Moira sat on the wooden swing, rocking back and forth.
The sun would rise at any moment.
“Are you ready?” asked Hope.
“No, I don’t want to lose you,” replied Moira.
“Maybe you won’t. Maybe you will still find me later on in life.”
Moira kicked the dirt beneath her feet, smudging her patine Mary Janes.
“But if they’ve never found you afterwards, how am I supposed to?,” replied Moira as she looked across the horizon. The sun has emerged from behind the hill, and was slowly creeping its way back into the sky.
It was officially Moira’s birthday.
An eery silence filled the air.
Hope had dissapeared.