It was an afternoon in late August, and children were at a suburban playground, trying to play as much as they could before the beginning of the new school year. The sky started to turn gray and gloomy, as if threatening to rain.

  On the moistened bridge above a small creek, short, plump and dark 14-year-old Misty Tash leaned on the rails. In her right hand was a pencil, and in her left was her sketchbook—two of her few but most precious belongings. Her expression was serious but it brightened slightly as she applied the finishing touches on her drawing. There were the moon, stars, zodiac glyphs, and three characters—all of them with golden hair, porcelain skin, glittering outfits, joining hands. With tenderness and sincerity, she wrote, “Together again someday.”

  Misty’s eyes focused momentarily on one of the golden haired characters, clad in blue. Her heart started fluttering with nostalgia.

  Her silent joy was interrupted when a few kids ran across the bridge, making loud stomping noises, and screaming, “She’s it! Run faster!” A while later, a chubby dark skinned girl was trailing behind them. She tripped and fell. The other kids went back to her, but only to point and laugh. The teenage girl was frozen in place, reminded of the cruelty that would be repeated to her during the upcoming school year.

  Suddenly, a droplet of water came from the sky. Apprehensive and annoyed, Misty hastily put the sketchbook in her yellow backpack. She lifted her hood to cover her relaxed hair, and headed home.

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  But the hood soon proved to be futile, as the droplets quickly turned into a downpour—even quicker than an average storm.

  Hail soon followed the downpour. Large chunks of ice were shooting from the sky. A shard of ice ripped through the shoulder seam of Misty’s hoodie, drawing blood. Before she could inspect her wound for more than a second, she heard violent screams. She watched innocent people getting stabbed by ice shards, ensnared in ice prisons, instantly sealing their fates. After those humans fell to the floor, another life form emerged. They were pale, androgynous humanoids, with white hair, and glowing blue eyes. They immediately hunted for their next human victims, attacking with ice and water.

  ‘No… Not them again!’ Misty immediately quickened her pace home. She then tripped and slid on a sheet of ice on the sidewalk, almost certainly bruised by the impact.

  Misty slowly got up, trying to ignore her pain and press on. But right next to her, one of the same boys who ran past her on the bridge was crying. His ankle is visibly swollen.

  Across the street, the same girl from before, not nearly as injured, was crying for help, and unable to find her mother.

  The pale drones were both coming for them. Misty silently apologized, and grabbed the boy, using the patch of ice to quickly slide across from one point to the next. She securely held both children in her arms, unsure of where to take them, but determined to keep them safe.

  But then, a wall of ice emerged from the street, surrounding the three, ensuring that there was no escape. The gray puppets encased her feet in ice.

  The children screamed. “I’m sorry I made fun of you!”

  “I don’t know what’s happening!”

  Above her, a giant ice spear was aiming for her like a missile.

  Clutching the children to her chest, Misty froze in hopelessness. Her tears stung her cold cheeks. Thoughts of her short life flashed before her eyes, preparing for the inevitable impact.

  ‘I’m finally going to apologize to you in person, Raphaelle…’