I close my eyes and think of that day in the rain. Marjorie's bright yellow raincoat. My blue socks. The lively pink in our cheeks, not the burn of fever in Anna's. I take off my mittens and press my cold hands to my face. I miss Marjorie so much, I could cry. I don't know what to do without her singing me to sleep, making games of rainstorms, sneaking me slices of apple pie. It has been so long since I've seen so many colours all together that I'm afraid I might have forgotten them. They only blue I can picture is watery sky. The only yellow the murky medicine Dr Turner gives us. But there must be more out there. There must be brighter things.