I remember that day clearly—like a blurry photograph burned into my memory.
When i was a child i was sitting alone on the swing set in the park. The chains creaked softly as I rocked back and forth, and a light rain drizzled from the sky. It wasn't heavy enough to drench me, just enough to soak my sleeves and make everything feel colder than it already was.
I didn't know where else to go.
Earlier that week, I had seen them—my parents—on TV. They were kneeling, hands up, crying, begging for something. Maybe for their lives. Maybe for forgiveness. I didn't know.
Then the screen flashed. The news anchor called it an "incident."
But all I could see was blood.
They were killed… shot by the police.
I cried. A lot. At home, on the floor, in the corner. But there was no one to hold me. No one to say it was going to be okay. Just the silence of an empty house and the echo of the TV replaying the footage over and over again.
So I ran away. I didn't know where to go, so I ended up here.
Swinging in the rain.
At some point, I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up, and there she was—a little old lady, hunched over slightly, holding an umbrella with one hand and a cloth bag in the other.
She didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, watching me with a gentle smile.
Then she walked over and sat on the swing next to me, even though it was wet.
"Child, why are you out here all alone in the rain?" she asked, her voice soft and kind.
I didn't answer. I didn't even have the energy to pretend.
She didn't press me. She just sat there, swinging slightly, as if we were two old friends meeting again after a long time.
"May i know your name little lady." She said with a soft smile.
I looked at her then in a small voice i said.
"Kire..."
"Kire! What a wonderful name" she said with a smile.
And then my stomach growled. Loudly. Embarrassingly.
She blinked, then giggled like a grandmother would. "Oh dear, someone's hungry."
From her bag, she pulled out a small tin and opened it. Inside were cookies—simple, round, homemade.
She held one up toward me and said in a playful voice, "Kire, say ahh~"
That time i was surprised and confused. But in that moment, it felt like she was treating me like her own granddaughter.
I hesitated. Then I opened my mouth, and she gently fed me the cookie.
It was sweet and warm, even in the rain.
Before she left, she stood up slowly and looked at me with a serious expression—still smiling, but there was something deeper in her eyes. Something that saw through me.
"Kire… you should not give up, no matter what!" she said, her voice full of strength. "It's your life, so you have every right to do what you want! It's your freedom, so stand strong!"
Then she walked away with her umbrella, humming softly.
The next day, I found out she had passed away.
She had been ill for a long time, they said. But when I met her, she looked like she had no pain at all. She was smiling the entire time.
Even though she knew she was dying… she gave me cookies. She gave me warmth. She gave me words I didn't even know I needed to hear.
That day, I made a decision.
No matter how wrong things become… no matter how broken the world may seem…
I will smile—just like her.
And I'll move forward.