There’s always another secret.

That's what I think as I clear the dishes, as I grab my purse and head out the door.

I think of secrets when I pass the park where we used to play. All the memories we shared, cherished away from everyone else. Silly things, maybe, but nevertheless we kept them to ourselves as children are wont to do.

I try not to think, but I can't help it. I pass through the gate and the memories wash over me, flood my very cells and carry me away. I can almost see you crouching behind that bush, or maybe swinging from the branches of your favorite tree. I remember hunting for treasure with you. I remember playing by the creek. I miss those times. 

I miss you. 

I wish I had missed what had happened. You never needed to get hurt. But some things will stick with me forever. How could I forget? I can't look at the steep banks of the creek without flinching, no matter how many memories I have of playing happily in the clay. I can't see back to those days past your unseeing eyes, set in your stone-cold face. I'm still standing there on the edge watching you caught eternally in the threads of misunderstanding in the midsummer heat. But then the stillness shattered and so did you. I couldn't move. I can't now.

Once again I'm standing there. I remember they told me it wasn't my fault, that the bank is dangerous, that it easily crumbles, but I knew we played there often and that day the earth was firm and you knew where to stand. 

You were trying to save me. But no one knew that. Maybe in your haste you weren't watching the edge and slipped.

Or maybe, in my anger and confusion, I shoved you away, not expecting you to fall.

Or maybe it wasn't an accident. Maybe there were other things you'd done. Maybe you came to apologize. Maybe I rejected it, rejected you. 

Maybe there even other secrets here, and we were just caught like flies in a spider's web that summer.

All I know is that I stand here, where you've stood, and that soon I'll lie where you did too. 

You got me. I can't take it anymore. Because no matter how I try to push away the memory of you, I know that you linger just out of sight. I know that if I but turn my head, you'll be there. Haunting me. 

...

The line is from the Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson. This is my first time really writing flash fiction or whatever this is, so any feedback is welcome!