That Morning, Michael James Felt Worse. He Was Struggling to Breathe. “Nicholas, I don’t need anything—none of your medicines, nothing. Just please, let me say goodbye to my Friend. I beg you. Unhook all of this from me…” He nodded to the IV drips. “I can’t go like this. You understand, I just can’t…” A tear traced down his cheek. Nicholas knew if he disconnected everything, Michael might not make it to the door. The men from the ward gathered around. “Nicholas, surely something can be done? It’s not right, this isn’t right…” “I know…I do. But this is a hospital—everything sterile, by the book.” “To hell with that…Look, the man can’t leave in peace.” Nicholas understood. But what could he do? He stood up. He could do anything. To hell with the rules, to hell with his father’s business. If they fire him, so be it. He abruptly turned, locking eyes with Anna. Admiration was written all over her face. Nicholas ran out to the street. “Friend, I’m asking you, be quiet—maybe no one will notice. Come on, let’s go see your master.” He’d just opened the door when Emma Edwards blocked his way. “And what is this?” “Emma Edwards…please, I’m begging you. Five minutes. Let them say goodbye. If you must, fire me after.” She was silent for a moment. Who knows what was going through her mind, but then she stepped aside. “Alright. Let them fire me too then.” “Friend, with me!” Nicholas raced down the hospital corridor, Friend beside him. Ahead, Anna opened the door. The dog, as if sensing something, bounded ahead—another leap and Friend was at Michael James’s bedside, front paws on the mattress. A hush fell over the ward. Michael opened his eyes, tried to raise a hand, but the IV lines tangled him. So he ripped them out with his other hand. “Friend! You came…” The dog laid his head on Michael’s chest. Michael petted him—once, twice. He smiled… the smile lingered on his lips. His hand slipped away. Someone said, “The dog’s crying…” Nicholas approached the bed. Friend truly was weeping. “That’s it. Let’s go…let’s go…” * Nicholas perched on the garden wall, while Friend disappeared into the bushes to lie down. One of the ward mates—who’d once handed over his own dinner—came by, offering up a pack of cigarettes. Nicholas looked at him, meant to say he didn’t smoke, then changed his mind. He lit up. Anna sat beside him. Her eyes were red and her nose puffy. “Anna…today’s my last day.” “Why?” “You see, at first I was here as punishment, then to prove to Dad I could do it… He was going to give me the business. But it’s not about the business. I can’t do this. I’m going home. I’ll just tell him—your son’s no good. I’m sorry, Anna…” Nicholas left. He handed in his notice and packed his things. Anna watched from the window as he pulled up in his Mercedes, got out, opened the passenger door, and headed for the bushes. After saying something softly to Friend, he returned to the car and waited. The dog joined him five minutes later, staring into Nicholas’s eyes before leaping in. Anna wept again. “You’re not useless, Nicholas! You’re the best!” * A few days later Anna saw a man, who looked an awful lot like Nicholas, walking with the chief doctor. She rushed down the stairs and out to the street. “Are you Nicholas’s dad?” The chief looked surprised. “Anna, what’s going on?” “Wait, Dr. Nicholas, you can fire me later! So are you his dad?” Vadim Oliver looked baffled by this petite girl with the lovely freckles. “I am.” “You mustn’t! Do you hear me? You mustn’t believe Nicholas is useless! He’s the best! He was the only one brave enough to help a dying man say goodbye to his friend! Nicholas has a heart and a soul!” Anna turned and marched back inside. Vadim Oliver smiled. “Did you see that?” The chief replied, “So what can you do? She’s a good kid, but always insists on the truth!” “That so bad?” “Not always good…” *** Three years passed. Out of a beautiful house came an entire family. Nicholas pushed the pram, while Anna held the lead of a magnificent dog. At the riverside, Anna let the dog run. “Friend, don’t wander too far!” The dog bounded to the river. In a couple of minutes, the child in the pram let out a cry. Friend raced back to the pram in two massive leaps. Anna laughed. “Nicholas, looks like we won’t need a nanny! What’s the matter? Oh, Sonya just lost her dummy.” The baby soon slept again. Friend peered into the pram, made sure all was well, and dashed off after a butterfly…

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 5 min

That morning, things grew worse for Michael. He struggled for breath.

Nick, I dont want anything. None of your medicine, nothing. Just, please, let me say goodbye to Buddy. Please. Take all this away He gave a weary nod at the drips and wires beside his bed. I cant leave like this. Do you understand? I just cant

A single tear rolled down his cheek. Nick knew if he removed the equipment, Michael might not make it to the exit.

Soon, the other men from the ward gathered round.

Come on, Nick, surely you can think of something? Its not right

I know, Nick replied, But this is a hospitalall sterile.

So what? Look at himhe cant even say goodbye.

Nick understood. But what could he do? He stood up, feeling the full weight of it. He could do anything, really. To hell with the rules, to hell with his fathers company. If they sacked him, so be it. He turned sharply, catching Annas gaze. In her eyes was admiration.

Nick darted out into the morning.

Buddy, Im begging you, stay quiet. Maybe nobody will even notice. Come on, lets go to your master.

He opened the door, but his way was blocked. Emma Edwards stood before him.

Whats going on here?

Miss Edwards Please, five minutes. Let them say goodbye. I understandif you need to sack me, do it after.

She paused for a long moment. Who knows what went through her mind, but then she quietly stepped aside.

Very well. They can sack me too, then.

Buddy, come!

Nick dashed down the hospital hallway, with Buddy close by. Ahead, Anna held the door open. Sensing something, Buddy shot forward, reaching the bedside in two great leaps he reared up on hind legs, front paws on the linen, muzzle pressed against Michaels chest.

Utter silence. Michael opened his eyes. He tried to lift his arm, but the tubes held him back. He simply pulled them out with the other hand.

Buddy! You came

The old dog laid his head across Michaels chest. Michael stroked Buddy for a while. Then he managed a smile a smile that lingered, frozen on his lips as his hand slipped away. Someone softly whispered, The dog is crying

Nick stepped to the bed. Buddy really was crying.

All right now. Come on lets go

***

Nick perched on the low garden wall outside, Buddy slinking off into the bushes. One of the men from the wardhed once been the first to share his sausagescame over, offering a pack of cigarettes. Nick looked, about to refuse, then changed his mind and lit one.

Anna sat down beside him, eyes red and nose puffy.

Anna todays my last day.

Why?

You see, at first, working here was a punishment. Then I just wanted to prove to my father I could do ithe was supposed to give me his company. But its not about the company. I cant do this anymore. Ill go home, and tell him straightyour sons no good at all. Forgive me, Anna

Nick left, filing the paperwork and packing up. Anna watched through the window as he rolled up to the front in his Mercedes, got out, opened the passenger door and walked to the hedges. He spoke gently to Buddy, then returned to the car, leaning against it to wait. Five minutes later, the dog padded over, gazed up at Nick, then leapt into the car.

Anna began to cry once more.

Youre not worthless! Youre the best there is!

***

A couple of days later, Anna spotted a man walking along the corridor with the head doctor. He looked ever so much like Nick. She rushed down the stairs and out into the yard.

Are you Nicks father?

The director looked surprised.

Anna, whats going on?

Wait, Dr. Nichols, you can fire me afterward! Butare you Nicks father?

Vadim Oliver stood there, just as taken aback at this small freckled girl.

I am.

You mustnt! Do you hear me! Dont you ever think Nick is worthless! Hes the besthe was the only one brave enough to let a dying man say goodbye to his best friend. Nick has heart. And he has a soul!

With that, Anna turned and marched back inside. Vadim smiled gently.

Did you hear her?

Dr. Nichols responded, What do you do with a girl like that? Shes good-hearted, but always demands the absolute truth!

And is that so bad?

Not always good, either

***

Three years passed.

Out of the gates of a handsome English house came a family. Nick pushed a pram; Anna, on a lead, walked a huge, glossy dog. They strolled to the riverbank, where Anna let Buddy roam.

Buddy, dont stray far!

The dog bounded for the water, tail wagging. Moments later, the baby in the pram began to fuss. Buddy raced back over in two great leaps.

Anna laughed.

Nick, it looks like we wont be needing a nanny. Whats got you all flustered? Sophie only dropped her dummy!

The baby nodded off again. Satisfied, Buddy poked his nose in the pram, glanced at Anna, then bounded off after a butterfly, ensuringalwaysthat everything was as it should be.

I Shouted Out the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Your Death!” — She Turned, Waved Her Shovel in Greeting, and Called Back: “Doing My Best for You Lazybones.” — The Next Day, My Mum Was Gone… I Still Can’t Walk Past Our Old Garden Without Tears… Every Time I See That Footpath, My Heart Clenches Like Someone’s Grabbing It. It Was Me Who Took That Photo on January Second… I Was Just Passing By, Noticed Her Footprints in the Snow—And Stopped. I Snapped a Picture, Not Even Sure Why. Now, That Photo Is All I Have Left of Those Days… We Celebrated New Year’s Just Like Always, All Together. Mum Was Up Early on the 31st, and I Woke to the Smell of Frying Burgers and Her Voice from the Kitchen: “Darling, Get Up! Come Help Me Finish the Salads, or Your Dad Will Eat All the Ingredients Again While We’re Not Looking!” I Came Downstairs Still in My Pyjamas, Hair a Mess. She Was at the Stove in Her Favourite Peach-Print Apron—the One I Gave Her Back in School—Smiling, Cheeks Rosy from the Oven. “Mum, At Least Let Me Have My Coffee First,” I Groaned. “Coffee After! First, Chop the Veg—Small, the Way I Like. Not Like Last Time—Those Huge Cubes!” We Chopped and Chatted About Everything. She Reminisced About Her Childhood New Years—No Fancy Salads, Just Herring in a Fur Coat and the Oranges Her Dad Sneaked Home from Work. Then Dad Came In With the Tree—Absolutely Huge, Nearly Touching the Ceiling. “Alright Ladies, Accept This Beauty!” He Boomed. “Dad, Did You Bring Down the Whole Forest?” I Gasped. Mum Just Shook Her Head with a Smile: “It’s Lovely, But Where Will We Put It? Last Year’s Was Smaller.” Still, She Helped Decorate. My Little Sister and I Hung the Lights While Mum Dug Out the Old Glass Ornaments, Including a Tiny Angel She Said She’d Bought for My First New Year’s. “Remember This One?” She Asked Quietly. “I Do, Mum,” I Lied. Really, I Didn’t, But She Glowed from My Nod. My Brother Arrived Later, Loud as Ever—Arms Full of Presents and Bubbly. “Mum, I’ve Got Proper Champagne This Year! None of Last Year’s Cheap Stuff.” “Just Don’t Drink It All at Once,” She Laughed, Hugging Him. At Midnight, We All Went Out to the Garden. Dad and My Brother Set Off Fireworks, My Sister Screamed in Delight, and Mum Hugged Me Tight. “Look, Love, Isn’t It Beautiful? We’ve Got Such a Good Life…” I Hugged Her Back. “The Best Life, Mum.” We Drank Bubbly Straight from the Bottle, Laughed When a Rocket Nearly Hit the Neighbour’s Shed. A Bit Tipsy, Mum Danced in Her Wellies to “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”, and Dad Swept Her Up in His Arms. We Laughed Until We Cried. On New Year’s Day We Laid About; Mum Cooked Again—Now Dumplings and Aspic. “Mum, Enough, We’re Bursting!” I Complained. “Nonsense, You’ll Finish It Off. It’s New Year’s, It Lasts a Week,” She Brushed Me Off. January Second, She Was Up Early as Always. I Heard the Door Bang, Saw Her in the Garden With the Shovel—Clearing the Path in Her Old Parka and Scarf. She Did It So Carefully: A Narrow, Neat Path from the Gate to the Porch, Sweeping Snow Just the Way She Liked. I Shouted: “Mum, Why So Early? You’ll Catch a Chill!” She Looked Back, Waved Her Shovel: “Or Would You Lot Rather Trudge Through Drifts TIll Spring? Put the Kettle On, Will You?” I Grinned and Headed to the Kitchen. She Came Back in Half an Hour, Cheeks Glowing, Eyes Bright. “All Done, It Looks Lovely, Doesn’t It?” “Lovely, Mum. Thank You.” That Was the Last Time I Heard Her Cheerful Voice. On the Morning of the Third, She Whispered: “Girls, I’m Getting a Sharp Pain in My Chest. Not Bad, Just Annoying.” I Panicked: “Mum, Let’s Call an Ambulance?” “Oh Stop, Love. Just Overdid It, That’s All. I’ll Lie Down A Bit, It’ll Pass.” She Lay on the Sofa, My Sister and I Sitting With Her. Dad Went for Medicine. She Still Joked: “Don’t Look So Gloomy—I’ll Outlive the Lot of You.” But Then Her Face Went Pale. She Clutched Her Chest. “Oh… I Don’t Feel Well…” We Called the Paramedics. I Held Her Hand. Whispered: “Mummy, Hold On, They’re Coming, It’ll Be Alright…” She Looked at Me and Murmured: “Sweetheart… I Love You All So Much… I Don’t Want to Say Goodbye.” The Ambulance Came Quick, But… Nothing Could Be Done. Massive Heart Attack. It Happened So Fast. I Sat on the Hall Floor, Wailing. Couldn’t Believe It. Yesterday She Was Dancing, Laughing—Today She Was Gone. Barely Steady, I Went Out to the Garden. Soft Snow. Her Footprints, So Small and Neat, Were Still There—from the Gate to the Porch and Back. I Stood and Stared for the Longest Time. Asked God How It Was Possible: Yesterday, She Walked Here, Left Her Prints—Now She Was Gone. The Tracks Were There, but She Wasn’t. Maybe She Really Did Step Out That Last Time Just to Leave Us a Clear Path—So We Could Walk On After Her. I Didn’t Clear the Tracks, and Asked Everyone Else Not To. Let them Stay Until the Snow Takes Them Naturally. That Was the Last Thing Mum Did for Us—Looking After Us Even When She Was Gone. A Week Later, Heavy Snow Fell. I Keep That Photo with Her Last Footprints. Every January Third, I Look at It—and Then at the Now-Empty Path by Our House. It Hurts So Much Knowing Her Last Steps Are Still Somewhere Under That Snow. Those Are the Steps I Still Try to Follow…

Midnight Express The doors of the night bus folded like concertinas, sending waves of warm air billowing into the cool London night. Five rowdy lads tumbled aboard, scuffing their muddy trainers on every surface they could find: steps, poles, and the unlucky ankles of fellow passengers. No one among the disparate group of lone night travellers—united by this single late-night route—dared challenge the boisterous, tipsy group, their eyes wild as they loudly debated the many places and occasions for their supposed amorous exploits. Everyone tried to out-shout the others, boasting about whom, where, and what for, their raucous laughter punctuated by toasts and the clinking of bottles. They turned the back of the bus into an off-license drinks counter, bashing bottle bottoms together after each burst of laughter. The engine grumbled, the doors hissed, the concertina snapped straight, and the old Routemaster pulled away from the station-like stop. Aside from the newcomers, there were about ten souls in the dim carriage, including the conductor—a weary woman whose spectacles looked old enough to have seen the Blitz. “Tickets, lads,” she intoned, voice braced for trouble, clutching her roll of tickets. “Got a travelcard,” belched one. “Me too!” “Same here!” The last, barely eighteen—peach fuzz, awkward movements, uncertain eyes—put on the loudest show, confident in the safety of numbers. “Let’s see them, then,” said the woman, unimpressed. “Show us yours first!” jeered the broadest, spitting beer foam as he spoke. “I’m the conductor,” she replied flatly. “And I’m an electrician! So should I get free leccy then?” retorted the lad with the bottomless beer bottle, sticky beer running down his jacket, its stale waft filling the bus. “Either pay up or get off,” she countered. As if cued, the bus stopped; the rest of the passengers silently filed out at the next stop. “We told you, we’ve got travelcards,” insisted the youngest, chest puffed. “Take us back to the depot, Val,” the conductor called to the unseen driver. “Yeah, Val, take us to the depot,” the lads mocked, feigning tears. The doors clattered shut and the bus reversed course. The boys laughed for ten seconds, but as the Routemaster picked up speed, one finally noticed, half-sober, “How did the bus turn in the road if it’s electric and runs on wires?” The others shrugged—it didn’t matter. The bus went faster, overtaking cars, its bulbs fading to black. Only the flickering streetlights and neon signs cut through the gloom inside. The conductor sat still, gaze fixed ahead, and the stops vanished. “Oi! Where are you taking us?” one called out. Silence. “Driver! Stop! Let us off!” Their voices faltered, panic overtaking bravado. The conductor didn’t move. They left the city, slipping onto a rural lane; the only light ahead flickered in the driver’s cabin. Their phones showed no signal, no internet. Desperate, one lad stood over the conductor, spitting threats. “You know where I work? If I’m not at my desk tomorrow, your pension’s gone!” The headlights died. “Please, let us out—I need to revise for A-Levels!” the awkward youth squeaked. The bus tore through the night, engine howling. The bravado was gone; memories stirred of hostage survival guides, desperate hands tried smashing windows with beer bottles or prying open doors, but nothing worked. Finally, someone offered cash. “Here, keep the change! Just take us back! Please!” But the conductor sat frozen, unmoved by pleas, guilt trips or tears. The bus hurtled on, until it reached a huge, dark lake. “Where are we?” the lads whispered. “They’re going to drown us,” sobbed the youngest. “Serge, you know how to drive a bus? Think we can rush them?” someone mumbled hopefully, but Serge just shook his head. At last, the front door opened, and the conductor stepped onto the verge. In the moonlight, she rummaged in the driver’s cabin—returning with a long object. “That’s it—this is it—they’ll shoot us… dump us in the lake…” Even the electrician was speechless, eyes puffy with tears. Suddenly, the lights flared. The conductor strode in, thunked down a mop and a bucket at their trembling feet, and smiled: “When you’re done washing the walls, I’ll give you cloths for the seats and floors. Then you’ll go home. Any objections?” The five shook their heads in unison. Night stretched on. Two fetched water, one swapped out cloths, two emptied buckets into some mysterious barrel—this bus had clearly made this run before. They finished at dawn; the Routemaster gleamed, glass sparkling. The lads, sober and subdued, worked quietly, in step. When it was finished, the conductor clipped their tickets and the bus rolled back to the city. The midnight rebels were dropped at stops along the way, and the old double-decker set off again—to greet the new day and new passengers.