Beauty is the antonym of happiness. I begin a game of antonyms.

It was a bright and gentle day. Seeing her for the last time, that nymph of the woods, I fell in love with her.

The canopy, so high to us, concealed us not from the peering sun. She galloped forth, and on the bridge at the river declared: < Let's play a game. >

< A game? >

< A fun one. A hard one. >

< What? >

She took a coin from the front pocket of a summer blouse. < Heads, you win. Tails, I lose. >

It was not a joke. It was serious. It was a game.

< Why play? >

< Play. > The coin flew in the air, arcing through beams of gold. < Catch. >

I reached out, and the light blinded me. The world turned dark and stormy, not night.

My sister told me to hurry up, and threw the curtains open. I yanked the plug on my alarm, put a dead smartphone in my book bag, and began the first day of sophomore year.