The Last Bit of Warm Wind
-Ishrath Shaik

The grotto was unwelcoming- frigid and stony, but it wasn't devoid of the genial, yet panicked pat of the warm breeze from behind. Freckled with crystal-like dew, were the walls. The air was salty and dense. My feet were bare, touching the rigid, rough surface. It was a soundless night, barely any light either, except for the small LED from my key chain, which came with me.

Something cold pierced my foot. I knew this was my end. I sat down and my eyes were forced shut.  For a minute, I was in great pain. I tried to suck the last of life. No more hospitals, or surgeries. It was over. Cold air blew at my feet. The ground was smooth like frosted glass. My eyelids blocked the sting of the white light. The world's warm touch was gone, forever.

I opened my eyes. I was in something I could call a room, which kept on going. On and on and on. There were white squares covering every inch of the place. Beneath every square was an illuminating white light. On the tiles, which were on the sides, were small, glassy wooden knobs. I began to like the temperature; however, I still clutched on to the last bit.

I held the glossy knob of the square I was leaning against and pulled it till my waist. The bright light wouldn't let me see. I pushed inside with my legs- the square was just my size. Now, I was in another hospital, but in my Dad's hairy arms, which would have tickled me if I wasn't wrapped around twice in a clean, fresh smelling blanket, stamped with pink and blue footprints. He carefully placed me into Mom's arms. She was propped against a raised hospital bed, wearing a -partially covering- light blue gown.

A balloon popped. This isn't meant to happen. I started to cry. None of this happened. Mom told me that nobody brought balloons- they weren't allowed in the hospital. On my left was the white square. I got up and pushed the tile in. While one of my legs was on the other side, I turned to my right. I saw a family- my family. This was meant to be where I was born, somewhat. I stepped out completely and closed the square door.

I had the key chain in my hand. That's what I was clutching all this while. I shone the LED onto the tile I came out of. 'Memory number: 57; version 2 (edited). On the right was ' Memory number: 57: version 3 (rewritable) and on the left was 'Memory number: 57: version 1 (original). There were three versions of each memory. Version 1 was the original one; Version 2 is edited; and Version 3, I could relive and control like a lucid dream.

At the very end, was a small grey square, which stood out from the rest. This was the last square, without a knob. Something told me, I can't see, reach, or remember this memory, ever. It's just there to remind me that I'll never know or change the end.