It's time for the yearly Ōtaki Kite festival , held on the Ōtaki Beach.
The beach is packed with people, all holding brightly coloured kites, beach towels to sit down on, eskies full of beer and cider, as well as their highest hopes.
I dart through the crowd, sand burning my feet, the setting sun beating down on my back.
I have to find Anya.
The kite I'm carrying - a pretty, navy blue kite I made especially for Anya - needs to get to her as soon as possible.
But how can I tell her from the other girls?
I race past a kissing couple lying on the sand, a little boy chasing a tiny puppy, and an old man drinking a beer. I weave between talking teens, a cricket game, and a picnic. There's so many people!
Someone bumps into me, sending me flying into the warm sand.
"Sorry!" comes a familiar voice. It's Anya, helping me up!
"Here's your kite," I say, handing her the navy kite.
She gasps. "It's so pretty! I can't wait to fly this one!"
Anya draws a kite out of her picnic basket.
"And this is for you!" she says, handing it to me.
It's sage green with subtle glitter and a long string.
"It's perfect, Anya!" I thank her. She smiles.
A bell sounds. It's time to fly the kites!
Anya and I unravel the strings on our kites and wade out to the water until it's about knee-deep. Then we start running.
The wind picks up our kites, fluttering in the breeze. The green and blue kites tangle together and untangle, tangle, untangle, tangle, untangle...
Anya's laugh brings me to reality. She's fallen over, green singlet top soaked by the saltwater. I help her up, still clinging to my kite.
"Thanks," she says gratefully, shaking the water from her hair. She takes a look up at the hundreds of kites fluttering in the yellow sky, bleached by the sunset.
I'll always remember this.
***
Footsteps race down the hall toward my room.
"Aster!" comes a voice I know.
Anya's delicate hand settles on mine.
"Aster, Aster, Aster," Anya sobs. I feel her tears drip onto my hospital gown. I wish I could hug her. But I can't.
I manage to move my finger a tiny bit and tap her hand. I hear Anya gasp in joy.
'Please be ok, Aster," she whispers in my ear.
I'll try my best, Anya.
YOU ARE READING
Hourglass
Teen FictionIf you were to look through one of the twelfth-floor windows of Auckland City Hospital, you would glimpse a redheaded girl, curls spread out over the pillow, IVs stuck into every inch of her pale skin. This girl is Aster. Ever since her appendix bur...
