Ok I don't know if I'm going to continue with this or not. It's just a dream that I had and it's been taunting me to write about it. If I get a fair few reviews than I'll keep going or if I feel like there's something missing I'll continue. I just really need to get this off my chest. Oh, and just so you know, it's going to start off with the ending, sort of. Just read and you'll understand what I mean. Furthers chapters are going to be sort of like flashbacks. It's hard to explain but trust me, when you read this it'll make sense.

IMPORTANT BEFORE READING: this is going to be a sad chapter and to heighten the mood I HIGHLY recommend listening to Hymn To The Sea...it's from the Titanic soundtrack, one of my favourite movies. It always makes me cry and maybe it'll do the same for you! On with the story:

XXXXXXXXXX

The cemetery was quiet, only the wind rustling the branches of the oak trees to fill the emptiness. Fold out black chairs were seated in rows before a hole in the ground and the casket hovering slightly above it, a reminder to the guests of why they were there. People were milling around, all dressed solemnly in black, not one with a smile on their face. A priest stood at the alter at the front, calling to the guests of the funeral to take their seats. Slowly, the plastic chairs filled as the guests sat down, some with their heads hung, others with tissues in their hands.

A pretty girl with long blonde hair sat down in the back, a yellow rose clutched tightly in her grasp. Her sunshine curls bounced around her face, thick black headband pulling her bangs out of her eyes. Even from a distance, you could tell they were blue. She removed her long, white wool coat despite the winter weather, revealing a black, strapless dress. Around her neck hung a silver heart locket that drew attention to her delicate shoulders and porcelain skin. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. Every once and awhile a guest would turn their head to look at her but she never seemed to notice. Or at least did an immaculate job of hiding it. She looked down to her hands which were resting gently in her lap, her crimson nails accented profusely against the yellow of the rose. Her eyes, the woman next to her noticed, were clouded over with grief.

The priest stood and the already silent crowd fell into an even more deafening silence. As he began the eulogy, the young girl noticed that his voice held no remorse, no matter how hard he tried to fake it. It was hard to feel depressed about the death of someone you never knew. His crisp voice was carried through the wind and down the slops of the empty graveyard, efforts of a consolation that no one would feel. When the mention finally came to his greatest achievement, his daughter, all eyes flicked to the girl sitting at the back. Again, she pretended not to notice and sat staring blankly ahead of her. She refused to show emotion.

When at last the priest had finished speaking and a couple close friends and family had spoken on his behalf, the procession of the roses began. It started at the front, the first guests walking slowly down the black carpet to the casket at the end, placed a red rose on the dark cherry wood, and walked back to their seat, each guest after him doing the same. When a least two-dozen roses had been placed upon it, only one guest remained. She got up from her seat at the back, placing her little weight onto her black Stiletto heels. Her curls bounced around her face and she walked the long walk down the black carpet to her father's casket at the end.

She reached the top and walked around the alter to the wooden box that held her only remaining parents body, placing the yellow rose upon the others. It stood out against the blood red of the other roses. But unlike those before her, she did not immediately walk back to her seat. Instead she stood there, her large blue eyes fixed on the coffin. She placed her pale hand upon it, fingers trembling slightly after trying so hard to control the shaking. She bent down lower so her face was only a couple inches from the wood.

"Do not go gentle into that goodnight," she said quietly. After waiting a moment before turning on her heel, she walked back down the black carpet, not stopping at her chair but continuing to walk towards that cliff that looked over the ocean. The woman that had been sitting beside her got up and followed, her black dress that matched her hair flying behind her in the cool wind.

She gave her some distance but always kept her in sight, following the streak of blonde and black lights as she ran down towards the cliff. The woman wondered if she was going to jump. Running now to keep up with her, she let out a breath of relief as she saw her sitting on the grass, her long legs crumpled beneath her tired body. She approached cautiously.

"Emma?" she asked, her voice laced with concern and worry. But the young girl didn't turn around. She continued to stare out at the ocean and sob. The woman closed the remaining steps separating them and tucked her dress under her as she sat down. Taking a second to glance behind her, she noticed a man in a suit walking slowly towards them.

"I'm sorry," she said, turning her attention back to the grieving fifteen year old beside her.

"It doesn't matter Jordan," she said quietly, her voice carried down the cliff by the wind. "Sorry won't bring him back."

Jordan knew she was right. Being herself a child of the devastation of loosing a parent, she knew all too well what this girl was going threw. And she couldn't stand it more when people said that they understood what she was going threw.

"You know I lost a parent at a young age too," Jordan said, her eyes scanning the horizon as the sun began to set in front of them. In nothing but silence, the man walked up to them and sat down beside Jordan, not saying a word. His presence alone seemed to make the situation less of what it was.

"You did?" Emma asked, her voice slightly curious.

"Ya. My mother was murdered when I was ten," she said, still not taking her eyes off the streaks of gold that were making their way across the slightly star strewn sky.

Beside her, Woody knew where this conversation was going.

"I walked into the house and found her dead on the living room floor."

"But you didn't watch her die did you? You didn't hold her head in your lap and watch the light go out of her eyes. You didn't see that final breath between life and death," Emma replied, looking down to her lap and staring at her red painted nails.

Jordan fell into a silence that matched Woody's. Both had lost parents, yes, but neither had seen that defining moment between life and death, had had their parents die in their arms. Jordan didn't know what to say.

"I lost both my parents. Same as you Emma," Woody said, turning his head to look into the eyes that mirrored his own.

"Maybe we should start a club," Emma joked. Woody and Jordan forced a laugh for her sake. But both were glad that she was seeing this as slightly humorous. It meant that she was out of the denial stage. "What do ya say? The Dead Parents Club?" she joked. But Woody and Jordan could hear the serious undertone that her statement held.

"Sure," Jordan managed to get out. There was something about this girl that reminded her of herself. She felt close to her and wanted more than anything to take away her pain. Emma extended her hand and Jordan shook it, then watched as she did the same for Woody.

"Thanks you guys," she said, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Jordan noticed that her curls were slightly starting to come undone. "I think I'm gonna go back, say goodbye one last time," she said, tucking her knee-length dress under herself as she got to her feet. "Come find me after?" she questioned.

Woody and Jordan both nodded. They had both bonded with her on a level most people could not reach her on and didn't want to let go too soon. She was more a part of their lives than either was willing to admit. Once Emma had walked away, Woody and Jordan continued to stare out onto the horizon. The sky had now become dark, the light of the moon their only source of light.

"Jordan?" Woody asked timidly. Jordan noted the hesitation in his voice.

"Ya?" she asked back.

"Can you promise me something?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sure," she replied.

"Don't go gentle into that goodnight," he said as he turned to look into her chocolate eyes.

She simply smiled and laid her head on his shoulder and he kissed the crown of her dark head.

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

XXXXXXXXXX

NEXT TIME: you'll find out all about Emma and how she came into their lives and exactly what the deal with Woody and Jordan is!