There is a place between the bushes and flower beds, where the grass grows feverishly up the hills. We lie on the grass and somehow disappear in the shadows, but don’t be fooled the darkness had already come. There is a path leading up to the hill, at the top is a small house, reminiscent of what was. Bright flowers of pastel surround us, and there is a path leading to the center of the forest. Trees on top of trees, valley on top of valley, all untouched by the treachery of what had come. Here the sounds get lost in the stream, and we only hear our own breath; it is enough for me, anyways.

I won’t tell you where this place is, a ghost-ridden idyllic paradise. What I can tell you is that it appeared to us that day, and how they will eventually take it away. Until then here we lie. I am happy being here with you. You give me a light feeling of sensation as if we’ve known each other for a million years. We spent a while watching the flowers bend and wave due to the breeze, whilst waiting for the sky to open up. You brought a book with you. “The last sense of human wisdom” you called it. I could stay here for a little while I thought.

Don’t be mistaken; we aren’t dead, only stuck in the in-between. After all has been said and done, Earth will be remembered by the solemn summer breeze. We allowed ourselves to be taken by the breeze, this is why we are here and not there. For life is the flower, and we are the sweet honey that follows.

—By Paniz V., 14, Canada