They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die.
But sometimes, it flashes before it even begins.
Mine began with a girl who called me a fungus and a blue crayon that ruined everything.
I did not know then that love could start with something so small.
I did not know then that I would lose her the same way.
Over something small.
A lie. A fear. A silence.
But I am 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 did not like new places.
I did not like loud noises.
And I really did not like how my shoes pinched my toes.
My grandmother, Maggie "Margarett" Bennett, walked me to school with one hand wrapped firmly around mine. Her other hand kept adjusting her scarf as the breeze tugged at it. Grandma's hands were always warm. Steady. Like nothing bad could happen as long as she was holding on.
Her perfume smelled like warm milk and lullabies.
My parents could not come. They were both working. First day of school or not, taking time off was not an option. Whatever they could not do, Grandma did instead.
Willowbrook Kindergarten came into view. Red brick walls. A crooked flagpole that creaked whenever the wind picked up. The playground was half empty, sunlight glinting off metal swings that squeaked even when no one touched them.
Right before the gate, Grandma knelt down beside me. Her knees cracked softly. She did not wince.
"Remember, Ash," she said, brushing a curl away 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 did not feel brave.
But I nodded anyway.
Inside, the classroom felt like someone had shaken a snow globe full of chaos.
Crayons scattered everywhere.
Kids screaming over a rocking horse.
Someone crying in the corner over a spilled juice box.
It smelled like glue sticks and doom.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted toast and quiet.
I wanted Grandma humming while I drew dinosaurs in peace.
And then I saw her.
She stood by the art table, gripping a blue crayon like it was a sword. Her pigtails stuck out at odd angles, like they were arguing with each other. A sparkly clip hung halfway out of her hair. There was a bandage on her chin that made her look like she had just won a fight.
"Hey! You took my crayon!"
I looked up.
She was small. Smaller than me.
But she stood like she owned the room.
"What? No. It was just here," I said.
"It was mine. I left it here when I went to pee. Everyone knows blue is mine."
I blinked. I needed that crayon. My sky was unfinished.
"Can I have it?" I asked, using my best polite voice.
She stared at me like I had insulted her ancestors.
"No."
"There's no more blue."
"Then use purple. Be creative."
"It's for the sky."
"Make it a night sky, fungus boy."
I froze.
"I'm not a fungus."
She shrugged, like this was a medical fact, not an insult, and turned back to her drawing.
I slid the crayon toward her. Defeat tasted like paper and glue.
She studied me for a moment, suspicious, then plopped down beside me.
"What's your name?"
"Ash."
"Like burnt stuff from fire? Ew."
"It's short for Ashton."
"Still stinky."
I hated her instantly.
After a while, I peeked at her paper.
"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 did not make sense.
So I did the bravest and dumbest thing my five year old brain could manage.
I pushed her.
Not hard. Just enough.
The blue crayon rolled off the table.
She gasped like I had declared war on her entire kingdom.
The teacher swooped in immediately.
"Ashton and Lena! That's quite enough!"
Lena.
So that was her name.
"I want to sit somewhere else!" I yelled.
"I want to sit in space!" she yelled back.
We were five. Negotiation was not our strength.
Somehow, this ended with both of us assigned to the same table. The teacher said something about learning cooperation. I did not hear most of it over the sound of my own embarrassment.
I spent the rest of the day pretending Lena did not exist.
She spent it humming loudly every time I tried to concentrate.
Once, I looked up and caught her watching me.
She stuck her tongue out.
I frowned.
She grinned, like she had won something I did not know we were competing for.
I did not know then that she would keep winning.
Even after she was gone.