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The Falling

In the action itself, she is weightless and free. The flight is not to be feared, only the impact. A story on the life of Esme Cullen. Image Hosted by ImageShack.us Banner By incredible Iris!

I may submit this to the official site. What do you think?

1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 544   Review this Chapter

It began with a fall.

It is a bright day in early summer. I, Esme Anne Platt, have just reached my sixteenth birthday. I have no husband, no prospects, and that suits me just fine.

My mother is not so pleased. She had a fancy I will end up wed to her friend Mrs. Evenson’s son.

My father is downright furious. Every day that passes brings me closer, in his eyes, to perpetual maidenhood, an idea that does not much suit him. After all, an unmarried daughter brings no dowry, no connections, and no income.

However, I am disinclined to marry. I have never met a man who suits me, perhaps because, by all accounts, I act rather like one myself. For instance, at this precise moment in time, I have a proper assignment- embroidery.

Instead of engaging myself indoors with needle and thread as instructed, I am out here, in our garden, speculatively eyeing a large oak tree.

It is a perfect enemy. I smile once at my prey before I begin the assault.

I take a running leap, jumping onto the trunk, latching my arms and legs securely around it.

My long limbs are barely an adequate length to grasp the thick trunk, but I manage. Once I am sturdy in my grip, I swing my left arm, grabbing the lowest branch. Then I move my other arm to the same position. I place the weight of my body (one hundred and seventeen pounds) in them, lifting my legs clear.

My skirts become something of a hindrance as I try to reach the same branch with my feet. I have to move them at the same time, bound as they are by the fabric.

How I wish I could wear pants.

Of course, that was ludicrous. Such a thing was shameful.

I grumble to myself at that. It’s really quite silly. I know I am just as bright as any man, and yet I am treated as though I’m made of porcelain.

I finally wrap my knees around the branch. With four limbs around that limb, I begin to clamber onto the next one.

I have to stand to reach it.

This happens time and again.

However, I have very good balance. It’s a necessary thing when one is attempting to climb a tree in petticoats.

I made it up to the peak, and looked down at the world beneath me. The green leaves are slightly wilting in summer’s first heat, as all the earth swings into life.

It is astoundingly beautiful. At the peak of the tree, the world is laid out beneath me like a buffet platter, mine to choose the finest fruits of.

I have all the options I desire.

I am more free than I ever have been before.

I lift my head up and laugh, loudly, to the azure sky.

It gives no answer.

I peer back downwards, looking directly beneath.

It is fascinating, the intricate play of leaf on leaf, of sweet morning grasses and small hopping birds.

I stare downward, leaning further into the sight…

And fall.