19
Enter Springtime
Grow old along with me.
The best is yet to be.
—John Lennon
The little girl lay on the bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling. The sheets were so fresh and crisp they felt a little uncomfortable. The room smelled unpleasantly of antiseptic. That was what she got, she figured, for having such a sensitive nose.
She thought she could barely detect a tiny rocking motion in the room. Or it might be her hyperactive imagination, stimulated to imagine things since her parents had told her they were on an isle ship. The Chiron.
She heard the lightweight skipping sound of another child’s feet come up next to her bed. The newcomer smelled like a girl. “Hello?”
“Hi. Do you like my kitty?”
The girl on the bed felt the air move around her. She held up her arms.
A doll plopped
