Olivia ran out of her house, fleeing from her mother's wrath and the strike of the broom. She could still feel the bruise from the week before.

This was the way most days went. She would be folding clothes or stirring soup when something just goes wrong and her mother would instantly appear, as if by magic, to scold her, and if the mistake was big enough, beat her. Her days were full of chore after chore, mistake after mistake, scoldings, and beatings.

Olivia, you forgot to turn off the stove! Olivia, you can't even fold this correctly! How many times do I have to tell you to go feed the chickens? Mother's voice boomed in Olivia's head as she ran. Are you deaf, stupid girl? I told you to clean the windows, hang the towels, and polish the floor. Come back this instant! Olivia!

She would plead. But there is no reasoning with Mother, and the beating and chasing after always followed.

It was no different the time Olivia ran away. She made it to the grove nearby, leaving her mother's roar behind. Panting, she tried to catch her breath under the shade of an old river red gum. The wind was merry in these woods, and she believed that the rest of the world, be it her house and the town of Joanna downhill, became silent in order to listen to the whistling of gales. She looked at her small house in the distance and realized it was made of wood. It would, most probably, have been made by the same woods in this grove she was hiding in. It's very possible, she wondered, that the wood her house was made of could be a sibling of the one she was resting under at the moment. Then she added, I like this one better.

She was walking deeper into the woods, pushing branches left and right, spotting a few lizards here and there, when she stopped cold. Right in front of her, in a branch higher than the rest, stood a bird, shimmering with pride. It had the most beautiful feathers Olivia had ever seen. It had a blue head, bright green wings, a yellow chest, and an orange beak. It was magnificent.

She admired it in silence, her mouth agape and her eyes flooded with curiosity. The bird seemed to spot her small figure from the heights and stared back with its crimson red eyes. It was as if a rainbow grew feathers and a beak, she thought. She wondered if it sang. The bird seemed to read her thoughts — or perhaps it was its instinct — and released a piercing chirp. The bird tilted its head and opened its regal wings, soaring away, deeper into the forest. Olivia didn't hesitate and followed with haste.

Covered by the undergrowth, she lost her orientation. For a moment she thought she'd lost the rainbow bird. She looked around and above, in every direction. Then the high chirping pierced the air once more and she resumed her chase. The path turned rocky and less roots covered the floor. She heard a murmur, then the rainbow bird calling again. She persisted until she broke through the last layer of trees.

The reflection of the sun beamed back at her, but it came from below. She adjusted her eyes and saw it was a spring. Cold, pristine water from the mountains emerged from between the rocks and flowed peacefully on the spot. The water was so clear, she could see every little pebble and every single fish that lived in it. The bird was waiting for her on the other side. Olivia knew this was the place the bird wanted to take her. She took off her sandals and felt the cold shore.

They spent the whole day in the spring, playing with the fish, swimming from one rock to another, until the sky turned pink. She knew it was time to go back. She thanked the rainbow bird, put her sandals on, and walked towards her house. The bird followed her until the woods failed.

"Now you know where I live," she told the bird.

It was already dark and the windows were lit when she reached home. Mother ran toward her, moaning out loud, tears in her eyes, and embraced her.

"Oh! I was worried sick! You mustn't roam around for so long and not tell me where you've gone!"

She was warm and her scent was familiar. She smelled like cookies and stew. Mother noticed Olivia's clothes were damp and quickly gave her a hot bath. She washed her hair and gave her some cookies. She told her how much she loved her, how she couldn't live without her. They had supper and Mother read her a fairytale to sleep.

"Olivia, it's time to wake up! You must clean last night's dishes, feed the chickens and mop the floor."

Olivia opened her eyes and wished to go to the spring. After some boring eggs and cheese for breakfast, she glimpsed through the window for any sign of the rainbow bird. Maybe it's too early, she thought.

She washed the dishes squeaky clean and was pleased that none were broken. She dragged the heavy sack of corn and opened the corral. All the chickens rampaged toward her. After they were fed, Olivia walked away with the sack empty and a few scrapes on her arms and legs. The mop and the bucket were waiting for her next. She sighed deep because she knew this was only the beginning. After mopping the whole house, under the beds and sofas, including the balcony, Mother was surely going to give her a new list of chores.

The floor was immaculate when Mother beckoned from the living room, without leaving the comfort of her sofa, "Come over here, Olivia." So she did. Her eyes fixed on a book, sipping from her cold coffee, Mother blurted the rest of the chores.

Olivia calculated that she'd be done after sunset. But all she wanted was to meet the rainbow bird and return to the spring. It was their special place. Surely there must be a way... Olivia affirmed with her head and grabbed the bucket, heavy with brown water. On her way outside, she loosened her grip.

Mother yelled and cursed as the dirty water spilled over the living room all the way to the kitchen. Olivia slipped and fought to get on her feet. Then she ran for the door as the mop crashed nearby, missing her by a hay straw. Mother's screeches rang in her ears as she hid behind the river red gums. The wind embraced her once again and the world turned silent. She didn't stop to catch her breath.

The rainbow bird was waiting for her not so deep in the woods.

Together they headed towards the hidden spot, but this time she knew better. She grabbed a sharp stone and scratched the bark of some trees. That way she'd definitely know the way and back. They had a wonderful day by the spring. She found a patch of flowers and weaved them on her hair, but then the bees came and she took it off. Before she knew it, the sky was pink again.

The Southern Cross scintillated warmly in the night sky when Mother embraced her once more, with dried tears and a runny nose. She made black tea and gave her a slice of apple pie. Mother told her how much she missed her and how she couldn't live without her. She tucked Olivia in bed and read her the same fairytale as the night before.

"Olivia, you have slept enough. You must clean the chicken coop, clean the furnace and hang the bedsheets."

Olivia opened her eyes, but she had no intention of doing any of these. The trees were marked. She knew the way.

She bit on some dull crackers and managed some bitter milk. She was only biding her time. Mother took her usual spot by the sofa, book in hand, steaming cup on the night table. Olivia walked outside, as if to the chicken corral, but turned sharp to the woods instead. She saw the first mark and followed the rest without looking back, making it to the spring in record time. The thread of flowers was still there, and the water was as clear as yesterday.

Her stomach plummeted when she heard the gunshot. All the birds cried in disarray. She looked everywhere and nowhere at once. Her heart was racing and her instinct took her to the bushes, where she hid underneath. She waited, not daring to go out.

Not too long after the echo of the blast faded, she heard heavy footsteps. She steadied her breathing and tried to be as quiet as possible. A pair of black, dirty boots paused in front of her, then kept walking. She gathered her courage and stuck her head outside.

He had a thick beard and a rifle in his hand. On his right shoulder hung a sack. Olivia wondered what was inside, but as soon as she did, she wished she hadn't. She wished she hadn't peaked, that she hadn't left home. From the mouth of the sack, a pair of blue and green shriveled feathers stood out.

When the hunter was gone, she ran back home. Tears blinded her sight and she regretted ever scratching the bark of the trees. The sun was still high in the sky when she reached the chicken coop. Mother was still sipping her cup, legs crossed, eyes on the page, unaware that Olivia had gone to the woods and returned, perhaps for the last time.