Cloudy playing

With a stop at a village of Baiku Yao, I entered the village through a market. After the market, suddenly a terrible smell reached my nose and I couldn’t breathe. Looking around I found that the foul smell came from the excrements of cattle, chicken, ducks and geese, which appeared everywhere in the road. I put my sleeve to my nose.

How could I breathe the fresh air? Then I remembered my friend Jane, a pretty girl, who once said with a serious voice, “If there is a yellow butterfly, there can be a dream came true.” Because she had seen a short story about a little boy, who finished his dream after a yellow butterfly stopped at his middle finger. I shook my heard with a smile.

After 15mins walked, I stopped at a smelly darkness of straw-covered ground floor, where stood a little girl. Walked into the floor with the worn, darkness and concealed steps, I was shocked with the little girl’s great beauty. She is, perhaps six or seven years old, whose big black eyes seemed to take in the scene with curiosity, and, I though, sadness. She was wearing a brown dirty coat, a brownish, maybe white once, ankle-length trousers, and barefoot. Our eyes met, I smiled, but she didn’t return my smile.

She looked at my bread in my left hand with puzzled eyes. Curiosity gripped me; who is this girl? Why she looked at my bread with puzzled eyes?

The host came in, pretended she didn’t exit.

Why did the host pretend she didn’t exit? I asked him.

“She’s my daughter,” he informed me. “She, just a girl, can’t do anything.”

“Does she go to school?” I asked, perhaps unwisely. I had seen a small school, which filled with red dusts, not far away from his house.

After a moment’s silence, the host shrugged his shoulders and answered:

“It’s none of your business!”

The little beautiful girl was still standing there, with an unchanged puzzled and sad expression in her eyes.

I walked towards the little girl, gave my bread into her hand, and then came out this darkness of straw-covered ground floor. I could felt her cold in the little hard hand.

A yellow rushed into my eyes. On a flower, a tiny yellow butterfly, was fluttering with her lacerated pinions, looking like she never knew what was about to happen. My tears burst out.