I sat on the edge of the cliff and breathed in the salty sea here. If only it smelled like this, back in the farming places. But nothing was as good as this.

When I was ten, Mum had told me that it used to smell like this, back in Ireland. I imagine that it would have been nice, or nicer than here. Where the scent of ocean probably carried over nearby buildings and cottages, instead of stopping at the first scent of a sheep dropping.

The unfortunately nauseating fumes of living on a farm: sure, it's nice for a while, but nothing is better than the ocean.

There has to be something other than this. Summerlands, reincarnation... anything but this, this continued life. It's ridiculous, and so powerfully painful.

I don't know, it's something about the waves. Like they're calling to me. They must be, or I wouldn't be about to do this.

And then, diving into the water, with only the hands of the Mother to catch me. Light escaping, leaving only an empty feeling, tendrils of water drifting up my nose, through my 'O' shaped mouth, filling my lungs with dark water, angry seaweed hands clawing at me, pulling me down through the uncertain deep.

Then darkness.

Moira sat up, her breathing deep, tears mingling with the heavy sweat trickling down her forehead. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and removed several tendrils of blonde hair from infront of her face. That dream had haunted her since... since Braeden, her twin, died. She remembered the day so vividly, and it was just as painful to think about.

Rain thud

thud

thudding

on my bedroom window. Wind blowing my hair in all directions, including my eyes. The brief, fleeting panic, 'where's Braeden?', then remembering that he was sick in bed. Mum had said that he had pneumonia, but I knew he was sick of New Zealand.

Running home in the rain to tell Braeden of the fire on the playground, firefighters not knowing the cause, but every bloodwitch in the school suspecting magick. Mum opening the door, taking me into her arms, hugging despite getting completely soaked. Holding my arms, looking into my eyes, saying, "where's Braeden?" over and over again.

So confused. Running to the local cliff, ignoring the stich building on my side. Running, seeing the faint sillhouette of a twelve-year-old boy. Of Braeden. On the edge. Wind carrying my frantic calls, his head swivelling in disbelief, then, still looking at me, he dived into the water. Running, running, running. Finally reaching the edge, but by that time, Braeden was nothing more than a smudge in the fog, a ripple in the partly-disturbed waves, and empty hole in her heart.

Moira blinked her eyes, swimming with unshed tears. Blinked away the pain. Sure, she had been drawn to the waves as well, but not nearly enough to jump off a cliff. He truly believed that Da was on an island somewhere. He didn't realise that Da was well and truly gone for good. Goddess, Mum had witnessed his death with her own eyes!

And now here he was, nothing more than an unfound body that left unhealing holes the hearts of his remaining family. Moira sighed, blinked mournfully at the clock reading, 3:01 am, then lay in bed for another restless night.


A/N Do you like it? Don't you like it? Whyever not? Etc... but what better way to let out your emotions than a nice, juicy review? Please R&R... I'll be waiting...