1. Journey

I hated travelling, especially on trains. They always jolted about too much, this carriage smelled awful too. It smelled kind of like, old people and candy. I never liked candy, not even when I was young.

I hated my genes too. It was my grandfather's fault that I had such a huge nose. And it's his fault that I'm so scared of travelling. I still can't believe he died in a bus crash in California, or that my mother died in a plane crash on her way to China, or that my father died in a car crash less than two months ago. I guess my family was simply drawn to bad luck.

My mobile rang, it was my Great Aunt. How does she even know how to use a phone? I doubt that they were invented when she was seventeen.

"Hello Aunt Doreen, I've just got onto the train. I'll be in Seattle very soon-" I gabbled. I was amazed she could understand me; I always seemed to speak to quickly for people to understand.

"Miss Dermot, this is the Virginia Mason Medical Centre. Your aunt has had to stay here for a while due to her arthritis – she is having difficulty walking around her own home you see, her neighbour saw this and called us immediately. Your aunt wants to ask you to come here when you arrive in Seattle, so you can collect the key to her home." The nurse said. This was just perfect – I would have to spend another week or so, on my own.

"Of course, I'll be there in about-" she hung up. How strange, I thought. I thought they were supposed to be nice to you. I gazed out of the window as the train approached a tunnel, I wondered if I would ever get off of this rollercoaster of a train. I looked down at the table in front of me; I took my purse out of my jacket pocket and counted my money for the fifth time. I still had $20.95, I wasn't expecting the amount to change – but I was so bored.

"Ice-cream for sale, Ice-cream for sale!" called the lady pushing the Ice-cream cart. "Would you like an ice-cream, lovie?" she asked me. She had a British accent, and looked about sixty. She was a plump lady, with a kind face.

"No thank-you, madam." I answered, and she went on her way with the cart. How I envied her joyousness, here she was calling out, selling ice-cream and I was stuck mourning the death of my father. Oh how I missed him, his kind blue eyes and crinkled smile.

Time had passed, I couldn't think whether it had been three minutes, or three hours. I felt so tired, but I couldn't sleep. Not with the jolting, not with the smell. Not with the people watching me.

"Are you okay?" a boy had sat in the seat across from me. He looked about the same age as me and he had rusty, brown hair. His eyes were a rich green – almost the same green as my mother's eyes.

"Yes, I'm just tired. Where are you headed?" I thought it would be polite to make conversation with him – even though I just wanted to be left alone. At least I wouldn't be bored.

"Forks, I'm visiting my grandparents. Are you with someone? I mean, are your parents here?" he seemed nice enough, they always did at first. Plus he was going to Forks, he must have a nice family if his grandparents lived in Forks, everyone was nice there.

"No, I'm going to live with my Aunt in Seattle. My parents, um, died." I felt like crying until kingdom come. I hated talking about my family, it always lead to too many questions.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he must have seen the tears roll down my cheeks. "My dad died of cancer last year. I still can't get over the fact that he's not here." The poor boy, how could so many people I know have deceased family members?

"I'm Angey, what's your name?" I asked, knowing someone's name was always important.

"Timothy. It's nice to meet you Angey; I hope we can stay friends." Timothy – it was my father's name. I couldn't believe this.

Timothy and I spent the next hour talking to each other, discussing our families and Washington. Turns out he was from California too. It was then that I felt it. I just suddenly knew that something bad was going to happen.

"I have to get off this train," I said, knowing that if I stayed on it that I would die.

"But we're nowhere near Seattle!" Timothy said pulling me back down to my seat. He put his arm around me, he meant it to be comforting but I just shook him off.

"Leave me alone! Just go back to your stupid mother! I don't want to talk to you!" I shouted. I had never been this rude in my life – or loud for that matter. It was Timothy's hurt face that set me off. I cried and apologised until I my throat was sore.

"It's okay, Angey, I know you didn't mean it." He hugged me tight – it was a friendly hug, a tight hug. It wasn't something that I was used to.

We sat in silence for awhile. There was nothing to say. He was my first true friend. I knew that we would be friends for life – but how long were our lives? An hour? A minute? How long was it before the life threatening thing happened?

It all happened very fast then. I saw my life flash before my eyes. My mother feeding me as a baby, my father helping me walk my first steps, Grandma's funeral, school, my mother's funeral, my first session at anger management classes, my father's funeral, the conversation with Timothy, I was going to die.

The pain came then. I didn't know what had happened, but I was in so much pain. I was sure that I had broken both of my legs but I couldn't worry about myself now – I had to find Timothy.

I tried to sit up but my arms wouldn't work, I tried to move my head but it hurt too much. I called out his name, "Timothy! Timothy, where are you?" I tried to shout it, but my voice came out as a whisper. I was scared that I had lost my best friend, the friend that I had known for only an hour.

I had managed to turn my head left. I saw the pool of blood beside me. It was my own blood, and the smell was overwhelming. The rust and salt odour of something that kept me alive was disgusting. I tried to block it out of my head.

I then saw Timothy. He was lying next to me, and he wasn't moving but I could see that his chest was moving up and down – too quickly for him to be conscious. I didn't waste my breath trying to talk to him – for all I knew I could have died in the next thirty seconds.

Time had passed; I couldn't tell how long I had been lying there, staring at Timothy. He was still breathing quickly. I was scared, worried and confused. I was losing all this blood, why was I still alive? Where exactly was I?

The helicopter came then. It whirred and blew dust into my eyes, I wanted to rub them but I still couldn't move my arms, I figured that they were paralysed. People of all sorts came out of the helicopter. I guessed that they were paramedics because it was an air ambulance.

They looked around, shaking their heads at all of the people, and the debris that was once a train. A man walked near me, and saw Timothy. He had stopped breathing, tears rolled down my blood-covered face. I can't believe he died and I get to live, after the way I spoke to him… I thought. I whimpered, and the man heard me.

"We've got a live one over hear, Dave!" he called out to the paramedic with a little goatee beard, I would have laughed if I weren't in so much pain. Dave came over and examined me.

"Hello, sweetheart," ugh I hated it when people called my sweetheart. "Can you speak?" Of course I can speak! I didn't realise that he wanted to know just how badly hurt I was.

"Y-y-y-yes, s-s-sir," I didn't quite understand why I was stuttering. "W-w-what time i-i-is it?" he laughed at my question. It did seem a bit funny; I was in the worst of positions to be asking for the time.

"It's ten o'clock, dear. C'mon, let's get you into the helicopter." I was lifted onto a stretcher, and carried into the helicopter. A lady was in there to make sure that I would be okay. She was small and had long, blonde hair that she had tied into a ponytail. I didn't understand how I could notice such details in a person when I was in searing pain.

"Don't worry; we'll be at the hospital soon. They're just looking for any other survivors." She said. I didn't care about 'any other survivors' – the one person I wanted right now was dead. Timothy was the only person that I was close too, even if I had known him for an hour. He was the only person I could have relied on when I needed something, and he was dead.

© TheOtherCullenGyall 2010