The bed in her father’s hospital room was empty, creased sheets still in place. Lumi would never forgive herself for not making it in time. They hadn’t spoken in years.
A nurse came over. “Would you like to see his last dream?”
Lumi swallowed her guilt and nodded. A blinding white glow filled the handheld screen. Was it even working?
“Sorry, that’s all there is,” the nurse said. “We don’t know what it means.”
Lumi stared hard. The whiteness had a grainy texture to it, like particles in motion. Dancing and swirling.
“It’s snow,” she said. “Like my name, Lumi.”
Sylvia Heike is a speculative fiction writer from Finland. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Flash Fiction Online, PodCastle, and elsewhere. When not writing, she likes to go hiking and looking for birds. Read more at www.sylviaheike.com or follow her on Twitter @sylviaheike
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