It was cold.
           Summertime was coming, she knew. In a few weeks, she would be taking the entrance exams of various high schools that were vying for her attention. Then it would be Finals, her last as a junior high school student. Graduation. Then, finally, summer.
           But it was so damn cold.
           Hongou Yui shivered in the late-afternoon breeze as she retraced the path that she had been taking everyday for nearly a month now. How many times had she thought of these things? Of the future. Of her plans. Of making the right choices, so she would not let parents down. Of the whole life she had ahead of her.
           These are things that Miaka would never have.
           Miaka would never experience the summer again. No graduation. No Finals.
           No future. No more life ahead.
           Miaka. Dear, sweet, scatterbrained, excitable, ravenous Miaka.
           Miaka. Gone.
           She felt something pricking the skin on her right hand. It hurt, yes, but it served to make her forget the anguish that made her want to cry right then and there on the street.
           Yui looked down and saw that she had crushed the stems of the trio of white roses she was holding. Her grip had tightened so greatly around the flowers, causing the thorns to pierce through the flimsy barrier of tissue and dig right into her flesh.
           She bought these roses every afternoon, just as she visited Miaka's grave, right after school. Efficiency was one of her strongest points, and she wanted to do this daily service to her friend without fail, without delay.
           She could do nothing more.
           Blood. It was on the tissue as she loosened her hold on the roses. It came from her hands. Freshly red, smelling of salt, metal and pain. She took another fresh piece of tissue from her pocket and tossed the bloodstained one into a nearby trash can. It would be disrespect to Miaka if she used dirty things to hold the roses.
           But the blood kept trickling from her hands.
           The crushed roses slid from her grip and fell onto the pavement, half-wilted petals scattering haphazardly on the concrete.
           Her eyes followed their movement, but she could no longer see them as flowers. They were no longer white blossoms, but red streams.
           Blood. It was everywhere.
           She collapsed against a stone fence and succumbed to the pain and the memory.
           To the tears.
           To the cold.

Yui-chan!
           Someone had called her from across the busy Tokyo street. It was a district full of amusement centers that noisy young students frequented after school, but the familiar voice could still be heard clearly above the din of laughter and argument.
           She turned. Waved.
           Miaka!
           Wait for me, Yui-chan! I have some great news to tell you.
           With those words, the red-haired girl began to cross the street, grinning.
           A rattling of wheels. Screeching. The wind reeking of burnt rubber.
           She turned and saw the huge truck heading down the street. The driver did not seem to know that the district was thick with pedestrians. It was speeding as if the hordes of Hell were on its trail.
           Or it had no brakes.
           Everything seemed to move ten times slower.
           Everyone yelled and screamed. People ran off the street, diving to the sidewalks for safety.
           Only one word escaped her lips as she turned towards her friend who was still in the middle of the street.
           MIAKA!
           It was too late.
           She could hear and feel nothing in those few fateful seconds.
           All she could see was the startled expression on her friend's face, switching to realization as it saw the wildly careening truck. Then it changed to fear of the inevitable, as the huge cargo vehicle headed towards the destination of sealing her fate.
           It was too late to run.
           MIAKA!
           All she could see was her friend being tossed into the air as the protruding metal bumper of the truck made contact with Miaka's fragile body. It floated in an arch-like pattern, so slowly, as if in a dream, then landed on the asphalt ground.
           Time stopped.
           Her backpack fell unheeded onto the sidewalk. She ran across the street, through the stunned crowd, pushing, shoving, cursing at them. If they hadn't been there, Miaka would still have lived, would still have crossed the street without difficulty.
           Damn them.
           Damn them all.
           MIAKA!
           Someone had gotten to her first. A man.
           She glared at him. Don't touch her, you bastard. She's my friend.
           He shrank back.
           She took her friend into her arms.
           Blood. It trailed from Miaka's torso and elbows. Dribbled from the corners of her mouth. Pooled out from the wounds on top of her head.
           Her senses suddenly became overwhelmed by the smell of salt, metal and pain.
           Please, Miaka-chan, speak to me. Open your eyes.
           She cradled her friend carefully, resting the girl's head against her own chest, propping her halfway up so her own blood would not choke her.
           Green-gold eyes flickered open and met her own. A soft, angelic smile touched the pink lips on the roundish face.
           Yui-chan? What I want to tell you...?
           Tears escaped from her eyes. But she succeeded in keeping her voice light and conversational. She even smiled.
           Hai, Miaka?
           I'm going to get into Jonan Academy...
           Of course, Miaka. Be still now, help is on the way.
           ...so I can be with you.
           The green-gold eyes fluttered close. But the soft, angelic smile remained.