The Season of Death?
" Autumn is the season of death ," she read. " It is the season where you learn to let go. And the season when you brave yourself for the terrible winter to come. A price to pay for a new beginning far far away." "Nonsense," she scoffed. "How could anybody say that?" Wasn't it completely obvious that this was the most terrible definition she had ever heard of? She was sitting in a cafe, a pumpkin-spiced latte on her table and an old library book in her hand. She was looking outside at the huge maple trees just outside the large windows, their crispy leaves falling slowly, one by one, on the freshly-rained street. She checked the time. Oh no. It was 2:18pm. She was exactly 3 minutes late. She had to go for an afternoon class at her university, which started in twelve minutes. She chugged down her latte, which was now perhaps as cold as an iced coffee with less ice, packed her book in her tote bag, stuck one of her earphones in her left ear, an...
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