A/N This is actually a really old fanfic I found when I was cleaning out my files. I don't especially love Twilight now, but I thought I'd publish it anyway.
Obviously, I do not own Twilight, or anything associated with it.
We were in Chicago, celebrating Jacob's 65th birthday. I had felt a need to escape, and did so, walking down to a graveyard. A grim place, I knew, but perhaps that was what I needed. It was raining, but I didn't mind. After living in Forks for over half my life, I found the rain peaceful. For a while, I just sat under a tree and listened to the pitter patter of the droplets, splashing across the leaves. Then, responding to an inner calling, I got up to look at the gravestones.
The ones I glanced at all seemed to be victims of the Spanish 'flu. I reached the end of the line. Something about the last one made me stop, and look closer. 'Edward Anthony Masen' it read, '1901-1918, R.I.P.'. For some reason, it provoked a weird sense of déjà-vu in me. Not of what had been, but what might have been. An image appeared in my head of a person so beautiful I was shocked my mind had conjured it up. A boy, about 17 year's old, icy pale with messy bronzish hair and straight, perfect features. He was standing in a peaceful meadow, smiling at me. I was smiling back at him. His skin was shimmering, as though a thousand diamonds had been embedded in his skin. At the same time, I recalled a conversation, years ago, between me and Jake.
'Wouldn't it be cool,' his pleasant, husky voice asked me, 'if all the myths and legends were real?'
I dropped to me knees, and reality began to warp, casting me back 50 years of my life. January 19th, 2005 . . .
My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite shirt-sleeveless, white eyelet lace. I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka . . .