It seemed to be nine o’clock at night, when really it was mid-day. It was as if we were walking through a black and white world. Then the sound of laughter came up from behind me. As she came closer I could see her beautiful dull but vibrant blue eyes. Her eyes were full of life.
As a gust of wind picked up with a roar, we were growing closer to the bridge. A strand of her long blonde hair danced in the wind along her ghostly pale face. My eyes also caught a glimpse of the most colorful flower that was placed in her hair. The colors were vibrant oranges and firey reds that had so much life within themselves.

We were at the bridge when I witnessed a water droplet gently following the edge of the delicate flower petal. It dropped with ease onto her forehead. We were at the middle of the bridge where I would have to forgive something that was not my fault, for the town drunk had been driving around. She grabbed my hand as we looked out to the black and white world. I looked down to see only a deep scar from the accident; the sight of the flower startled me, and the memory of her flooded back to me. The flower gently dropped to its death and so did she.