The Same Old Swing

I creep down the wall, hoping not to wake anyone up. I hit the ground with a low thump. I paused, a doe caught in headlights, waiting for a slight movement inside that signals she woke someone up. No sound. I crept through the field of icy snow. My toes were frostbitten before I reached the giant oak tree, with a swing dangling from the side.
I sat upon the snow covered swing, and I shook hands with the Knight of Ice himself. I started to kick, then pump, then kick again. Soon I was so high I could touch the moon. When I tried, my grip slipped; I was soaring, like a butterfly's first flight. Moments later, there was a crash, like two cars colliding in a deathly blow. The pure white snow was stained crimson, the source seemed to be coming from my head. I hurt all over, but soon that hurt was eased with a wave of unconsciousness.
There was bright lights. White walls, white sheets, needles, and voices. "Cassandra! What happened? Is she alive?" My mother. She began to say something else, but it started to fade. In the vague distance, I heard a monitor flat line.

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