This is my first Fanfic, so please, constructive criticism is much appreciated! And don't be afraid to be honest about the story, I don't mind getting bad reviews, that way I know what people really think. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. I'm just playing with the characters, don't worry, I'll give them back.

Time.

It is always moving at a pace that we wish it wasn't. When we want it to speed up and just get things over with, it slows down to a near complete stop. Though, when we wish it to slow to a stop, it flies by us at an unthinkable speed. Why does it do these things to us?

Is it time that gives us our meaning? Its taunting that shapes us into who we are? Do we need time's predictable annoyance to shape us into who we are? Do we need time's unruly behavior to make us feel love? To feel at all? Do we need our own mortality to make us be something original? Or is it all here just to confine us, imprison us, for a crime we never committed? Is this what time has done to us?

"Isabella Swan! What are you doing?" I heard my teachers high and crackling voice through my thoughts, maybe I should answer.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know, just thinking," I told her. Telling the truth as far as I knew.

"Well then, you wouldn't mind telling the rest of the class what exactly it was that you were thinking about, after all you were writing it down…" She went on, obviously trying to punish me.

I just looked at her, confused. Then I looked down at my paper. All over it there were the questions I was asking, all my observations about time that I had made. Along with dark and light shades of swirls that seemed to be on the verge of an actual color, instead of just a shade. Clocks with no numbers were there and clocks with too many numbers to. It was really a piece of art. I wondered if my teacher even noticed how beautiful it looked in retrospect.

"I don't mind, not really. Though I think it would take to much time for the class to process most of the things I was thinking about. I don't mean to offended anybody, but most of the people in this room aren't the sharpest people around."

"I'll be the judge of that Miss. Swan. Now, please tell us what you were so wrapped up in thinking about," My teacher was visibly bristling, she didn't like being talked to like this.

"Well, I was just thinking about time, about how it seems to purposely aggravate us with its speeding up and slowing down and NEVER being consistent. I was also thinking about how it makes us who we are and if we didn't have the constraint of time, would we be the same. And do we need our mortality, the line that separates us from life and death so thinly, to be a real person, someone that deserves living," I told them, half of the class was letting their mouths hang open, gaping at me.

"Miss. Swan, this is not the place to be having deep life changing thoughts. This is a classroom and you should be paying attention. It is not alright to go off on your own tangent all together and completely ignore the rest of the class. And even more so take away from yours and everyone else's learning experience. I expect you to stay firmly in this world as you may, for the rest of the class. And Miss. Swan, you are aware that you are staying after class with me," My teacher said, practically spitting the words out at me.

I nodded, and when my teacher was heading back to her desk I rolled my eyes. Honestly, some people don't know how to appreciate a young mind learning how to think. Some people.

BEEEEEEP!

The bell rang. Oh, joy. Now I got to face the teachers prejudices against me for at least ten minuets before I could escape to my car and then my job and them my own home. It would be nice to escape the world after such a long day, to see my mother and spend a peaceful hour working on dinner in the kitchen.

"Isabella, what am I going to do with you," my teacher said as she shook her head. You would think that I wasn't even there the way my teacher was acting.

"I don't know," I answered, though the statement was clearly rhetorical.

"Isabella," I hated that she insisted on calling me Isabella, "You need to start paying more attention in class, Your grades are starting to slip and you're spacing out more and more often in class. Your homework is never done on time and you constantly seem to be somewhere else, even in the hallways. What is going on with you?" My teacher could be so annoying sometimes. One minute they are scolding you in front of the entire class and the next they are trying to get you to spill your guts to them! Honestly, who do they think I am?

"Nothing really, maybe that's the problem. Maybe because I have no problems I feel that I need to create my own problem to make my self feel more normal or something," I said flippantly, I really didn't care what conclusion my teacher drew, my mother and I would be moving soon enough and then I wouldn't have to deal with these people anymore. I would be free for once in my life from all of the adults that knew nothing but thought they knew everything.

"I don't think that's it, something is definitely not sitting right with you. Does it have to do with your fathers death? I know that happened awhile ago, but sometimes things like that have long term effects." My teacher said. Of course its my father. Its always my fathers death that's bothering me.

Phil had died six years ago, when I was ten. My mother had never been very good with things like that, she didn't cope well when Phil died. He was a good person, though he never really felt like a dad to me. He was kind enough and he couldn't cook squat. When he died my mother went into denial, she pretended that they had just separated and they weren't seeing each other anymore. That she just didn't know where he had decided to go off to. Though in reality he had been killed in a lightning storm, hit by lighting several times and practically fried.

I had found out on my own, my mother never told me what had happened. I found out because I saw it on the news. I was a wreck that day. It seemed so unlikely that someone would be killed by being stuck my lighting, several times. It was preposterous.

"It's not because my fathers dead," I told my teacher, "I came to terms with that many years ago. It's not my father, be original and come up with some other reason for my grade slip for once." I told my teacher.

"Don't talk to me like that! I am just trying to help! It is obvious that you do not care for any help what so ever. So, if you will let me talk for a minute, I'll let you know what you have to do so you can actually graduate from high school!" I waited for her to continue. "Well, if you miss one more assignment you will have to be expelled, and even then you will be just barely passing. This goes for every single one of your classes young lady, you have fell so far behind it is a shame, such a bright mind as yours should not be kept from the rest of the world. Now, go ahead and leave. I won't keep you any longer."

With a sigh of relief I left the room quickly. I couldn't stand that women. She drove me absolutely insane! I sprinted across the parking lot, attracting stares from the scant few people that still occupied the parking lot. Once inside my comfy old truck that no one else would dare occupy, I started it up and headed off to work.

I was there in less than a minuet. It was nice to be somewhere that people didn't expect so much of me. Just that I worked well and helped create a prophet for them. It was refreshing in a way. It was so easy to fall into the rhythm of the job, stacking things on shelves, checking inventory, helping customers every once in awhile. It was nice to have a place where things worked in a simple way that had everything to do with patterns. I liked patterns.

I sped out of my work place as fast as I could as soon as my shift was over. I wanted to get home to see my mom, and get into the kitchen. Cooking was one of my favorite things to do, it also put me into the sort of zen state of mind. It made me feel more comfortable than most other things could. Tonight I was thinking of making chicken pot pie, one of my favorites. It was definitely a good comfort food, if it was nothing else. I would probably whip up some sort of soup to go with it. I just hope my mother's hungry cause there will be tons of food at dinner tonight!

Once I pulled into my drive way I cut the gas of my car and headed inside, "Mom! I'm home!" I called as I shed my light jacket and shoes. I waited for her response before moving. After a minuet with no reply I called again, though a little bit louder this time. "Mom! I'm home!" When she didn't respond once again I went looking for her. The first place I went was her room, she sometimes fell asleep before I got home. She wasn't there at all. Then I checked the bathroom, because of the bathrooms location in the house you couldn't hear if anybody was calling you if they were at the front door. Sometimes my mom was in here, taking a bath or something, she wasn't there either.

Last of all I checked the living room, every once in a blue moon she would fall asleep on the couch and not hear me when I announced my arrival. What I saw shocked me down to my very bones. My mother was there all right, but she wasn't in any condition to do much of anything besides start rotting. She was dead, murdered in our own living room. I couldn't understand what I saw, it didn't process in my mind. It didn't make sense! My mom wasn't supposed to be lieing on the couch, murdered, she was supposed to be happy to see that I was home safe, and hear my dinner plans and get all excited over nothing in particular. But she was dead, murdered, and sitting there right in front of me.

I took a few steps toward her, to see what exactly happened to her, all I could see was blood. Once I was facing the couch I was able to see everything that had happened to her. She had three butchers knifes sticking out of her. The knifes were the kind that would frighten you even if no one was holding it and it was completely clean, but not gleaming. It was a murderers dream weapon. They went all the way through my mother, into the couch. Pinning her corpse in place. It made my stomach heave.

The knives were stuck in three important places that any human being has. One knife was through her heart, all the way through her heart. Another one was through her head, her brain, pinning in to the couch in a grotesque way that I can't bear to even think about. The third knife was through her jugular, a very vulnerable place. By this point tears had started to come down my cheeks. My mothers eyes were open, but nothing was in the sockets. They were empty, someone, no, something had cut them out. Her mouth was blood stained, and her mouth was open as if in a scream. It tore at my heart strings to see my mother like this.

There was still more things that had been done with her corpse. Her arms and legs were cut open, down to the bone splaying them open, absolutely disgusting looking. I couldn't look any more, so I backed up, not comprehending anything enough to do anything sensible. I didn't even think to call the police, what could they do anyway? They could bring my mother back from the dead, so what use was it calling them. They probably wouldn't even try to catch the person that did this anyway, so what was the point?

While I was backing up, still crying, my tears staining my cheeks, I bumped into something hard and cold. Something that was lifeless, and suddenly I felt fear consume me, I was afraid like never before. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and run as fast as I could away from whatever it was that I had run into. I wanted to get away, but I didn't. I was to upset, I just wanted to keel over and die right there. I didn't feel like living any more than ever. It was horrible to feel this way, but I did. So I didn't run. I just stayed.

So? What did you think? Is it any good? I want to hear what you have to say! I'll be listening!!