Little Sticks

The warm summer sun shone down on the lush green leaves. They swayed gently in the soft breeze; each one seemed to have a life of its own. The movement created a calm sound that almost sounded tidal, like a sea slowly receding. Birds sang and hoppers chirped. The trees were alive with a serene symphony. Then a new sound drifted across the leaves.

"Steve?" The tentative voice of Stan the stick insect sounded, barely above the sounds of the day.

He waited for an answer before remembering the events of that fateful day, weeks ago, when his friend Steve had been taken by a bird. The memory made him sad and he sighed.

"Oh Steve, I miss you."

A wind blew through the branches, its whistling merged with the birdsong and insect chirps to create a haunting yet strangely beautiful tune. Stan then added his voice to the melody and sang.

"Oh brave Steve, he was my friend, though I thought he was in my head."

"So he went on out, to show himself because of what I'd said."

"Then the bird swooped down and gobbled him up and then poor Steve was gone."

"Now all that's left of poor Steve is a memory and this song."

A strange voice came from nearby. "That was absolutely lovely. Bravo."

"Steve?" Stan replied, turning to face the direction the voice had come from.

"No. My name is Stella. I was just listening to your song. It was beautiful."

Stan replied with a hint of disappointment. "Oh. Hello, Stella. Thank you. Steve was my best friend."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, but I was drawn straight to you by your voice." Stella paused for a moment before she continued. "I would love for my nymphs to be able to sing like that."

"Oh, that would be lovely. Hearing their little voices."

The wind blew gently and carried Stella's words. "Would you help me?"

"What?" Stan's mind spun. "Help you make nymphs?"

"Yes. Nymphs with the most beautiful voices."

Stan thought for a moment. He thought of his friend — how he had been taken away too soon, and how he now had the chance to make new Steves.

"Okay. I'll help you. For Steve."

He moved to where he thought Stella's voice had come from and got ready.

Seconds later, he heard Stella's voice.

"Are you finished?"

Stan grinned as he replied. "Yes. Was that alright for you?"

"As much as it ever is," Stella replied. A hint of disappointment tinged her voice, but Stan did not notice. He beamed happily to himself and hugged Stella tight.

Minutes passed like seconds as Stan embraced Stella. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment. Even the pain he felt for Steve seemed to leak away, leaving only contentment. The tree’s branches rustled quietly. Then a familiar voice came from a short distance away.

"Thank you, Stan. I'll see you around."

Instinctively, Stan released Stella and stared. How could her voice have moved but not her? As he looked closer at Stella, he realised that he had not been hugging Stella at all, but just a stray stick coming off the branch. He called after her.

"Wait, Stella. I think… erm… I don't think you'll be making nymphs. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. I can produce nymphs with or without you," Stella shouted back, matter‑of‑factly.

"Oh." Stan's voice was confused and laced with disappointment. "So why did you need me?"

"Because it was a nice idea."

"Yes, but your nymphs won't sing like me," Stan called, pleading for Stella to return, but her voice continued to fade.

"Then I'll have to come back so you can teach them to sing."

"I'd like that. But can I ask you one thing?"

"Of course." Stella's voice was almost gone.

"Will you call your nymphs Steve?"

"What? All of them?"

"Yes," Stan pleaded hopefully.

"As you wish," was the last Stan heard before Stella's voice was gone.

Weeks passed and temperatures soared as the grip of summer returned to the forest. Heat rippled off the ground below. Leaves rustled and branches snapped as creatures moved through the trees. Stan chewed happily on a leaf, enjoying the warmth. As he looked around his tree, he noticed a new twig had appeared on the branch. He saw holes in the nearby leaves. He smiled as he realised what had happened.

He looked at the new twigs and spoke.

"Steve?"

"Yes. Hello." Many small voices answered.

Stan smiled. "Do you little sticks want to learn to sing?"