Forever

Forever

By Josephine Samuel

The sun was unforgivingly hot. Sprawled across the lush field, Anna and Sarah, their cleats muddied, endured the heat. 

“Feels like an oven today!” Sarah squealed. 

Anna smiled faintly. 

“Yeah. Still, nothing’s gonna be as bad as when we camped in the desert.” Sarah cackled, rolling in the grass. Anna chuckled, watching dimples form on Sarah’s radiant cheeks. It had been a while since they’d last seen each other. 

They looked up at shapes of distant clouds—a bear, a frying pan, an angel. The sun scorched still, sweat dripped down Anna’s forehead. 

Sarah’s hand grazed hers. 

Anna shielded her eyes from the sun. 

Not now. 

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, her voice subdued. 

“Nothing,” Anna paused, “I’m fine.” 

They sat in silence. For the first time ever, neither knew what to say. Anna sighed; she couldn’t remember the day or time, but with Sarah, it didn’t matter. 

Sarah mumbled something. 

Anna refocused. 

The heat grew more intense. 

“What?” Anna asked. 

“I need to go… Hopefully, we’ll see each other again.”

Anna wanted to ask why, but the words stuck in her throat. The sides of Sarah’s mouth quivered and collapsed. 

The sky then dimmed. The grass dried beneath them. 

“Stay,” Anna whispered. 

Sarah’s head shook. 

“I can’t stay, Anna,” she said, her voice cracked. 

“No, wait—Sarah, please.” Anna’s voice trembled. “Don’t leave.” 

But Sarah was already stepping away. 

She repeated, “I c a n ’ t s t a y.” 

The grass turned to ash, and the world began to blur as Sarah walked off. Anna’s world was disappearing. 

“No, no, no!” Anna stumbled to her feet. 

Her heart thumped as she sprinted. Her lungs quivered from the chilling air. “Please! Stay with me!” Anna pleaded. 

Sarah turned, her face solemn. 

“I ’ m s o r r y .” 

Anna grasped the air where Sarah had been. 

She screamed though she knew Sarah could 

never hear her. 

Then, everything was gone.

The air became mercilessly cold. Lying against the chair, Anna, tears streaming down her face, jolted back into the small, sterile room. Her body felt weighed down by the beeping machines and the tug of the IV in her arm. 

She glanced at the items beside her: the shoes she stole from Sarah when they were little, a framed picture of them at the fair, and. . . the pendant. 

Her eyes locked on the photo, its edges curling and yellowing. She tried to see her reflection in the light, but it was nearly impossible. She tenderly grasped the pendant’s box. It read: 

“To Anna, my bestie. Please, be strong for me, even though I wasn’t strong enough for you. . . 

. . .I’m sorry.” 

Anna’s hands trembled, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. The pendant was lifeless in her grasp. 

An artificial voice chimed in, “Would you like to restart the program?” 

Anna paused. She glanced at the picture again, an effort to regain her vitality and life. But she could only see a future forever with Sarah. 

She clutched the pendant. 

“Yes,” she rasped. “Run it again.”