The sea laps onto my bare feet as I stand at point where ocean meets land, the crossing point of the world. Above the calm waves the sky is stormy grey, stretching as far as the eye can see until it meets the water at the horizon. It should be raining, those clouds are too dark to not be drenching me, but my dress is completely dry and the sand behind me is as dry as bone. The beach and everything surrounding it are empty of people or even seagulls, the only sounds that echo around the area are the soft, calming sounds of the waves.
Thunder crackles and a blinding flash of light occurs, from where I can't fathom but I duck as the rain begins to thud against the thin material covering me. A dark, curly strand of my hair falls in front of my eyes, I tuck it behind my ear and raise my 'ead as the thundering sound echoes across the wide bay. It roars in my ears and I clamp my 'ands over them, casting my eyes over the still-calm waves. In the mist rising from the sea, human figures are appearing as thin and transparent as ghosts. Three men and one woman, the details of their faces appearing more and more visible to me as I look at them.
All four remind me of the people I saw as a child, 'specially the woman. 'er 'air's exactly like my mums was back in the days before she acquired a slight bit more taste in clothing when I was 14. If anything back in the 80s was tasteful at all, that is. The other three are more timeless, one has floppy 'air in curtains and a sweet smile, the bloke next to 'im a perm and a moustache, and finally one that is taller than all of them, with a billowing white overcoat and a steely glare.
An extremely strong gust of wind blows through the bay, sweeping me off my feet and onto my back. The figures begin to move towards me slowly, adrenaline courses through my body and I begin to attempt to move backwards in my own fear of these figures. I only realise that I'm not moving when they are practically on top of me, looking down like I'm some kind of peasant or somethin' they found on the bottom of their shoes. Their faces are unmoving, emotionless and absolutely bloody terrifying. I squeeze my eyes shut as another flash of light engulfs the bay and I feel myself disintegrate into the air.
I sit up in my warmed bed, panting as my nerves go into overdrive for one last moment before beginning their descent down to normal levels. It's alright, Sharon, I reassure myself, It was all just a dream. It ain't real. I fall back into my pillow, eyes turning to the digital alarm clock on my bedside table. It's barely visible, buried under crappy romances, piles of letters and teenage necklaces. I move them aside to reveal the time and date before sliding out of my bed and throwing open the 70s-flowery curtains, ready to prepare for the weekend shift.
Just another spring morning. 20th April 1996.