poison ivy. “It’s not even sunset!” Michael replied.
“But we’re so excited!” shouted a skipping girl passing by, answering for the megaphone boy.
Michael looked at Millie and saw a maternal beauty glowing in her face as she smiled at the teenaged kids. She turned to look at him, still grinning, “Come on,” she said, nudging her head towards the kids now making a woodpile for flames, “Let’s help them out.”
·
Michael swore they were all sitting on those logs around the fire for hours before actually starting any of the campfire songs, and actually, they were. He literally watched the sun set as they all chatted nonchalantly. Michael enjoyed watching Millie’s face as she talked to the kids. It lit up, uncovered, like he’d never seen anyone’s face light up before—let alone her .
He was enjoying the smoky air next to the most beautiful woman in the world, and matters were only made better once the marshmallows were passed around.
“Ooh, these are the jumbo ones! I love marshmallows!” Michael shouted as the boy that had the megaphone passed the bag along after taking five for himself.
“I know,” Millie said slyly, looking at him the same way, “Me too.” She nudged him with her body and they laughed the night away. The songs started soon and that just added to the giddy air they were all breathing in. Good, wholesome air was hard to come by these days.
The night drew on, but there was always something else to talk about, something else to do at the campfire. Scary stories must have started well after midnight because everyone was dead tired, which only increased their reactions to the stories. Millie listened, eyes wide, snuggling on Michael’s shoulder, clutching his arm at the “scary” parts. Michael felt warmth spread through his chest, and he knew it wasn’t from the fire; it was near his heart—maybe it was his heart.
One arm lifted to swirl around Millie’s shoulders, and he held her tightly against him, never wanting to let go. He rested his head on her golden hair that smelled of watermelon and campfire smoke. The moon was smiling down at them all, pouring down its light as a blanket from the deep night sky. And as Michael sat there in full comfort in the middle of nowhere, he thought, Life doesn’t get much better than this.
Chapter Eight
The giggles and screams of children bounced off the walls like the ancient broken toys strewn across the wooden floorboards. Millie peered out the crack of the matching wooden door of the closet she was masked behind. She could hear the muffled Russian rants of the orphanage teachers screaming at the infants again. Millie held herself, wishing she didn’t remember being one of those babies just a couple years before—why was she one of the only humans in existence that could remember being an infant?
“Where’s Meellee?” Sister Olga screeched. Millie’s body quaked; she held herself harder, clutching onto her bony elbows as if somehow doing so could save her from Sister Olga’s wrath. “WHERE IS SHEEE?” The voice was closer this time, and to Millie’s dismay, seemed to be right outside the door. Millie only had seconds to think before she saw the drooping eye in the crack of the closet door; the eye that was almost as ancient as the decrepit toys in the orphanage peered at her with the same dead looked that haunted her for as long as she could remember.
“Ah, there yew’ ar’,” her face twisted up into an eerie, sinister smile. “Why do yew like t’ hide from me, child?” her voice scraped along the inside of her throat, buzzing through the air. Sister Olga clutched her talons onto the dusty
“But we’re so excited!” shouted a skipping girl passing by, answering for the megaphone boy.
Michael looked at Millie and saw a maternal beauty glowing in her face as she smiled at the teenaged kids. She turned to look at him, still grinning, “Come on,” she said, nudging her head towards the kids now making a woodpile for flames, “Let’s help them out.”
·
Michael swore they were all sitting on those logs around the fire for hours before actually starting any of the campfire songs, and actually, they were. He literally watched the sun set as they all chatted nonchalantly. Michael enjoyed watching Millie’s face as she talked to the kids. It lit up, uncovered, like he’d never seen anyone’s face light up before—let alone her .
He was enjoying the smoky air next to the most beautiful woman in the world, and matters were only made better once the marshmallows were passed around.
“Ooh, these are the jumbo ones! I love marshmallows!” Michael shouted as the boy that had the megaphone passed the bag along after taking five for himself.
“I know,” Millie said slyly, looking at him the same way, “Me too.” She nudged him with her body and they laughed the night away. The songs started soon and that just added to the giddy air they were all breathing in. Good, wholesome air was hard to come by these days.
The night drew on, but there was always something else to talk about, something else to do at the campfire. Scary stories must have started well after midnight because everyone was dead tired, which only increased their reactions to the stories. Millie listened, eyes wide, snuggling on Michael’s shoulder, clutching his arm at the “scary” parts. Michael felt warmth spread through his chest, and he knew it wasn’t from the fire; it was near his heart—maybe it was his heart.
One arm lifted to swirl around Millie’s shoulders, and he held her tightly against him, never wanting to let go. He rested his head on her golden hair that smelled of watermelon and campfire smoke. The moon was smiling down at them all, pouring down its light as a blanket from the deep night sky. And as Michael sat there in full comfort in the middle of nowhere, he thought, Life doesn’t get much better than this.
Chapter Eight
The giggles and screams of children bounced off the walls like the ancient broken toys strewn across the wooden floorboards. Millie peered out the crack of the matching wooden door of the closet she was masked behind. She could hear the muffled Russian rants of the orphanage teachers screaming at the infants again. Millie held herself, wishing she didn’t remember being one of those babies just a couple years before—why was she one of the only humans in existence that could remember being an infant?
“Where’s Meellee?” Sister Olga screeched. Millie’s body quaked; she held herself harder, clutching onto her bony elbows as if somehow doing so could save her from Sister Olga’s wrath. “WHERE IS SHEEE?” The voice was closer this time, and to Millie’s dismay, seemed to be right outside the door. Millie only had seconds to think before she saw the drooping eye in the crack of the closet door; the eye that was almost as ancient as the decrepit toys in the orphanage peered at her with the same dead looked that haunted her for as long as she could remember.
“Ah, there yew’ ar’,” her face twisted up into an eerie, sinister smile. “Why do yew like t’ hide from me, child?” her voice scraped along the inside of her throat, buzzing through the air. Sister Olga clutched her talons onto the dusty
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