December 14, 2024
Overnight, winter showed up without asking permission. Snow drifted down in lazy clumps, sticking to the windows like it planned to stay forever.
Outside, the small theme park across from the hospital—usually loud, blinking, alive—looked abandoned, like a paused video game.
Which was exactly why I decided it was the perfect day to commit a very minor crime.
I grabbed my phone, shoved it into my sleeve, and tiptoed out like a cartoon thief with terrible balance. I filmed as I walked, whispering dramatically, "If anyone asks, I was kidnapped by the spirit of youth."
The camera bounced with each step.
"This might sound unbelievable," I said, breath fogging the lens, "but I've never actually been to a theme park. Not once. Not even the sad ones with three rides and a suspicious mascot."
I sniffed. "I always wanted to see fireworks somewhere famous. The kind that explode into hearts and stars. People say they're loud enough to scare your regrets out of you."
I paused. "Too far away, though. And I'm kind of on a schedule."
The playground slide ahead of me was half-buried in snow, looking like it had given up on life. I poked it with a fallen branch, inspecting it like a scientist.
That's when a voice piped up behind me.
"Why are you fighting the slide?"
I yelped and spun the camera around. A kid stood there, bundled up like a walking marshmallow, eyes bright and suspicious.
"I'm not fighting it," I said defensively. "I'm negotiating."
He squinted. "Grown-ups play on slides?"
"Of course," I said. "We're just worse at it and complain more."
He thought about that. "Then why don't you wait until the snow melts?"
I smiled, a little crooked. "Because waiting takes time. And I'm… a bit low on that."
He frowned. "Snow melts in spring. That's soon."
I nodded. "Yeah. Spring is very optimistic."
I didn't explain the rest. Kids understand seasons better than endings.
I brushed the snow away, sat at the top of the slide, and handed him the phone. "Can you film me? Make sure I look heroic."
The slide was short. Embarrassingly short. I reached the bottom almost immediately.
Just like that.
I threw my arms up anyway, cheering like I'd conquered Everest. "WOO! TEN OUT OF TEN! WOULD RISK MY LIFE AGAIN!"
The kid laughed so hard he almost dropped my phone.
Only I knew why I was pretending so hard.
I wanted to visit the place I'd always been promised and never taken to. I wanted to go where he would take me. I wanted fewer things left undone.
So I can die with no regrets.
I didn't realize that the snow soaked through my clothes, icy and sharp. That night, I caught a cold.
When Rachel found out, she twisted my ear and scolded me for so long I considered charging rent.
"Are you out of your mind?" she snapped. "You're sick, not seven years old! Playing outside in the snow? Take this medicine. Drink water. Sleep. Do NOT sneak out again."
Coughing, I nodded obediently and swallowed the pills.
As soon as she left, the smile slid off my face.
I propped my phone on the table. My breathing came in shallow bursts, chest tight like it had shrunk overnight. My hands shook as I reached for the oxygen, taking careful pulls before looking back at the camera.
"Sorry," I said softly. "My lungs have been protesting more lately."
I coughed, then grinned. "But it's fine. I used to be great with cold weather. When I recover, I'm definitely going winter swimming."
I paused. "…In theory."
I even added the kid on UsChat—turns out his smartwatch could text. A message popped up.
Kid: Big sister, when the snow melts next year, let's race down the slide again!
I stared at the screen for a long time.
Then I typed back: Deal.
I set the phone down, lay back against the pillow, and closed my eyes.
I hope I make it to spring.