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lithography

I’m not sure if my mother understands me, but for a second she lowers her arms. She is tiring, but that isn’t why she has stopped. The ships steers towards the clouds, and she turns to face me. Hailstones are like lithography, and imprint only the sea around us.

The ship is safe, but she is unsure how that would be.

She faces me now, and as the storm rages around us, our eyes connect. She stares at the lifeboat, and back to me. There is pride in her eyes, but more than that, she knows who I am. It cannot be. Meddling with the past has its consequences – I learnt that from when I was old enough to talk.

‘Bethany, if she asks, then you are my sister. She cannot find out who you are. If she does then all will be lost for both of you.’

Entering the void, we hold hands. I’m not sure how this will affect the ship, but it is the only way. It is quiet, like the graveyard before dark. It is like my arms are being washed by the air, and I feel myself fading.

I still haven’t seen my Dad, but there is no chance I will now . . . If this is what it is like to die, then at least it was painless.

As I open my eyes, the first thing I see is hazel eyes and a beaming smile.

‘She’s awake,’ my dad says, brushing away hair from my eyes.

Published by writerravenclaw

I am a fifty something mother of two grown up children, and one beautiful grandchild. I have been married for nearly thirty-four years. My first book was published ten years ago. I wrote my book Sticks and Stones because of my experience of being bullied at school.

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