Once upon a time, long ago, I dreamt that I owned things. Twilight wasn't one of these things.

I'll update whenever I find the time to do so. This was written in less than 30 minutes when a creative bug bit me.

I, Michelle Lynn Swan, was born as a last-ditch effort to keep my parent's together. Of course, my birth didn't do anything more than make their already strained marriage fray even more, my mother's insistent need to be away from dreary, too small town we were born in and my settled, complacent father too strong to be ignored.

So, when I hit a year old, and my older sister an impressive 3, my mother simply left one day when dad was away on a fishing trip and hadn't looked back since. There was more to that, I'm sure, but mom never was one to specify; what's in the past belongs in the past, she'd say, looking everywhere but me.

I was a last-ditch effort to keep my parent's together. I was treated as such. Not always a noticeable thing until one experienced it. My sister knew.

Now mom's 6 feet under, being covered up with fresh, dark earth. For once, the blinding rays of sun aren't beating down on the dry land of Phoenix, Arizona. I stand and watch the proceeding with my sister, Bella and a man who, if things had gone Right and not completely and utterly Wrong, would've been our new step-father.

Phil was his name, and baseball was his game. He and mom had this entire plan of traveling the states, playing baseball with teams. Now their dreams were crushed because my mom didn't know how to look both ways while crossing the street.

I still remember the light grasp I had on her hand as we crossed the street, unknowing of what was to come of us.

My leg and hips throb. I shudder back a sob and Bella squeezes my hand in an attempt to comfort me. It helps. Slightly.

I just want to go home and lay down on my bed and forget about the world. If only for today. Today is our last day in Phoenix, after all.

Tomorrow will have us on a plane, the destination the town mom tried so hard for us to forget: Forks, Washington.

I lay in my bed one last time, staring up at the ceiling I knew like the back of my hand. A dent from where I jumped too high and bumped my head into the ceiling, a random crayon mark.

It's more sobering than I would have thought it to be; I feel the pin pricks at my eyes and I struggle to sit up, body aching. I kick the sheets off of me and I make my way to Bella's room. Boxes litter her floor; a mixture of my stuff and hers. I couldn't lift a lot; Bella saw me as a fragile doll.

She's wide awake too. Big brown eyes staring at me through the dim lights of our street. We say nothing as I slide into the space she made, and together we stare up at the ceiling.

Tomorrow comes. Neither of us is ready. Phil sees us off and through tears he wishes us the best. He gives us each a tight hug, a kiss to the top of our head like he used to do with mom and he lets us go. Bella and I watch as he slowly makes his way out of the crowded airport.

"We'll never hear from him again." I don't mean to sound so final or so knowing; but the truth doesn't sting as much I thought it would. Instead I accept it. Phil has a life to live. We're nothing but awful reminders of what could've been. I can't find it in me to be mad about it.

"We won't. Probably. Come on, we don't want to miss our flight." Bella is my guide, and I follow closely behind her.

The flight seems to last forever. I'm content though, looking outside to see that we're above the clouds. My music plays softly through my headphones, and I lean my head against Bella's shoulder. She's nose deep in her worn copy of Wuthering Heights, reading it for what was probably the hundredth time. We sit in content silence, and soon sleep finds me for the last few hours.