The father staggered out of the children’s hospital clutching his chest. The sharp tone of the flatlining monitor still rang in his ears. He held his breath in long pauses as he willed himself to not cry. Unaware of where he was going, he stumbled into the waiting bus. The bus commenced its journey with the lone passenger onboard. It soon left the city behind and trundled along the winding, mountain road, threatening to tumble over the edge every time it took a hairpin bend at an impossible speed. The frantic sweeping of the driver’s hands on the steering juxtaposed his placid eyes. The passenger sat in a stupor, lost yet searching. Death had come for him and it had taken everything away except his life.
When the bus entered the bustling hill town of distractions, the father’s searching eyes rested on the lights, the colour and all the sights. Everything was vibrant, noisy, and inviting. The bus had stopped and he wanted to get down and explore. He turned to look at the driver and found no one. Thinking that the driver must have disembarked, he did the same. He started down the pavement towards the loudest and most colourful part of the town centre. As he got closer, he could make out some of the things being sold. A singular smell reached his nose and he followed it to a stall. He bought himself a portion of barbecued meats. It tasted as good as a memory. A memory of the same dish he once shared with someone. Each bite he took reverberated through his senses with a strong sense of deja vu. There was something wrong with the pleasure he felt. ‘She would have loved this!’ he thought, more as a reflex than a formed thought. His mind seemed to not want to put a face or name to the ‘she’. He walked further into the crowd, drowning his thoughts in the noises. He turned into a small shop selling all kinds of trinkets. Everything from well-made fake jewellery to shiny frocks for little girls to colouring books was partially filled in. He picked up the colouring book closest to him. It looked familiar. As he turned the pages, he remembered seeing the pictures elsewhere. He remembered looking at a little girl sitting on his lap, filling them in. His mind reeled and his heart beat faster. An intense fear of something dreadful occurring gripped him. The memories inside pushed powerfully against the noises. He turned and ran towards the bus stop, praying for the bus to still be there. He ran, and the memories of his daughter caught up. He reached the bus stop and the bus was still there. The driver was back in his seat and starting the engine when the father threw himself into the bus, desperate to get in before it left. The bus started to move as he picked himself up and sat down. He forced his breathing under control and forced himself to explore his own thoughts.

Time passed slowly and each memory the father explored made him angry at the universe for taking his baby girl. He sat with his fists clenched in simmering rage. He looked out and his surroundings raged hot in company. The bus slowed to a stop in the middle of nowhere. He got down and was welcomed by a blazing hot breeze. It hurt his face and fists and everywhere it touched his skin. The pain felt excruciating, deserved, and liberating. The place was a barren, brown landscape with no sign of life. The ground was hot and jagged stones littered the surface. The father took off his shirt and let the hot wind burn more of him. He took off his shoes and let the stones dig into the soles of his feet. As the pain increased, his anger subsided, and grief started taking its place. He sank to his knees and screamed in anguish, not knowing whether it was from the dying rage or the pain of loss. As he started losing consciousness in the searing heat, he felt two hands dragging him up and onto the bus. The unusually cold metal floor shocked him back to full consciousness for a moment before letting him pass out completely.

The jolting of the bus on the cobbled street woke the father up. He was stooped over in his seat, shirt and shoes back on him. His anger still ebbed and flowed within him. The bus slowed down to a stop and he unconsciously got off the bus. The quaint little town felt oddly silent. The smell of flowers in the air was incongruous with the surrounding rock and stone buildings. The father could hear a faint voice singing in a foreign language. He rounded the back of the bus and saw a woman standing on the opposite side of the road. The father crossed the road to her and said, “Excuse me”.
She looked up and smiled. “What do you want?” she said, sounding inviting despite the phrasing. The father had a sense of being weighed by her.
With his guards up, the father answered, “What is the name of this town?”.
“No… What do you really want?” she replied. The father took a step back.
“What I want… you can’t give!” he said tersely, bitterly.
“I can give you anything,” she said as she snapped her fingers and everything around the father disappeared, leaving only him, the lady, and the bus. They were in a dark void with millions of tiny specs of light floating all around them like fireflies. He remembered his daughter being in awe of fireflies in their garden, and for a small moment he remembered joy. He was standing on nothing but was not afraid. He did not care who or what this lady was but leaned into a glimmer of hope he had not known he had left.
“Can you bring someone back from the dead?” He asked, his heart pounding.
“Yes, I can,” she replied pleasantly. His heart beat faster.
“Then please bring her back to me.” he said, hoping against all odds that this magical being could do it. After a pause, that lasted an eternity, she replied.
“No,” her smile never wavering. The father’s heart dropped and some of the tiny lights disappeared.
“But you said you could!”, he pleaded.
“I can, but I will not,” she said plainly.
“Please, I will do anything in return!” he offered.
“I do not want anything,” she smiled.
“Then tell me what I can do to get her back!?”, the desperation in his voice breaking through as more of the lights around him vanished.
“Let her go,” said the lady, and the darkness engulfed him. No lights, no lady, no hope.

The first tear broke free from his eyes and ran down his cheek. He let go. The torrent of tears rushed out of him, and he wailed in the darkness. He faced the reality he was trying to run away from. His daughter was not coming back to him. She was dead. His wail, the dirge his heart sang. His tears, the flowers he offered her memory. From somewhere around him, he heard the rumble of the bus engine starting. At the same moment, he realized his eyes were closed, and when he opened them, he was on the bus again, on the road.

He felt himself shiver with every new breath as the bus drove on. The bus was entering the countryside. The sky was overcast, and the rain was more floating down than falling. The breeze was cold and sharp. The father sat up and put his head out to feel the rain against his face. His tears mixed with the rain and the wind carried them both away indiscriminately. His mind replayed every single memory of his daughter in the eight years they had been with each other. His mind tried to sear every little detail it could recollect deeper into itself lest it be forgotten. The happy memories invoked sadness; the joyous ones invoked despair. But underneath everything, he felt his heart loosen its grip on the past and instead start to cherish it. The rain had started to abate, and the sun was starting to show between the clouds. The father stood up and walked to the front of the bus and took the seat opposite the driver, looking out ahead at the road.

The bus stopped at the gate of the cemetery and the father got out. He heard the bus start and felt it leave. With a mason jar of fireflies in one hand and a colouring book and pencils in the other, he made his way to the grave. His eyes were moist, but his lips were smiling. There was a permanent sadness in his heart but he had made room for happiness. He was a father on his way to spend time with his daughter. He was at peace, he will always be her father… always.