It's a cold, windy day that could be depressing if the sun didn't shine through the clouds. Now it's just refreshing and in a funny way melodramatic, with the wind blowing in the hair, and the cold doesn't matter as long as you have proper clothes. Or as long as you're Jenny, Jerika thinks.

She's never seen anything as beautiful as that sky, she says, poetic. Looks like it's made of fire and gold. And maybe I'm having vertigo or something but I have trouble seeing where the sky ends and the mountains begin. They look so alike. Even that shriveled autumn tree looks, I don't know, ethereal. Something about this light.

Well, you're young, says Jenny with fake cynism. But it's damn pretty. She feels a tear climb down the scar on her cheek and Jerika wipes it off and the look on her face is so sweet and Jenny sways thinking her heart might just burst.

They look into the sky and the mountains and lose themselves and feel like they're falling, hand in hand, into heaven.

This is how Jenny wants to remember her. That perfect day. She takes the memory and cradles it, like a child, and promises to never let it go.