Camp was a sanctuary. Escaping the imprisonment of infusion, we found solace among our fellow cancer fighters.
Amber and I spent hours on the lake, watching blackbirds and breathing in the scent of pinecones.
“Let’s stay here forever.”
But the reprieve was soon over and so too was Amber’s struggle.
“Do me one favor,” she whispered. “Bring me back.”
Wiping away tears, I empty the canister into the campfire. Tendrils of smoke slowly form a familiar-looking figure, her eyes sparkling.
“The camp’s haunted,” newcomers gasp as a lyrical breeze rustles the trees.
“No,” I laugh, catching a falling pinecone. “It’s alive.”