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Her name was Misty. She wore yellow dresses and smiled about the sunflowers as we walked along the overgrown path to the creek. She would take my hand as we descended the steep hill, and I would try to memorise her fingers as they slipped into the spaces between mine. The delicate way she lightly tugged from in front of me. Her hands were always cold, but they felt nice. Not too cold, but just cold enough. When we would get to the edge of the creek, she would turn around, her back towards me, and I would unzip her yellow dress, freeing her. She would kick off her shoes, and walk towards the water, her hips moving side to side, her hair flowing down her bare shoulders, covered by nothing but her little lace panties. She would submerge herself until her head was barely above the water. She said to me that she liked the feeling that she was so close to her limit. She liked living on the edge. At least that's what she told me back then. I know better now. She drowned last May. The leaves were bright red, some brown, some dead. It was the end of autumn, so almost winter. She had been wearing a yellow sundress, my favourite one. It had little white flowers all over it. It reminded me of the time when she would bend over and pick one for me. Her dress wasn’t left on the rocks this time. She drowned in it. I think she did that on purpose. Because now, whenever I see a white flower, I picture her, sinking down to the bottom of the creek. She used to float. I wish she had floated.
About The Author
Anika Mae is a young writer from Queensland, Australia. She is currently studying a Diploma in Creative Industries and has joined her university's creative writing club. Her favourite genre to write is historical fiction, and her favourite book series is Harry Potter.
Cover page by Jiaying Chen
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