Disclaimer - all TB characters in this story are trademarks of ITV/Granada (who should give it back to Gerry btw!)

many thanks to the TIWF for their encouragement, and to LMB for once again being my literary crash dummy and helping me out with this right from the beginning. Big thank you for the title as well!

There is a woman.

She has curly red hair and green eyes. A light shines just above her head and it makes her look like an angel. That's funny, and normally I'd make a joke; but I'm too tired.

There's a lot of noise. People are talking, and moving, and saying lots of important things, but the woman is silent.

She's staring down at me, and holding a bag next to my face which she squeezes every few seconds.

The bag is yellow, and hisses whenever she squeezes it.

The room is getting blurry.

She's talking to me now.

She keeps telling me to stay awake.

I don't listen.

I'm not sure how much time has passed.

I vividly remember that woman with the red hair, and then an odd sinking feeling that seemed to last forever, but after that there is an indeterminate gap where I can remember nothing at all. Only darkness.

I'm not sure when I arrive at the path, yet I find myself walking along it now as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

The path is an old dirt road, with hayfields on either side. There's no noise here, just the soft occasional breeze that sweeps past me and moves the grass gently. The sky is blue and clear, and the sunlight is so warm and hazy it seems to have a physical presence. It's just like where we grew up, only better - heightened somehow - with all the best bits and none of the bad.

I walk down the road and I'm filled with the same sense of confidence I get when I play a practical joke on my brothers.

I'm being bad by following this lovely path. But not bad in a terrible way, just like I'm being cheeky and mischievous, like a naughty schoolboy disobeying the teachers. That sounds just like me.

For a long time the mood is calm and indulgent, and I can just enjoy my journey in relative peace. I'm happy here, and I don't want to give in to the people who are a bit cross about my journey.

I still have no idea what I'm walking towards, but I know that with every step, I become more and more relaxed. I keep thinking about how mad my brothers will be when they find out what I'm doing, and I feel like laughing…but that feeling doesn't last long.

As I continue to walk down the path, I begin to realise that I'm really upsetting people.

At first, that's fine; I don't really care what anyone else thinks. I'm tired, and it's nice here. It's a nice, easy route and I can just drift away if I want to.

That's what I've decided to do.

It's my path and I decide the rules. I'm too tired, so I'm going to enjoy myself, and drift off to the comfy place.

I walk on, at peace with myself and my surroundings. And yet something is starting to change. I can feel the humour slowly draining away. The mood, which had been so loving and tolerant before, is now angry and scolding.

I immediately stop walking and try to listen. It's a strange sensation. I can't hear anything, but somehow I know that Dad is mad at me. I don't want him to be. He doesn't get cross unless I've done something really bad.

As soon as I realise this, I come to my senses a little. I look ahead to the horizon - my goal - and somewhere deep down, I register that this is really wrong.

I shouldn't be joking about this, and I definitely shouldn't be on this path.

I'm in serious trouble, and I need to listen to Dad.

So, I stop messing about and do as I'm told.

I turn around.

Going back is incredibly difficult, for some reason. It's agonisingly hard to pull myself away from that comfortable place, but I force myself to continue.

It feels like I'm hauling myself, flat on the ground, with only my fingernails able to propel me forwards.

After a lot of time passes, the path slowly disappears and dissolves into darkness and I feel like I've achieved something.

Now, there are brief periods of awareness, where voices filter into the inky blackness. I can't hear what they're saying; just the sound of their voices. Sometimes they're familiar, and that brings me some comfort, but I'm far too weary to respond.

Most of the time it just sounds like a low echoing murmur, a wonderfully familiar hum that sounds exactly like being underwater. I don't think I am underwater though. Because, as good as those periods of wakefulness are, I always return to a numb and silent sense of drifting.

The whole thing is very confusing.

I try to understand why I'm feeling like this, and I come up with nothing.

I eventually recall the woman with the red hair, and someone else talking urgently to me. There was a helicopter, and water…but then there are lots of pictures that don't seem to make sense.

When I think about it, nothing really makes sense at the moment. I know I need to return to somewhere…but for the life of me I have no idea how to do that. As I become gradually more aware of my state of mind, I get more concerned. I'm not frightened, as such, there's just a nagging sense of doubt at the back of my mind…I shouldn't be like this. Things shouldn't be this confusing.

Something bad has happened.

I try to think: to understand how I got to this point.

It takes a long time, but distantly, a picture forms in my head and I begin to remember.

The hydrofoil had crashed.

I had been fighting to save it. Something had gone wrong, and there hadn't been time to figure out how to fix it. I could feel the adrenaline surge as I desperately tried to correct the problem, and then I remembered that sense that I was losing the fight - and I had to give up trying to stop it happening.

I was going to die.

I didn't panic, and I didn't pray. I wasn't even scared…just sad. All my choices were taken away, and there was nothing more I could do but die.

I thought my life would flash before my eyes, or I'd see Mom waiting for me, but nothing like that happened. I just remember feeling sad, and closing my eyes.

That's the last thing I can clearly recall. After that it gets hazy

…Is this death?

I've never tried to define death before, but I've always assumed it was a stop; a definitive, and conclusive cutting off of life.

This can't possibly be death.

Things are different now, but I'm fairly sure I haven't stopped. I'm still me, I think…So what's happening to me?

I'm in a strange kind of stasis where I'm aware, but at the same time completely oblivious. Part of me knows that I have to return to the place where my family are, but another, stronger part of me just wants to drift in this void and mend.

There's no pain here, and I know enough to realise that that is a very good thing. I can dimly recall screaming, and blood, and agonising convulsions… but that's all gone now. Here I can just relax.

I feel weak. And I need strength for this…so I sleep.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. Chapter two coming soon.