I slump to the ground. The exhaustion sinks in like a heavyweight and I accept the fact that I will most likely die. The cold seeps through my skin and my bones are made of ice. My hands fumbled for my faded red bag, damp with snow and water and heave out my notebook. The only indication that it’s in my hand is my blurry vision. My hands feel like there’s sand in them. Sand. Soft, soft, grainy sand. Running across beaches. The sun blazes above me. The ocean is cool. The seafoam on the shoreline. Red shells. I write down in my notebook. September 2nd, 10:54 pm: Time of death. I wonder what happens when I die. Suddenly, a pang of regret hits me. A figure in a teal coat also hits me. Hard. On the shoulder, and it shocks me back to life. “Hey, dude. Whatcha’ doing out here in the cold?”

September 2nd, 10:55 pm: Saved from death. Her home, if you can call it one, is tiny. Bits of plastic and cardboard and sheets of old, rusty metal propped up against a trainwreck of pipelines. Either way, it’s warm. A small, broken-down oven glows red hot, lighting up the shelter. The two kids look at us intently, as I watch my sister come back to life. A thousand thanks spill out of my mouth as she blinks awake, snowflakes falling from her eyelashes. Their “walls” are covered in posters, paper, and their floor is littered with newspapers, food wrapping, fast food bags, plastic red car toys, and weapons. A small homemade slingshot, and a baseball bat. The baseball bat is stained with red. I read the posters on the wall as I absentmindedly chew on a stale granola bar they hand me. “The names Lance. They’re Breeze” He says, gesturing to the kid, excitedly chattering to my sister. “What’s your name?” The boy with the sunglasses asks me. Her hair is scruffy and her grin is wide. “Coral

” I respond. September 2nd, 11:20 pm: Made a friend. November feels so much shorter this year. When Christmas rolls around, the snow is thicker than ever and the trees are stripped bare. The air is light and the world is kind. The sound of coins clanking in a metal tin rings in my ears as I and Breeze puddles of melted snow down the walk, snow that had melted from the warmth of the shop’s light. When my sister begged for Christmas present giving, I was outnumbered 3 to 1. She runs ahead with Lance, splashing through puddles and yelling about all the “Totally rad present’s they’re gon’ buy” “First Christmas without your parents?” Breeze asks, kicking a pile of snow away. I nod. They smile at me sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it.”

The shop is warm and smells like cinnamon. I fiddle with some wooden figurines, before my eyes land on a small, paperback book. “Cat’s And Woolen Socks” The title reads. It’s 2.5 Dollars. I spend 2.5 out of my given 10 dollars on it. I never understood how Lance could have so much money. He says it’s from pals around town and working at the fast-food shops. I get him a plastic pin for his jacket. It has a black cat with a coke can. “Cokacat!” It says. I smile. Breeze gets a pack of wooden pencils. A full set of 6 colors. Red’s like cherries, green like grass, I think about all the drawings I had, and all the art supplies I used to have. A charcoal sketch of squirrels climbing up the apple tree. Collages of clocks. A doodle of my sister with her plastic flower. The cherry blossom tree’s I painted one, hung proudly above my parent’s bed. I wonder if it’s still there.

The shelter is friendly and inviting. Cheap fairy lights dangle from the sheets of metal used as a roof. A plastic Christmas tree figurine sits in a corner, covered in cut tinsel. Laughter. Cinnamon rolls from the bakery next door. Secrets. My sister’s face lights up when I hand her the book. She shuffles over, leans on me, and asks me what a black cat was. She points to a funny cartoon cat. It grins at me. I tell her it’s good luck. I’m given a sketchbook from Lance. Breeze hands me a plastic bracelet with my name on it. It’s handmade, and the beads clatter whenever I move. Buttercup gives me a plastic horn that Lance will not stop playing. Well, honking. The laughter, the sound of a plastic horn, the sound of the clattering of beads, the music on the MP3 Lavender got Breeze and the oblivious Christmas carols from the leaky earphones Breeze got my sister. They form a wonderful kind of song. The song feels like warmth, tastes like cloves, and feels soft.

December 25th, 9:13 pm: Spends Christmas without parents. January is slow but bearable. Routines of playful arguing, clinks of coins, and the sound of water down a drain. When my birthday rolls around it feels lonely. Despite the chanting of happy birthday as we gathered around my birthday cupcake, decorated with a chocolate black cat that I get to savor all to myself, I can’t help but think of my 3rd birthday where my mother got me my Time Notebook. Now I can’t think about her without remembering the words of abuse as she shoved me out the front door to die. I draw her in the notebook Lance gave me, with the color pencils Breeze lent me that I bought for them. Sketchy lines, and simple mistakes all leading up to this. She stares back at me on the page, accusingly.

I rip her out and toss it away. February 10th, 11:56 am: Decides to forget about my parents. Time flies as the world spins around me. It’s March 23rd, 6:34 pm when I find Lance in an alleyway, bruised and bloody. His shirt is covered in red. He laughs and jokes in between gasps of pain as I dress the wounds on his chest and knuckles, which he never explained how he got His fever gets higher, his breathing gets more labored and Breeze holds his hand like they share the same body. My sister wails behind me. There’s a moment where I think his heart stops. I begin to fear death more. My sister pumps her legs in the air as she pushes herself on the swings. Behind us, Lance and Breeze argue over monkey bars. She squeals excitedly, her plastic flower bobbing in her blond hair. The bushes rustle in the morning wind, and the sound of city life can be through the brick walls. I feel calm.

A black cat, a piece of shadow slinks out from the bush. It’s amber eyes glow and contrast against it’s dark fur, and almost immediately, my sister stumbles off her swing to greet it. It purrs in her hands. “Look! Good luck!” She says. I feel lucky. Maybe it’s a placebo effect. The black cat squeezes out of her embrace and runs away in between two buildings. She follows, and naturally, so do the rest of us. The sound of city life, cars, chatter, yells, come back as we enter a bustling sidewalk My sister weaves in between people as she dashes after it. The cat runs onto a road and seemingly blends in with it. The ground roars as cars drive past it. A red car comes. My sister stumbles towards it and holds in her hands, it’s feet dangling in midair. “Good Luck! Coral, it’s a lucky ch-” I run. Everyone else stays still.

Her words are cut off as a scarlet red car crashes into her. The world spins and speeds up. There’s no slow-mo, time doesn’t slow down. It’s too fast. This is too real. The sickening crunch of bones echoes in my ears. My body is numb. She screams, and then it’s quiet. My body is heavy. The road seems so big. There’s my sister’s blood, all over the road. All over the car. My sister’s killer walks out and he says something I can’t hear. I don’t want to hear him.

This only happens in the movies, I think as I haul her manged body from the rubble. It’s all a lie. It’s all a joke. I say internally as I pick up her bloody plastic flower, and put it in my hair. She’ll wake up. I whisper as I feel the dead, silent beat of her pulse. This isn’t happening, I try and convince herself as people murmur behind me, as I cradle her body in my arms. My world stops as Lances muffled screams grow louder. It’s so loud. The universe rings in my ears. All these sounds in one, strangled voice. My world is so red. Then I realize it’s my own voice. This is my fault. “April 15th, 2:12 pm: My sister is dead and my scarlet red world crashes down.

:'D

GAHSGHGIM NOT

GGSHGSH <33333333333