In Another World

If the world was the way it was supposed to be, if there were no monsters and no magic…

The sea-bleached driftwood logs were a strange comfort to Bella, so alien and out of place on the rocky shores of First Beach, losing the rich brown of the forest to be claimed by the sea. But at the same time…they fit. They did not quite belong on the beach, and would certainly never be a part of it, but nor did they cry for the forest that would not morn for them, instead settling among the ever changing tides as if they had been there all along. If they could make a place for themselves among the rocks, sand, and tides, then surly she could make a life in Forks.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Mike asked, drawing her away from the fate of logs at the mercy of the sea. He had gathered a fair amount of driftwood branches that had not adapted as well to their new home and arranged them into a small teepee where others had lain before.

"No."

"You'll like this then-watch the colors." He lit a branch and laid it among the others. Fire quickly began to lick at the dry wood. That was nothing; she'd seen fire before. The incredible part was-

"It's blue," she said in surprise. She watched the flames grow and die, flickering in and out as blue and green sparks leapt into the air. She barely felt the heat they gave off, far too enthralled in the magic of it.

"The salt does it. Pretty isn't it?"

For a second she felt slightly bitter towards the boy for explaining how it worked, for taking away the magic of it. But of course that was silly; the salt would have burned the brilliant shades of blue and green whether she knew about it or not. It didn't change anything.

Lost amid her thoughts again, she hadn't noticed the additions to their group until one of them took a seat on the log beside her. He looked about fourteen or fifteen, and had a long glossy black ponytail held at the nape of his neck with a rubber band. His skin was a beautiful russet brown color, and his eyes were a deep brown, almost black.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"

She hadn't even realized her expression had melted into a glare until his lips turned up into a smile. It was a bright easy smile that seemed to spread like a yawn. In spite of herself, she felt her own lips quirk upward.

"Bella."

"I'm Jacob Black," he said offering his hand. "You bought my dad's truck.'

"Oh, you're Billy's son. I should probably remember you."

He shook his head good naturedly, "No. I'm the youngest one in the family-you would remember my sisters."

"Rachel and Rebecca."

"Yeah." He nodded towards the fire, still flickering between blue and green, though a more traditional streak of orange made itself known every once in a while. "Pretty isn't it?"

Mike had spoken the same words only moments before, and they had meant nothing. Jacob's tone, however, carried no hint of the casualty that Mike's had been saturated with, but a soft, almost enchanted air. As if where Mike saw the fire as pretty sparks that burn while they were needed, Jacob saw something ethereal and temporary to be cherished while it lasted. Something he wanted her to see too.

It wasn't magic; it was just salt. You could get the same effect by burning a piece of plywood and sprinkling some table salt into the embers. But the way Jacob looked at it, attentive, enchanted, completely absorbed, like he'd never seen anything like it before and never would again, made it magic. Just because you knew how the trick worked didn't mean it wasn't magic.

Twelve years later, Bella stood in the doorway of a small bedroom with light pink walls and yellow curtains. The blue carpet was littered with broken crayons and well loved stuffed animals. She leaned against the white frame and took in the scene of her husband sitting on a bed far too small for him, his back against the headboard and feet resting on the floor, with their six-year old twins curled up on either side of him, heads resting against his ribs and both his arms around them. Both looked on with sleepy brown, almost black eyes but with rapt attention as he read them James Barrie's classic Peter Pan before bed in a voice that brought back memories of bone colored driftwood logs, and blue green flames.

Bella listened more to his voice than the story it carried; she knew they didn't need the magic of fairy dust and Neverland. They made their own.

Everyone should recognize the scene where Bella Jacob first meet.

And that's all. Three different turning points, three different outcomes. So, once again liked it, hated it? Please remember to be constructive.