“I hate you!” Eva screamed as she stormed out of the back door, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Don’t you go in those woods, young lady!” Jen yelled back, her breath stinking heavily of alcohol. “I’m your mother and you’ll do what I say!”

“My mother is dead you stupid drunk!” Eva shouted through her tears, “I’m leaving!”

Eva stumbled, half-blinded by tears, through the shrubs that thickly layered the forest floor until she reached a river. She knelt by a fern and stared into the water. Her dark blue eyes where puffy and red from crying and her cropped black hair was messed up from running, her heart felt heavy, but it gradually lightened as she watched the little fish in the river swim by. The scent of pine, wafting heavily on the gentle breeze that wound its way through the trees, brought back painful memories of her mother, and the room where she was killed.

“Stupid Jen” Eva mumbled “why’d you have to do that? Going out, hooking up with some guys, getting drunk, coming home and yelling at me for no reason.” Eva examined a pebble she had picked up. It was white, with little swirls, circular, with little flecks of gold dotting the surface. It had some dirt on it so she rinsed it in the river. A little fish swam by and tickled her finger.

“Fuck, dropped it.” Eva exclaimed, searching for it with her eyes. Spotting it rolling in the river bed, against the current, she got up, brushed off her jeans and, grabbing her bag, started to follow it.

After about twenty minutes of walking, the pebble stopped at a waterfall that came cascading down from a ledge about twenty feet up. Eva, looking around noticed a set of stairs leading up the cliff about 10 feet from the waterfall. Reaching into the river, she picked up the pebble and climbed up the stairs. What she saw made her catch her breath. A moss green flecked pond with a mirror like surface was in the middle of a stunning clearing. Trees that where just turning their leaves for fall were decked with dew, making their leaves dazzle like jewels. But it was the thing in the middle of the pond that drew Eva’s attention. A silver harp, sat on a flat, white stone. A small stool stood next to it.

As Eva went to the edge of the pond to get a closer look, she tripped over a stone that was jutting out of the ground. Realizing that she had dropped the pebble when she tripped she saw it rolling towards the stone. It stopped right next to it and waited for Eva to catch up. Closely examining the stone, she saw there was a small indent in it, just big enough to put the pebble in. She scooped up the pebble and inserted it into the indent. There was a sound behind her as if something big was rising out of the water, she looked behind her and saw that an elaborate bridge had risen up out of the pond. It stretched from the bank to the flat stone that held the harp.

Eva took out her sketch book and a pencil from her bag and sat next to the stone. She sketched the pond the bridge, the trees and in the center of it all was the harp. Satisfied with her drawing, she closed the sketch pad and put it and the pencil back in her bag. She stood up stretched and started to leave, determined that she would not cross the bridge. But curiosity overwhelmed her. She turned and set one foot on the bridge, it was mad of the same white rock as the pebble she noticed as she slowly took a step further. But the little gold flecks, where actually in a design. As she walk across she studied the design, it seemed to swirl and wave across the width of the bridge. Before she knew it, she was standing on the rock in the middle of the pond, the harp sitting in front of her.

Sitting on the stool, leaning her forehead against the harp’s cool, hard surface Eva sighed. She had token harp lessons with her former foster mother. She missed Marie; she always had a full cookie jar. Straightening up she positioned herself better to play, then carefully drew her fingers across the strings. Graceful notes bounded from the string like gazelles across the plains of Africa, ricocheting through the colorful foliage of the surrounding trees. Transfixed, Eva played a song she had composed when she was younger and she seemed to go back in time.

She was sitting on a stool; her hair was long, and blonde. The harp in front of her was a cheery cherry red. Marie’s voice came from the kitchen.

“Practice hard honey!” she said

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