The sun glowed like a red ruby behind the thick canopy of bald cypress trees. Rays of light filtered through the early morning fog and curtains of hanging moss, reflecting a gradient of peach and yellow over the surface of the swamp's still water. A choir of birds filled the forest with a dozen different symphonies, caws, and chirps, greeting the dawn.

A woman with wild and thick dark gray-streaked curls wrapped in a long ponytail walked along a path shaded by elderly oaks while humming a lullaby someone once sang to her long ago. Layers of necklaces– including a thumb-sized alligator tooth charm– jangled around her neck as she walked. She swung a keychain around her finger before slapping a mosquito on her arm. Decaying leaves crunched loudly under her boots, and she cursed the mosquito under her breath.

Her gaze landed on the shriveled-up corpse of a possum laying next to a cluster of cattails and ferns. Flies buzzed around its eyes. The humidity only amplified the offensive, rotten stench of death. She wiped away the beads of sweat collecting on her forehead and cursed again.

She hated the swamp. She always hated it, and she wished that her father's bill never passed and that legislation wasn't written to protect the marshlands. Those law people always went on preaching about life and the importance of preservation, yet all she saw here was death. The swamp is an illusion of life— only a beautiful illusion because everything goes here to die.

After a short trek through the swamp, the woman made it to the civilized part of southern Louisiana— the town. Unlike the mossy wooden platforms and dirt paths on the swamp, the town was lined with concrete roads and smooth sidewalks. The buildings here were stable and in good condition– not dilapidated like the swamp houses– and their painted balconies exemplified the taming of nature. Baskets of ferns, with leaves and flowers spilling over the hanging pots, decorated the ornate railings of almost every structure.

A rusty green metal sign with cursive letters reading Evergreen Market creaked loudly overhead, and she made a show of excessively jangling her keys as she unlocked her store to drown out that terrible creaking sound. Not even an hour passed before her first customers of the day arrived.

"A dozen apples... that'll be $10," she said before counting the cash and handing her customers a pair of heavy paper bags. "Will that be all for you today, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis?"

"Yes dear, thank you," Mr. Ellis said. He stepped aside, indicating that he was ready to leave. Another creak, almost too quiet to hear, sounded as he walked over a loose floorboard.

Charlotte gritted her chattering teeth and hid her trembling hands behind the counter.

"I can't believe it's already late July, it feels like June was just yesterday," Ms. Ellis chuckled.

June. That word sent an icy chill down Charlotte's spine, like a cursed incantation. Her heart beat fast, and she gripped the counter to remind herself that she was safe, she didn't need to run away this time.

"Say, Charlotte, will we be seeing you tomorrow night?" Mrs. Ellis continued joyfully, completely oblivious to Charlotte's startled face.

June. The broken bridge. June. The moon. June. Splash. No, June, no..!

Charlotte blinked in confusion. What were they talking about again? Something about tonight... "Tomorrow night? I'm afraid not, you know I usually close the shop at 5 o'clock sharp."

Mrs. Ellis chuckled loudly. "Well, aren't you precious? I'm talking about the festival tomorrow night, silly! Remember, where we celebrate the founding of the town? Everybody's going to be there. I reckon you'd have a good time," she winked. "Mrs. Moore will be making her famous shrimp gumbo, and I'll be selling apple custard pie!"

Charlotte nodded as a courtesy, gulping down the sudden sentimental knot in her throat. Stay. Focus. I'm here, in the store. My store. Hurry, say something. "Well, Mrs. Ellis, I wasn't exactly fixin' to go, since I do have a whole list of things to do."

"Come on, you're pestering the poor girl," Mr. Ellis rushed his wife.

"Oh, I know you're a busy bee," Mrs. Ellis waved him away as if swatting away a fly. "I hope I see you anyway."

They exchanged polite goodbyes. The older couple was barely out the door when Charlotte heard the woman whisper to her husband, "Bless her heart... she's been through so much."

The shop became busy that day, with hoards of townspeople picking up last-minute ingredients for the annual festival. Outside, people were festooning string lights between lampposts. The sun hadn't even set yet when Charlotte finally locked the store. The streets were quiet as people finished decorating. Tomorrow night, they would be full of noise— drunken laughter, excited chattering, pride hidden as humility seeking compliments, and just noise— too much noise.

In all her years of living in Louisiana, Charlotte had never gone to the festival. She only ever heard the echo of distant joy carry over to her house on the swamp. It was an event she didn't allow herself to attend because she believed herself unworthy and undeserving of feeling anything other than profound regret. This is why Charlotte decided to head straight back home after closing the shop, just as she had done every year the festival rolled around.

The sun stalked her like an evil red eye from behind silhouettes of weeping willows and drooping moss. Charlotte's fingertips were starting to numb, but it wasn't even that cold yet. She closed and opened her fists repeatedly, fingertips digging into her palm each time to ground herself, and focused on the crunching of fallen leaves under her boots. The sunset painted the swamp a hazy orange, and reflections of tired bald cypress trees created the illusion of flickering flames in the water.

Charlotte kept walking, but the voice of Ms. Ellis this morning replayed in her head: Bless her heart... she's been through so much. She'd said it with such pity, Charlotte wasn't sure if she welcomed it or hated it. Is this what everyone in the town felt when they thought about her? Thirty years had passed since the incident, eventually, they would have to forget and move on. It was Charlotte's grief to hold, not theirs. Why couldn't they just shut up about it, and stop with their fake pity? They could never understand, why certain words made the hair on her arms and neck stand, why certain names sent her soul temporarily out of her body, why she could be there physically but her eyes in a distant world entirely, or why she tossed and turned every night fighting the urge to scream out all the agony and vomit out her insides. Why did they bother to pretend, to act as if they cared? She knew she was alone, utterly alone. No one else saw it happen how she did.

Charlotte found herself frozen in her tracks before a broken bridge. A warm tear slithered down her cheek as she watched branches on the other side of the bridge rustle gently in the wind. She took out the small bundle of purple hyacinths she'd stored in her satchel and placed it gently at the base of the bridge. She reached out to touch the wooden railing, her hand shaking. She heard echoes of giggles— herself thirty years ago— and her father's playful tone...

***

"What's over here?" A young Charlotte had suddenly let go of her father's hand to run over to a wooden bridge overlooking lily pads and ivy green water glittering in soft sunlight. Just before she could step on it, her father lifted her up in the air. He'd twirled her around before holding her in the safety of his strong arms.

"Whoa, hold your horses, little magpie! You can't go over there, it's not safe."

"But why not? I wanna see the other side!"

"Because it's an old, old bridge, even older than your Papa. You don't want to end up drenched in dirty swamp water, do you?"

"Yuck! No!"

***

Charlotte repelled her hand from the wooden railing and wiped away the tears flooding her eyes. It's not as if she hadn't visited the broken bridge before. She'd made it a tradition to visit the night before the annual festival as a way to pay her respects. More than respect, it was torture. A night to count regrets and curse her own prolonged existence. She tried to stifle her sob, but it was too late. The memories began rushing in, one by one...

***

Memories of scorching early summer days took over– she was just ten years old– when her mother and father would argue playfully over which station to tune into on the big box radio. Her father would turn the knob to a report covering the latest news on the Watergate scandal. When he wasn't looking, Charlotte's mother would switch the station to one playing Fleetwood Mac, and then her father would laugh and say if they wanted music then why didn't they just say so— and static would fill the room as he switched to what he considered "real" music— a station playing Creedence Clearwater Revival. Back and forth, they would sneakily switch stations until the voices and music of John Lennon, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin had bounced off the walls of their house on the swamp.

Suddenly, Charlotte's father had started being out almost every day, collecting signatures from people in town and debating in meetings about the importance of preserving the swamp. Her mother, who had promised her father she'd stay home to look after Charlotte, would kiss her forehead goodbye before heading out to march in protests against the oil and gas industries that threatened to buy land and misuse it.

I'll be back in two hours, three max turned into four, five, and six hours as the sun descended farther down the horizon. The stars had always appeared before either of her parents did. The afternoons had been silent except for the chirping and croaking of the swamp. Sometimes, she chewed on her own hair to distract herself from hunger. Charlotte had eventually figured out ways to feel less lonely. She would fiddle with the knobs on the radio until the static changed into gentle guitar strums and hazy voices performing psychedelic rock.

That was the summer she met June, the girl with bright eyes and insatiable hunger for adventure. Charlotte had bumped into her– literally– while playing in the marsh one lonely afternoon. Charlotte had ventured deep into the swamp chasing frogs until a giant cicada buzzed near her ear. This had sent her running frantically for her life, and she hadn't stopped until she'd collided straight into June.

"Hey, watch where you're goin'!" June had snapped while dusting herself off. She'd looked to be about Charlotte's age with hair that was straight down to her waist like it hadn't been cut in years. Almost like a mermaid.

"I'm so sorry, there was– there was a giant bug chasing me," Charlotte had trembled, not yet over the shock.

June had looked her up and down, her angry brows unfurrowing and a small smile appearing on her face. "Yeah, there's a lot of those 'round here. You'll get used to it," she had said reassuringly. "What are you doin' out here so late?"

"My parents are out... They're busy.. doing work stuff."

"Work stuff," June had repeated and nodded with a knowing expression.

"What about yours?"

"Let's just say, they're also busy doing work stuff." June had stretched out her hand and said, "My name's June, let's be friends."

It had become a routine, saying goodbye to her father in the morning and then bye to her mother a few hours after. Charlotte hadn't minded it much anymore, because she was no longer alone. She hadn't gone hungry anymore either, because June taught her how to cook scrambled eggs. June had said that in the swamp, everyone had to learn how to survive— not just the animals.

Charlotte and June had spent the afternoons exploring the swamp, chasing frogs and dragonflies through the tall, wet grass. Sometimes, they would watch butterflies flutter over the swamp. The butterflies had a habit of landing on what looked like jagged logs drifting in the murky water. June had said they needed to rest their wings from flying so much, but Charlotte had thought it was strange how they only chose to land on the parts of the logs that looked like eyes. Catching frogs was their favorite activity, though. One day, June had tried to show Charlotte a tiny frog with bright speckled green skin, but it had leaped out of her cupped hands and bounced off Charlotte's forehead, sending both of them into a cascade of giggles.

Lately, neither Charlotte's father nor mother would return until the morning, complaining about what busy days they'd had, playfully debating over who was doing more important things for the town. Sometimes it didn't sound so playful.

At night, Charlotte and June would watch the stars from Charlotte's porch swing.

"You're not from 'round here, are you?" June had asked.

"No," Charlotte had said, watching the stars twinkle high above. "I used to live in a city, but my dad wanted us to move because he said people didn't appreciate him over there, something about wanting to do more important things."

"Do you miss the city?"

Charlotte had stayed quiet. The crickets had filled the silence, and she had thought about it for a minute before answering, "Sometimes. But, you can't see the stars there like you can here." Charlotte had reached up, imagining she could hold one.

Curse the stars...

"I'm happy you moved here," June had grinned. "We would've never been best friends if you didn't."

Maybe it would have been for the best...

"I'm happy I met you too, June," Charlotte had smiled back.

One afternoon, Charlotte had come back from playing at the swamp to find both her parents in the house.

"You're finally home!" she exclaimed.

"And so are you," her mother had said playfully, looking up from her painted signs on the ground. She'd caught sight of the faded mud stains on her daughter's dress and smiled. "Looks like someone's been enjoying the swamp!"

"Yes! I caught a giant toad today, he was thiiiis big," she had stretched out her palms and mimed holding the toad. "Dad, are you looking? He was so big, I bet even you wouldn't be able to hold him."

"That's great, honey," her father had mumbled from his desk.

"Now that we're all here, let's do something together." Charlotte had bent down to hug her mom, who had been sitting crisscrossed painting signs and ran to nestle her cheek against her father's arm.

"Not now. We're busy, Charlotte," her father had muttered, not bothering to look up from the pile of books and papers on his desk. Charlotte had let go of his motionless arm.

"You guys are never around anymore..." Charlotte had mumbled, staring at the wooden floor.

Charlotte's mother had extended her arms to hug her, and Charlotte had melted into her embrace.

"Sweetie," she had started while tapping her nose lightly, "you are just one little girl. You will be okay. But there are hundreds of other people depending on us, don't you think that's important? We have to fight for this town, to protect it. It's given us so much– life, all the beauty outside, a home– we have to protect it."

"But you're my mom and dad, you're supposed to take care of me."

"Don't pout," her mother's voice had suddenly grown tight with impatience. "And don't be so spoiled, you need to learn to grow up. Mommy and Daddy won't always be there to take care of you, and then what are you going to do, hm?"

Charlotte's little hands had tightened into fists as she gripped her dress, gulping down the frustrated knot in her throat. "But you're here now, so why don't you care? You promised we'd be together. We moved here so we would spend more time together. You lied!"

"Little lady, you better learn some respect! I've had it up to here—"

"Would everyone just shut up!" Her dad had bellowed. "I'm trying to concentrate, this bill needs to be ready by tomorrow. Why can't I just get some goddamn peace and quiet for once?"

Charlotte's mother had stood up and glared at Charlotte. "Good job, now you've gone and upset your father," she'd muttered through gritted teeth. Her mother had massaged her father's shoulders as an apology, and said, "Remember the bill you passed a couple of years ago? You were just fresh out of college too, I'm sure you can do it again. I believe in you, hun. Maybe you could include how tourism will make up revenues—"

Charlotte's father had flinched and shoved her hands away. "Ten years ago. I haven't done anything important in ten. Stop with the little pity voice, and stop giving suggestions when no one asks for your help. I can do it myself, okay?! Why don't you just stick to your picket signs."

"Fine. Good luck convincing them tomorrow."

The next night, neither of Charlotte's parents had come home. She couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong, terribly wrong, that she had to do something, now, but she didn't know what. Charlotte had met up with June in the swamp and couldn't even force out a hello before bursting into tears. June had held her and listened while she wept and spoke between choked breaths, how her parents cared more about the stupid town than her, they didn't even care where she was, and they probably wouldn't even care if she died.

When her tears had subsided, June finally confessed her own truth. "You know... my parents don't care 'bout me anymore, either. All they care about is which of them can yell louder. I tried to stop them from fighting... but it's like when you try an' get two hissin' cats from fighting, somebody's gonna end up scratched and bleeding, so I'd rather be out here than there."

Charlotte had sniffed back a tear. "I don't much like cats."

June had snorted. "Me neither!"

They walked over to Charlotte's house to stargaze from her front porch. Charlotte had wiped away her tears as June had hummed a slow and soft lullaby. She had begun to drift asleep to the peaceful sound of her friend humming, taking in the reflection of the stars and crescent moon shining on the beautiful bayou before closing her eyes.

The next morning, Charlotte had woken up alone in her room to hear muffled whimpering coming from the living room. To her surprise, she'd found her father slouched over his desk, a contorted and tearful face hidden in his strong hands.

"Papa? What's wrong?" she had asked, staying near the doorframe.

"Nothing, little magpie," he had quickly wiped his tears and straightened up. "It's just," he had gritted his teeth, staring out the window, "the government and the industries don't care about the swamp, they don't care about the people living here, they don't care about any of it. They're just driven by greed, all they see is money. Everything out there is profit. 'Oh, oh, we need to take advantage of this wasteland, the alligator infestations are out of control, and the oil and gas drilling will do a better job of raising revenues for Louisiana.' No. All they care about is lining their pockets. Before you know it, all of this will be gone."

Charlotte had tilted her head and furrowed her brows in concern. There he went again, using all those big words she didn't understand. Judging by the tightness in his voice, and the angry tears he hadn't allowed to escape his eyes, Charlotte knew enough to know she should be worried, too.

"Dad, don't give up." She had reached out and touched his arm.

Why did she say it?

All she had wanted was her parents' affection. She had wanted those early summer days of switching songs on the big box radio back. She had wanted her father to hold her by the hand while they explored, and for her mother to have sat her on her lap while they painted the scenery together. If there had been nothing else to fight for, wouldn't they have finally paid attention to her?

Maybe, maybe not.

Her father had turned to face her, eyebrows raised in surprise. He had smiled gently, tears peeking over his eyelashes.

The truth was that she didn't like seeing her mom and dad sad. If fighting for the swamp was what made them happy, then so be it. She had loved them, more than they could ever know, and she'd sacrifice her own happiness and hope just to make sure they could still smile and keep fighting for what they believed in.

"I'll fight for you, Charlotte," he had squeezed her small hand gently. "By God, I will keep fighting for this swamp for you. Your generation won't have to suffer and fight as hard as I did. And tomorrow night, we will go to the festival. All together, one small, happy family."

Charlotte's face had beamed bright, and she had jumped up and down clapping her hands in happiness. "All together? Yes! Finally! I can't wait! Can I bring my best friend, June, pretty please, please? Her parents aren't nice like you and Mom. But she's really nice! She's the best, she taught me how to make eggs and catch frogs!"

Her father had laughed– a warm, nurturing laugh— and had said, "Of course we can bring her, the more the merrier."

That afternoon, Charlotte had raced out to the usual meeting spot in the swamp to tell June the good news. But June wasn't there. She wasn't there for the first five minutes, nor the next ten. Charlotte had poked a stick in the water, sighing as the algae swirled around. Suddenly, something shook her shoulders from behind and rattled her to the core.

"BOO!" The shrill voice had cackled.

"JUNE! Don't scare me like that, it's not funny!" Charlotte had angrily tossed the stick in the water. "I was going to tell you good news but now you made me mad."

"Aww, come on, tell me! I'm sorry, okay! It was just a joke."

One of her eyes had been hidden by strands of hair. When Charlotte had pointed it out, June had just said that's how the cool girls in the magazines wear it. June was beyond elated to hear about her invitation to the festival and had demanded she and Charlotte collect charms for necklaces to wear for that night. How June had convinced her to cross the bridge her father always warned her about she didn't remember, but everything after that was beautiful yet hauntingly vivid.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Charlotte had gritted her teeth as she stepped onto the creaky bridge. The sun had begun to set, casting a hazy orange glint over the motionless water.

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure? We're about to cross into a secret world... where fairies hide under mushrooms and dance around the sky. It's magic. But you have to be brave, that's the only way you can cross," June had asserted, walking backward up the bridge ahead of her.

"I'm brave..." Charlotte had whispered to herself, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn't see the way the nails on the bridge shook.

"What? I can't hear you!"

"I'm brave... I'm BRAVE! I'M BRAVE I'M BRAVE!"

"Open your eyes, silly," June had laughed.

Charlotte had gasped. She was standing on dirt, on the other side of the bridge. "I did it!"

"You did it!" June had cheered, taking her hands as they laughed and jumped around in circles. The hair over June's left side had swayed to reveal crimson and deep purple swirls around her eye and upper cheek. Charlotte didn't question it. They were in a new world now.

The jolly strum of a banjo accompanied by a harmonica had confirmed this truth, echoing from the sunset-stained water, where the silhouette of two bearded men wearing straw hats sat in a boat. Charlotte adored music. It almost felt like it had been a performance just for them, welcoming them in. It really was magic.

The girls had run hand in hand into the woods, where they chuckled as they stalked a tall bird with white frizzy feathers and a long black beak march across the grass. Charlotte had wondered if it'd been struck by lightning with the way its feathers stuck out in all directions, but June had said it would probably not have feathers if it had been.

June had squealed with excitement and motioned Charlotte over to a shrub. She'd opened her hands to reveal two, sharp, thumb-sized teeth. Alligator teeth.

"The fairies left us a gift," June gushed. "One for you... and one for me. We're going to be best friends forever, Charlotte!"

"Yes, forever and ever and ever!" Charlotte had cried out and hugged June. When she held her alligator tooth, she almost cried tears of joy. It felt cool and sharp against her palm.

How could something so dangerous feel so safe?

When the moon and stars had replaced the sun and clouds, Charlotte and June had found themselves in a clearing haloed by birch and spruce trees. They'd chased each other through tall grass with hands outstretched to the side. When they'd brushed past the overgrown grass, dozens of fireflies fluttered out and lit up the night with tiny yellow bulbs. June called them fairies. Charlotte had watched in awe as they zipped about and danced around them.

All nights come to an end, of course. After their legs had begun to ache, they'd decided it was time to head home. They had walked away from the land of the fireflies, past the twisted tree branches and shadows until they'd reached the bridge. But now, dense fog had obscured the surface of the water. The men on the boat were gone, and even the crickets had gone silent. The moon had gleamed eerily. June had motioned her friend over, but she shook her head.

"It's too dark, I'm scared," Charlotte had shrunken into herself.

June had smiled softly. "Hold my hand, we'll go together. It's gonna be ok, you'll see."

Charlotte would believe anything June said. If the fireflies were fairies, then they were fairies. If that janky old bridge was safe, then it was safe.

She had taken her hand, feeling complete comfort in her company. The floorboards had creaked underneath them as they stepped on. The bridge had trembled, as if threatening them. Warning them. The creaking had suddenly erupted into an ear-shattering crack as the boards beneath them collapsed. Without thinking, Charlotte had snapped her hand back out of June's grasp, lost balance, and rolled down one side of the bridge, pieces of split wood splintering her skin on the way down. She fell head-first into the dirt and her head bounced back.

Splash.

"Charlotte..." a small voice trembled.

Charlotte had sat up, her heavy head pulsating, and had turned her head towards the voice. June was in the water. The fog had cleared up for just a moment to reveal a dozen twinkling lights in the water around June. Why were there stars in the water? Why were they flickering.. blinking?

Teeth. So many teeth.

The blood had drained from Charlotte's face and her entire body went cold. She had covered her eyes and turned away, her heart pounding as the horrible screams from her beloved friend surrounded her.

"NO!! NO!! JUNE!!!" Charlotte had screamed and buried her head in the dirt, gripping the grass and mud as she heard the violent splashes and sounds of an agonizing death that would forever be ingrained in her nightmares. Words do not exist to capture the horrific cacophony of noise that echoed through the swamp that night, and if they do, they're better left unsaid.

After what had felt like an eternity, it all went quiet. The stars in the sky, the stars in the water, the tall trees that loomed over the scene and Charlotte were the only witnesses.

"Why... why... why...?" She had groaned, not daring to lift her head even after the familiar hand of her father shook her shoulder. It had been too late.

***

Charlotte took a deep breath and sighed as she stood before the broken bridge. She finally became conscious of her hand gripping the cold alligator tooth charm on her necklace, but she didn't let go. June will never come back. Thirty miserable years, and she still couldn't let go of the pain suffocating her heart. Burning tears scalded her cheeks as she searched for who to blame for June's death and Charlotte's own empty life. Was June's drunkard father right, when he had yelled at young Charlotte for being a stupid child following an even more stupid kid across an unstable bridge? Was June's mother right, when she had cursed at Charlotte's parents for not watching over June and Charlotte? Was Charlotte's mother right, when she had cried every night blaming herself and June's parents for not being more present in their children's lives? Was Charlotte's father right, when he had said this was the government's fault for investing in oil industries instead of public infrastructure? Were onlookers from the town right, when they had said this was simply an unfortunate, completely blameless, accident?

In Charlotte's eyes, absolutely everyone was to blame. Even herself. If only June's parents would have taken better care of her instead of fighting, June wouldn't have had to fantasize about a better life that didn't exist. If Charlotte's parents had cared more about her whereabouts, she wouldn't have explored places she shouldn't. If Charlotte had just listened to her father's warning, she could have stopped June from crossing the bridge in the first place. They could have gone somewhere else, anywhere else but the bridge.

Charlotte had gone through her teenage years angry and secluded. No one could ever replace June. For years, she had felt frozen. Only time went on, and everyone around her had continued living as if her friend's death was just a bump in the road or a lesson to be learned.

Charlotte had ignored her father's aggressive rants about the government's failures, and she had screamed into her pillow and vomited the night he cheered about the bill he finally passed to protect the swamp. Charlotte's mother couldn't even look at her without feeling ashamed of herself. Whenever she had tried to console and talk to Charlotte about the death, her mother would suddenly stop and lighten the mood with an irrelevant topic. Everything felt superficial. Everyone had wanted to move on, and Charlotte had felt like the only one who was trapped in the horror of the past.

The only good thing her parents had done for her was help her open the shop. Other than that, Charlotte and her parents had gone their own way in adulthood. Charlotte's mother had moved away, probably exhausted from always catering to her father's ego and to leave the guilt of June's death behind. Her father had eventually died of sickness, but he died a local legend who saved the town.

Charlotte could have left the swamp long ago, but she had sentenced herself to live in this nightmare of a land as punishment for letting her best friend die. Either way, everything felt pointless and gray without June. Charlotte took a deep breath and sighed before heading home, expecting another sleepless night.

***

Charlotte opened her eyes to find herself at the bridge again, only this time it wasn't broken. Stars shimmered vibrantly, and it was hard to separate the night sky from the water if it weren't for the trees. A cheerful young girl with mermaid-length hair raced past her before whirling around and stretching out her hand.

"June, please don't go!" Charlotte reached to pull her back, but it was too late. The wood split and Charlotte pulled herself up the railing to stop herself from tumbling down the other side. She reached over the edge of a broken plank and stretched her hand down towards June's.

"I won't let you die this time, June," Charlotte whimpered. "I won't look away, please just grab my hand!"

June stretched her hand up towards Charlotte's when a swarm of alligators surrounded her. Charlotte screamed just as they opened their jaws, but she kept her hand out for June. The alligator closest to June snapped its jaw shut, and Charlotte watched as June disintegrated into fireflies.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so, sorry. It's all my fault" Charlotte sobbed. Her voice came out distorted as if she could hear her parents' disembodied voices saying it at the same time. This time, it was her own voice that said, "I couldn't save you, why couldn't I save you?"

The fireflies flew up into the air and circled around Charlotte, their glowing bodies distracting her from the chaos for just a moment.

"It's not your fault, Charlotte," June's voice echoed from a hundred places at once. The fireflies lifted Charlotte off the bridge and placed her gently on the other side. "You're my best friend. You don't deserve to be sad. Promise to be happy, for me?"

"How can I when you're gone?" Charlotte sobbed.

"I'm not gone. Look."

Charlotte opened her palms to see the alligator tooth charm. June's gift.

"Our friendship is forever. Live for both of us, ok?"

Charlotte blinked away tears as the fireflies spiraled up, becoming enveloped by the light of the moon.

***

Charlotte woke up in her bed, with dried tears in her eyes. This was the first time she'd dared to look over the bridge in a dream, and the first time the dream didn't end in terror. Although June was long gone, she was alive in her memories, in her dreams, in her nightmares. If she could, she would erase those tragic memories. Yet, she never wanted to forget June, her one true friend. The girl who taught her to be brave, who shared her loneliness and erased it, the girl who taught her how to see beauty in the most ungodly of places.

After closing the shop, Charlotte instinctively started her walk home. Wind whispered through the willows, and an egret splashed and rippled through the water upon landing. The sounds caught Charlotte's attention, and she stopped at the path that diverged to the bridge. She found herself before the bridge again, and remembered the promise she'd made to June in that ethereal dream. She held her tooth charm and felt a tear roll down her cheek.

Not too far from where she stood, the ecstatic intermingling tunes of a trumpet, saxophone, and strums of a double bass could be heard playing from the town. Somewhere in the distance, people cheered. The sweet smell of warm, apple pie lured Charlotte. The music, the sweetness, the warmth, and the miraculous appearance of fireflies on the other side of the bridge seemed to whisper some secret truth, a message long awaited from the beyond. In that moment, Charlotte understood. June was not the broken bridge. June was the stars, she was the music, she was the heron swooping over morning waters, the dragonfly landing on her porch, the fireflies dancing on the other side, the swamp and all the beauty and life. Charlotte smiled, genuinely smiled. Tonight, maybe just tonight, she could be a dancing fairy, too. I will live for you, June. By God, I will live for you.

With this newfound hope, Charlotte chased the music again. She retraced her steps back to the town, alive with people and joy. Perhaps she too, could be part of this wonderful scene. The lampposts glowed, and string lights lined the streets like hundreds of fireflies. Charlotte walked down the middle of the crowded street, taking in the delicious aroma of pies, roasted potato, fried chicken, and garlic bread. A crowd of people danced and cheered as a band played jolly tunes. Charlotte walked past vendors selling necklaces with feather charms, another one selling potted plants, and one painting caricatures. As Charlotte made her way down the street to the docks, the aromas became replaced by the strong smell of shrimp and other fish. The booths here sold fishing rods, bait, hats, and more, but Charlotte was drawn in by a stand selling paintings of life on the swamp.

"This is beautiful," she mused, as she admired a lifelike painting of two dragonflies facing each other on a blooming lilypad. "How much for this one?"

"Charlotte! What a surprise to see you here for once," the vendor woman smiled. "Just for you, I'll discount it." She told her the price as she prepared parchment paper to wrap the painting.

Charlotte thanked her and smiled, but she couldn't get rid of the awful feeling creeping back in. Did the woman pity her? Was it really that obvious to everyone in town that she always avoided the festival? Suddenly, she began to notice people's prying eyes wafting over her like pesky mosquitoes.

The vendor continued wrapping the painting. "I never got to say this, but I'm awful sorry about your Pa. You must miss him so much!"

Charlotte flinched and tried to ignore the knot of anger twisting inside her chest.

"He did so much for the town," the woman continued. "I mean, I wouldn't be able to paint all this if it weren't for him and his preservation laws. You must be so lucky to have a dad like that. I mean, wow, what a hero." The woman smiled while handing Charlotte the wrapped painting.

Finally, Charlotte managed to thank her and walk away. If only she could tell her the truth, how her mother was also responsible for his success, and anyway neither of them could be called heroes after what happened to June, not by a long shot. Charlotte gulped down the angry knot in her throat and held her charm. No, she wouldn't let that superficial woman's words ruin her night. She'd made a promise to June. June..?

A young girl with mermaid-length hair ran right past Charlotte. Charlotte gasped and couldn't help but stare– she looked so similar to June. The girl turned around to motion to another little girl to catch up, and that's when she saw it wasn't June at all. Of course, it couldn't be June. The first girl pointed to the edge of the docks, and the other girl nodded. They giggled as they ran to the edge, hand in hand.

A sense of dread took over Charlotte, her body going cold.

Before they could make it, an older woman and man took each of the girls gently by the hand and laughed, walking with them to a booth selling wooden carvings. One of the little girls gushed over a frog statuette, while the other one played with an alligator figurine. The mother leaned her head on the father's, and he kissed her forehead before paying for the figures and buying his own turtle carving, and joining their game.

Charlotte finally let go of the breath she'd been holding and walked over to the edge of the dock, watching the pale moon and string lights shine over the water. She thought she would be ok until she caught sight of her aged and ghostly reflection in the water. Her eyes were dim, devoid of life, and her expression was pained. Bags sat under her eyes and her chapped lips hung in a permanent frown. Charlotte clutched her tooth charm, hoping for one last spark of magic, any sort of sign. She stared into the dark water, saw the emptiness around her, and knew she was alone. There was no hand to hold, no shoulder to cry on, and no one to hum her to sleep with a lullaby. All that was left were the haunting memories, burning regret, and the dark abyss in her heart.