It was a chilly autumn morning in the school playground.

Willow sat alone on a bench as she always did, her pale pin-legs dangling over the front with the tiniest socks sagging around her ankles. She leaned forward to pull them up as high as they would stretch, tucking the frilly edges under her calves to keep them in place and tightened her legs firmly against the peeling paint of the slatted wood.

Across the quad, a posie of girls giggled loudly in a game of hopscotch, tossing stones into a grid of squares and bouncing between them while their arms floated alongside their clumsy bodies like sea anemones. Heaps of amber leaves flared around their feet with every spring, snapping at their ankles like nipping puppies while their ponytails, tied high on their heads with glossy baubles, whiplashed waywardly through the air. She watched them take each other by the arm in joyful cheer and wondered what it must feel like to be a part of something.

Nearby, from within a queue of fever trees, she could feel the mocking eyes of snickering peepers spying on her, each eye bulging like a pus-filled blister along the edge of their powdery trunks. At first, she didn't mind them staring, for it felt better to be noticed than not to be seen at all, until, a cool gust of wind swirled around her, bringing with it words that sliced like a paper cut. As if the wind knew which words to blow in her direction, she heard their silent whispers circle around her and magnify -Lame, Loser, Dud. Shuffling along the bench to prevent falling into the dark abyss of loneliness widening inside her, she retrieved a half-eaten packet of stale crisps from her lunch tin and began nibbling around the edge of each one so they wouldn't taste so bad.

She knew they were behind her and she preferred it that way, for to face the hive of nasties and their Queen Olivia was to risk all. They would always squeal in delight at the sight of each other before settling in a circular coven to share tasters of their night-before-baking trials. The silly contest was always a wonder to Willow, for it was barely a contest at all, with Queen Olivia never failing to elect herself the favourite baker of soggy jam tartlets and burnt coconut squares. At first, Willow had hoped one of the nasties might ask her to join, but her wish was short-lived, for one Tuesday afternoon, on a day when the school gathered in mourning, Queen Olivia had cornered her beneath the half-mast flag in the main quadrangle, making it clear that to utter such preposterous requests would result in her certain demise. From that moment onwards, Willow resigned herself to being alone, but that didn't mean she stopped wishing one of them would value her enough to be a friend.

Suddenly a current of wind hoisted her pleated pinafore from her lap and she flung forward to catch it, tucking the edges tightly beneath her thighs to secure it back in place. She braced for the jeer she knew would follow and held still and deadpan as a barrage of venomous words showered over her, biting as they landed, and sealing her shame within a crypt of scars. Closing her eyes she imagined her grandmother's arms around her and harnessed strength as she retrieved her comforting words,

‘Always be the better person. Show kindness - even when they don't. Never let them steal your shine.'

Just then, the bell sounded. The girls quickly unknitted their legs and hurried along, balancing plates of crumbling confectionaries between them as they navigated the curly cobbled pathways back to class to line up in time for Teacher Prim-and-Proper. Willow followed behind, always behind, shrugging off the insults weighing heavy on her shoulders like steppingstones - each one a benchmark of how far she had walked between darkness and light. As Willow slipped in last, she noticed that her socks had sunk and ruffled like tutus above her patent lace-ups and knew by the outburst of sniggering around her that it had been the next perfect trigger.

While au-pairs and debutantes chauffeured classmates to and from school in varnished cars with star shaped wheels and black windows like hearses, Willow walked home alone. Not by choice, but because she lived with her grandmother in the old house down the road with the triangle hat and windows that crossed in the middle. Sighing with relief as she reached the rickety gate, she unclipped the latch to reveal a haven of yellow blooms growing in crocheted rows along the path leading up to the front door of the safe space she had always known as home.

‘Why yellow?' she had once asked her grandmother.

‘It's symbolic, my dear child. Yellow symbolizes courage, and it takes courage to be true to oneself in the journey that is life. Many will bloom early and plentiful. Others will blossom late. And then there are those who stand alone and flower unexpectedly when no one thought they could,' came her reply.

It was a Tuesday morning in late November when Willow sat at her desk to begin her busy day. It had been raining for days, and the first ray of sun had broken through a blanket of cloud and pierced the window of her office, illuminating as it crossed the floor, nicking the corner of the yellow name plate pinned to the door. Willow watched as it glowed brighter and knew that something significant lay within its determined glint.

Just then, Mary entered with a file in hand.

Good morning, Doctor, your first patient has arrived - a female referral from the Clover Oncology Centre, seeking a second opinion.

Willow took the file and opened it, her eyes scanning across the patient summary chart pegged to a wad of exhaustive treatment history.

Olivia Peyton Reed. 46 Years. Metastatic Cholangiocarcinoma. Terminal.

Her eyes stuck like velcro to the words. She felt her heart quicken as a kaleidoscope of confronting flashbacks accelerated towards her and swerved to avoid colliding with them. Lifting her eyes, she found the sunray still steadfast in its arcing glow, and suddenly the significance of its meaning clarified, for despite all the pain inflicted on her, she had never let them steal her shine.

‘Bring her in,' said Willow.

A bleak and frail figure appeared at the door and Willow gestured to Mary to settle her in a chair.

‘Thank you for seeing me today, Doctor. I know that your schedule is considerably booked for the foreseeable future, and with time being of the essence - for me personally - I appreciate your secretary fitting me in. I must say, Doctor, you look so familiar.'

Willow smiled back, her eyes softening and curling upwards at the corners in kindness.

‘Many people tell me that I look familiar. I must have one of those generic faces that has many look-a-likes' she giggled before continuing.

‘So, Olivia, tell me your story.'

‘I'm dying Doctor, and I need you to save me.'

Willow reached across the desk and clasped Olivia's cold, bony and trembling hands within hers.

‘I cannot promise that I can save you, but I can promise that I will never let you feel alone.'

Olivia came and went and Willow stood at the window watching cars trickle through the feint grey veins of the leafy suburb below. The clouds had cleared and the cobalt hue of an unblemished sky had made the world feel crisp and new. Willow felt a quilt of warmth draw over her as she cast her thoughts to her grandmother, wishing she could reclaim one more living moment with her. In the stillness, she heard a comforting voice sound from her heart,

'Always be the better person. Show kindness - even when they don't.'

Willow tingled as the words glistened and then faded and a new set of words kindled to the fore.

'And then there are those who stand alone and flower unexpectedly when no one thought they could.'

And for the very first time Willow knew what it meant to not feel alone in the world.

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