(place)

The lawn was yellowing and sharp, and the little girl winced when she sat down. The house was small, but to the girl it seemed like a palace, much larger than the old apartment, which had recently become cramped with the new crib, the new boxes of Similac, and the new person hoarding her mother's attention. All the other houses were built exactly the same, with three front steps and a large square window to the bottom right. The only distinguishing feature was color. The girl's house was yellow; the people across the street had chosen red.

The sky seemed so blue above this house. She lay down in the dry grass, grimacing slightly, and stared at the moving clouds. Everything was slow here. She watched a butterfly float above her small body, and reached out for it before it fluttered away, so she was left with her arm outstretched, grabbing a fistful of air. She glanced back at the house--the storm door was still closed but the front door was open, so she could hear her parents loudly argue about placement of the microwave.

She stood up and wandered down the street to the end of the block, which merged into the mouth of an inky forest. She stood on her toes and peered intently into the recesses of the dark woods, made sure there were no monsters, and then walked in. The branches were wild and resentful, and her arms suffered scratches as she forged through the trail, twigs snapping beneath her feet. After some time, she lost sight of the makeshift dirt trail, and when she looked behind her she could no longer see the sunlight from her street.