In the beginning, her sadness was plunging into a December lake, and the forest was the one she spent her childhood in--jumping off the tall rock so much there's a hole in the ground, and trailing behind the baby deer and her mother. She never forgot her green mittens but her mom would call out and tell her,“Mina, don’t forget your hat!”
And she would flutter back down the hill, grab the jingly hat and hug her mom just because, and her mom would kiss her forehead, then go back inside to set the chicken in the oven, thinking about her little bird.

Today is no different than the rest, she just wanted to ice skate today. This forest is her home. This lake is her fireplace. Her hearth. She just wanted to ice skate today. But, here she is, staring up at the tendrils of steam rising above chunks of broken ice, and she kicks her legs and she thinks, "you too? All along?"

She thrashes. She’s an animal. She is getting weaker and she calls for help (any animal's instinct.) But the chicken is burned and the house is burned down and the oven is still on and she can hear it ticking and the knobs turning as flames shoot out the burners, but her mother is gone.

Eventually, she becomes numb to it all--this hot black smoke that wears her like a plague, this biting white thrum. She sinks under the water, a separate peace from the world. She’s safe and she's warm and she’s numb.

[Strong arms]
[Everyone stay back]
[Keep her warm]

Sadness is a blanket,
happiness is a warm gun.