They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die.
But sometimes, it flashes before it even begins.
Mine began with a blue crayon, a scraped knee, and a girl who called me a fungus.
And just like that, she became my everything.
I didn't know then that love could start with something so small.
I didn't know then that I would lose her the same way.
Over something small.
A lie. A fear. A silence.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let me go back.
Before the prophecy. Before the grave.
To the sunlit days…
when she was still alive,
and I still believed we had forever.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
I was five. Nervous. Awkward. The kind of kid who preferred imaginary dinosaurs over actual people.
I didn't like new places. I didn't like loud noises.
And I really didn't like the way my shoes pinched my toes.
My grandmother, Maggie (Margarett Banett), walked me to school with one hand wrapped firmly around mine and the other adjusting her scarf in the breeze. Her hands were always warm, like a constant comfort. Her perfume always reminded me of warm milk and lullabies.
My parents couldn't come. They were both working and couldn't take the day off, even though it was their son's first day at school. Whatever they couldn't do, Grandma did in their place.
The school, Willowbrook Kindergarten came into view. Red brick walls and a flagpole that creaked whenever the wind picked up. The playground was half empty, sunlight glinting off the metal swings that always seemed to squeak, even when no one was on them.
Right before the school gate, she knelt down beside me, her knees cracking slightly with the effort. Her eyes were soft but serious, the way a knight might look before sending a squire into battle.
"Remember, Ash," she said, brushing a curl from my forehead, "everyone's nervous. Even the ones pretending not to be. Be kind. And if you can't be brave, pretend, until it sticks."
I didn't feel brave.
But I nodded like I was.
Inside, the classroom felt like someone had shaken a snow globe full of chaos.
Crayons were everywhere.
Kids screamed over a rocking horse.
Someone was crying in the corner over a juice box disaster.
It smelled like glue sticks and doom.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted toast and quiet and Granny humming while I drew dinosaurs in peace.
And then I saw her.
She was standing by the art table, fierce and furious, clutching a blue crayon like it was a magical sword. Her pigtails stuck out like they were having an argument. A sparkly clip was halfway falling out, and there was a band-aid on her chin that made her look like she'd just won a battle.
"Hey! You took my crayon!"
I looked up. She was standing there, hands on her hips, a crayon clenched in her fist.
"What? No, I…this was just here…"
"It was mine. I left it here when I went to pee. Everyone knows blue is mine."
I blinked, taken aback by her intensity. She was short, even shorter than me. But I needed this blue crayon to finish my drawing, so I tried my best polite voice.
"Can I have this?"
She looked at me like I'd just insulted her ancestors.
"No," she said.
"But there's no more blue."
"Then use purple. Be creative."
"It's for the sky."
"Make it a night sky, fungus boy."
Fungus... boy?
I blinked. "I'm not a fungus."
She shrugged like it was a diagnosis, not an opinion, and turned back to her drawing.
"Okay," I conceded, sliding the crayon over.
She studied me, suspicious, then plopped down in the seat beside me.
"What's your name?"
"Ash."
"Like the burnt stuff from fire? Eew!"
"It's short for Ashton."
"Still stinky."
I hated her for this.
After a while, I peered over her shoulder.
"That doesn't even look like a horse," I muttered.
"It's a unicorn," she snapped. "And it's magical."
"It has five legs."
"YOU have five legs!"
That didn't even make sense.
So, in a moment of quiet betrayal against my better self... I pushed her.
Not hard. Just enough to knock the blue crayon from her hand.
She gasped, loud and scandalized, like I'd declared war on her entire kingdom.
The teacher swooped in like an emergency responder.
"Ashton and Lena! That's quite enough!"
Lena.
So that was her name.
"I want to sit somewhere else!" I shouted.
"I want to sit in space!" she shrieked.
We were five. Diplomacy wasn't our strong suit.
Somehow, this ended with both of us being assigned to the same table.
The teacher said something about "learning cooperation." I didn't hear most of it over the sound of my own embarrassment boiling in my ears.
I spent the rest of the day pretending Lena didn't exist.
She spent it humming loudly every time I tried to concentrate.
Once, I looked up and caught her glancing at me.
She stuck her tongue out.
I frowned.
She grinned like she'd won something I didn't know we were competing for.