Kira and the Winged One |Lesbian Story|

I found her in a cave on a Sunday afternoon in May. Dad just moved us to Sakhalin Island where Anton Chekov, the famous writer used to live, but not for the same reason he had. My Dad wasn’t a famous writer. He was your average engineer, working for an oil company. He got transferred there. The winter had just ended. I could see spring ice floating on Okhotsk Seashore from the plane. Before we landed, Mom told me we were lucky that we’d be moving just in time for the spring, but all I saw was a blanket of mist over the mountainous island. Not a single flower was blooming. But after all the ice melted away, crystal clear water began to flow and turned into waterfalls, heading to the valley. The sky became bluer, and the sea was less grey and freezing cold. Along the long-stretching yellow beach, flowers and green grass sprang from the frozen ground. Going into the capital, our rented Rang Rover cruised through the quiet highway overlooking the shore, and I spotted Steller sea lions sunbathing on the concrete ports. We settled in Aleksandrovsk-Sakhalinsky, one of the cities in Sakhalin at the northern part of the island. At the south, there was a famous lake called Tunaycha. It had shallow turquoise water and was a favorite place for bird watchers and outdoorsy people. My parents were given a house to live by the company. It was an old stone house leftover from World War II. Our neighbors were leftover, too. We spent five days cleaning it, scrubbing it and repainting it. A week later, Mom went into labor and had an early-arrival baby. That Sunday, I was camping at the lake. My parents were at home with the doctor, fussing over my baby brother. It was also the day I found the girl. Nobody else was around. Just me. The girl was lying in the darkness behind a fallen cave rock. It was as if she’d been there forever. She was pale and dried out. I thought she was dead. I couldn’t have been more wrong, but I’d soon begin to see the truth about her, that she wasn’t like any other human being in the world. No one knew how she ended up there. The cave wasn’t much of a cave by the look of it. It was more of a hole, which expanded on the inside, like an owl’s nest. No adults would be able to squeeze through it. The reason I could find her was because I slipped and fell into the mouth of the cave. I shined my little flashlight in the dark gloom and tried not to panic. My heart already raced a million miles per second. The inside was all rock and hardened earth. My immediate thought was to crawl out of there, but something stopped me on my track. Something was moving in one of the corners and scurrying about. Then I heard a muffled cough. Fear shot through me like a lightning strike. I wanted to scream until my lungs jump out of my mouth, but in the back of my mind, I wanted to know what was in there. I felt as if my body was split in two. It wasn’t the sound of a maniac monster. I would know that if it was. It came from a human —a female, quite young by the tone I picked. It almost sounded delicate. My legs were trembling but riveted to the spot. After the little cough, it all stopped and it was just dead silent again. My heart lodged in my throat, but my feet dared me to go in further. I was just about to take a step forward when I heard Mr. Shirokani, our Ainu guide, shouting for me. “Kira! Where are you?” He was close by. I decided to leave the mystery where it was and climbed out of the small cave. Brushing all the dirt and leaves of my body, I trotted back to him, still panting. “Didn’t we tell you to wait by the car till we’re ready?” Mr. Shirokani said. His face looked redder than usual. But his voice was mild. I figured that he was just worried. “Sorry, I got distracted.” Mr. Shirokani was a short yet bear-like man. He had dark beard and small dark eyes. His skin was light but his cheeks were red. He told us that his paternal ancestors came from the nearby Japanese island, Hokkaido. And, no, he didn’t speak any Japanese.   “Well, we have to go, come on,” he said and headed off. I followed him, but not without a glance in the direction of the cave. Back at home, my Dad was in distress. “Your mother is at the hospital with the baby,” he told me even before I could drop my backpack. “Is she alright?” “Yes, but the baby — not so much.” “How are you, Dad? Are you alright?” I asked, sitting down on the couch beside him. His shoulders were hunched over. His eyes were droopy with dark circles around them, and his face showed days-old stubble.   “Fine, fine.” He let out a heavy sigh. “You must be tired. Go to bed.” I hadn’t had dinner yet, but I didn’t say anything. He’d got enough to worry about. I guess my parents sent me off on the trip, so that I didn’t have to worry with them, too. There were unwashed plates in the sink. The house was a disaster. The dirty laundry was practically hanging off the chandelier. I washed the dishes and mobbed the greasy kitchen floor then arranged everything in the living room that was out of order. My father was off to the hospital again. I nibbled on some dry cracker and cheese before I went to my room upstairs. My windows faced the snow-capped mountain. The sky was lit with pinpricks of light. I looked at the stars and sighed. That night, I tried to sleep, but all I wanted to do was to go back to the lake. Someone was there in that cave.