Twenty years after she last saw the boy, Dusty still believed that she would see him again. She was the only one in her small town that still held on to her memories of the boy. She was also one of the only ones who had memories she wanted to remember about him. She leaned against the window of her house, formerly belonging to her parents, and stared longingly out at the snow calmly falling onto the ice cold ground. This night was not much different than the one when she received the call from the boy. Her fifteen year old daughter interrupted her from her reminiscing as she sprinted down the stairs. Dusty ran out of her bedroom and said "Where do you think you're going at this time of night?"

Dusty had always been a rowdy, rebellious rule breaker in her younger days and made some bad decisions fifteen years ago. He had wanted to help with the baby, but Dusty refused, knowing he would only ruin her life even more. Dusty loved her daughter May more than anything else and didn't have any regrets concerning her.

May was reaching for the door, when she stopped and said "I left my gloves out by the swings and I don't want to lose them." Before Dusty could brace herself, the memories came flooding back. The swings where the boy had called her from. Where he had told her he was dying.

"Alright. Fine. But be quick." Dusty replied, as her daughter was already halfway out the door. As it slammed behind May, Dusty couldn't hold it in anymore, and began to cry right on the stairs. Something inside her knew the boy was still out there and she needed to see him.

May was thankful that her mother bought her story as she ran through the falling snow. She just hoped that she'd been fast enough. She received a phone call just a few moments ago from someone she had only heard of once or twice; in her mothers whispers. The boy had somehow found her cell number and when she picked up, the first thing he said was "I'm dying." She fired out questions at him, but all she got in reply was the rusty squeak of an old swing. She knew where these old swings were; her mother had taken her there often as a child. Her mother was always distant when they were there. Always looking around anxiously, searching for someone. As she continued to run, she wondered if the boy really would die this time. Could I save him? She wondered as she approached the swings. She stopped dead when she saw a figure laying face down underneath the swings. May ran to the boy's side, rolled him onto his back, and held up his head. She heard faint breaths coming from his mouth. She relaxed for a moment, until the boy jerked to life and his eyes shot open. He locked his eyes on May's and his hand went into his pocket. The boy pulled out an ocarina and placed it in my hand. May only knew what it was because her mother had spent years trying to collect them. The boy's hand fell and he whispered "I'm sorry…"Confused and scared, May got to her feet, but right as she dropped the boy, he broke into thousands of tiny snow flurries. The flurries did not swirl the same ways as the others, though. They danced on their own gentle breeze and began to swirl around May. Thrilled at first by the flurries, she smiled, until she started to feel their iciness creeping in under her layers. It crept into her bones. May fell to the ground, collapsing in the snow, so cold. So cold, so cold, so cold…