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The Final Sunrise

This is my first fanfic so please be kind. Anyway this is the story of Alice's life from her childhood until she meets the Cullens. Please read and tell me what you think :-)


1. Chapter 1

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 1478   Review this Chapter

Alice at 10 years old

I froze and watched with wide eyes as my little sister Cynthia stumbled and fell to the ground, skidding along the hard pavement, crying out as it grazed her legs. I watched with horror as our neighbour Andrew who had been chasing along behind Cynthia on his bike swerved sharply to avoid her. He hit her legs and went flying over the handlebars. I gasped. The kitchen came back into focus.

I glanced around assuring myself that I was still alone. I didn’t like the worried look Mommy always got on her face when I saw things.

I shuddered as my sister’s screams echoed in my head. I was going to have to find a way to persuade her to play indoors today otherwise she would get hurt.

That was easier said than done. Cynthia wanted to play outside in the sunshine. I couldn’t tell her why she had to stay inside. What if she told Mommy? But when I turned to put our lunch dishes in the sink the cunning little toerag vanished.

“Mommy, where’s Cynthia?” I squeaked, trying to keep my voice calm, when I turned to see her gone.

“Probably just playing with Andrew, you can go too, dear, if you like.” My mother replied.

“No!” I said much to sharply “Make her come back inside.” I could feel my heart start to race. Andrew’s bike had hit her so hard, what if her leg broke?

“Alice, darling, whatever’s the matter?” my mother asked alarmed by the tears rising in my eyes.

“She’s going to get hurt,” I choked, my voice tight with suppressed emotion.

My mother’s face instantly darkened into a frown.

“Alice,” she said seriously, “did you see this happening?”

I nodded as the first tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. At that moment we both jumped as we heard the scream.

* * *

I sat at the foot of my sister’s bed, crying again. It was late but I didn’t want to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I was confronted by the look in my father’s eyes when he had returned home from work. Angry, repulsed, scared. He’d looked at me as if I was some strange wild animal. Not his little girl.

The only problem with staying awake was that I couldn’t stop replaying in my head the discussion my parents had had about me.

“We can’t just ignore it,” my father had said, “what if it gets out? The family name will be ruined if people hear we have a lunatic for a daughter.”

“She’s not a lunatic,” my mother had sobbed “she’s just seeing visions.” Her voice had cracked on the last word.

I had heard my father sigh. “Perhaps she will grow out of it. If it gets any worse we’ll get a private specialist to see her.”

I was scared. I didn’t want some strange man to run tests on me. I didn’t want to see my father’s hostile glare again either. Nor did I want to make my mother cry again.

There was only one option left to me. No matter what I foresaw I would have to ignore it. Pretend I didn’t see. From this day forward I would act as if I had never had a vision in my life. I had to or I didn’t know what would happen to me.

A Few Years Later

I walked down the unnaturally white corridor. The doctor had his hand upon my shoulder so I tried to control my trembling. I had to pretend to be strong even if I didn’t feel it. If I kept my head and behaved rationally they would soon realise I didn’t belong here, in the asylum.

I knew that wasn’t true. It didn’t matter how I behaved, I would never go home now. My family didn’t want me. I had seen the tombstone they would put up with my name on it and today’s date recorded as the date of my death. There was no home for me to go back to now.

I hadn’t cried when my father brought me here earlier this morning. I already knew what was happening. I had already accepted my grief at their betrayal.

Could I really blame them? Who really wanted a prophetic freak in their family? It was my problem and mine alone that I would miss them. And I can’t say I didn’t know this was coming.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to forget about them. I already didn’t feel like myself. They had made me change as soon as I had arrived and taken my clothes away. The new clothes smelt funny but that was ok. The scent of my old clothes would have reminded me of home.

We stopped outside one of the many doors lining the long corridor. The doctor unlocked the door and gently pushed me inside. It was just a small, square, stone room with nothing in it except a low wire bed and a washbasin in the corner. I shivered. It was cold in the room.

The door clanged shut loudly behind me making me jump as I was pitched into a blind darkness. It took me a moment to realise that the doctor had not followed me in. I was alone.

This was not what I had expected. The cold, the dark, the utter isolation. I had had visions of the asylum before but never my room, my cell.

I stumbled over to the bed and collapsed upon it. My entire body shook with the cold, fear and my tears. I wanted my family.

A Few Years Later Still

It was cold. It was dark. It was silent. Yet I noticed none of these things. I was oblivious to these three simple truths that normally dominated my mind. For today I had worse things to contend with.

For one I was ravenously hungry but this too wasn’t out of the ordinary. I was no so thin I was barely more than a skin covered skeleton. They didn’t feed us much here.

The second thing in my head was pain. I felt pain in every inch of my tiny body. That was the after-effects of the shock treatments – the dull ache in all my muscles. My eyes and head hurt too. After spending so long in the pitch-blackness of my cell the harsh, glaring whiteness of the corridors and the treatment rooms sent me into agony. But still the pain wasn’t the worst thing in my head.

It was the third thing that filled me with an almost unendurable anguish. I had seen a vision of them today. My parents and my sister. I hadn’t seen much, just a flash of them all laughing and smiling together. The image seemed to be imprinted on my eyes. I didn’t feel anger towards them for being so happy without me, although perhaps I should. It was simply so agonising to think of them at all that as much as I could I banished them from my thoughts as they had banished me from their lives. Or else I wouldn’t be able to survive the pain.

I didn’t even cry anymore. The pain went too deep to be washed away with tears. So I simply lay there and tried not to think. I was quite good at that, not thinking. Most of the time now I just lay still and blank. Almost as if I was dead.

But today was a particularly bad day. It was almost unendurable. If only I could have one single star. One lone pinprick of light to brighten up my endless night. Just one little thing to give me hope and make me smile. But there was no hope for me now.

It was at the very moment that I thought that fatalist thought that I felt my eyes widen as a vision came to me. I wanted to shut my eyes, I didn’t want to see but I had no choice in the matter.

And then I saw him. My dulled heartbeat began to race again. He was so pale; his skin seemed so perfect. His soft golden hair fell forwards over his perfect forehead as he looked down at something I couldn’t see. And then almost as if he felt my gaze he raised his head and looked me in the eyes. He was so perfectly handsome that he must be an angel and there was an air of strength about him that made me feel instantly safe.

And his eyes mesmerised me. They were gold, a deeper shade than his hair. And they were filled with such a deep expression that it took me a moment to recognise it as love. He smiled and I felt my frozen lips respond automatically into a returning smile. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to smile at this angel.

The vision faded. But my smile did not. As inexplicable as it was I felt safe and for the first time in a long while I felt loved.