Our Last Times Together

• Layla Robertson, Grade 7, Kincumber High School
• Short Story
• 2016

Excellence Award in the 'Top Secret 2016' competition

Ange walked further, ignoring the stitch in her side, as her best friend, Milan, held his hands over her eyes as he guided her onward.
“Seriously, when are we going to stop?” Ange asked. She stumbled over a few times, regaining her balance and then continuing to numbly walk. “Are we in a forest?” Milan shook his head and said, “No. It’s a surprise.” He smiled to himself and added, “We’re almost there.”
After ten minutes of, what seemed to be, an endlessly tiring walk, they stopped and Milan took his hands away. She took an intake of frosty breathe as she took in the view before her. Over a mountain of stumpy rocks flowed a clear waterfall into a deep lake the colour of an ocean.
“It’s beautiful, Milan. Thank you.” Milan bowed his head in a way that meant, No problem, and held up a woven basket.
“Picnic,” he stated as he set the basket down onto the uneven ground. He pulled out a torn and ragged blanket with butterfly prints on it.
“Are you kidding me? What’s with the butterflies?” she asked, raising a delicate eyebrow and pushing her hazelnut hair out of her face.
“It was the only blanket I had! Plus, it’s my sister’s, not mine!” he exclaimed in a sudden outburst.
Ange picked up the laid blanket and stuffed it back into the basket.
“We don’t need that.” Ange sat down and then laid her back on the cold rock-solid ground. She flipped her hair to the side to keep it out of the way and shot a look at Milan, who reluctantly copied her position on the ground.
“Yeah, this is much better,” Milan muttered quietly and rolled his eyes.
“I heard and saw that, Milan Hatchcross!” Ange shouted in an annoyed but sarcastic tone. “Do not roll your eyes at me!” This time it was only sarcasm dripping off every word instead of annoyance as well. “It’s my birthday, treat me respectfully dear,” she took on a royal accent this time.
“You’re a weirdo,” he told her.
“You got it,” she responded and then there was just silence where the both of them stared up at the sky and remembered why they were up here celebrating her birthday. Ange had cancer and Milan was making the most of it, spending as much time with her as possible, like this for example.
Milan blinked back the tears threatening to spill and took a deep breath. He reminded Ange of some of the times they’d spent as children, the sleepovers they’d had and, of course, the day they met.
Ange and Milan were five, starting school. Ange fell over in the playground and Milan had taken her up to the sick bay. They became friends after that and best friends later on; they’ve been best friends for thirteen years and here they were now, spending an occasion together, overlooking a waterfall on a mountain.
Ange turned to face him, “Thank you,” she whispered.