The Slow End of Midsummer

On a completely normal day, I received the news that my childhood friend, Mao, had died. Loud with a quick temper, he was the last person I would have expected to die. And yet, out of nowhere, he was gone.

On the usual way home yesterday, Mao was about to tell me something...but then he stopped. I didn't press, thinking I would meet him tomorrow anyway. But Mao's "tomorrow" would never come. As I prayed to speak to him again, suddenly, he appeared before me. Transcending life and death, Mao's time that had abruptly stopped starts to move once again.