CREATIVE Maria Styles

NWR Issue 98

Emmeline

We got to this hill, and I had that feeling again – You know, like I already knew the place.

At the bottom of the hill was a little park with a rose bush by the gate. White
roses blossomed eagerly; jumping up from the leaves to greet me. I stared at them – shocked at how familiar they seemed. Those beautiful white roses had paid me a visit before, but I hadn’t seen them in a long time.

As I thought back to when I last saw them, goose bumps covered my arms.

The dream.

A quick, violent shiver went right through me – like walking into the sea and letting the water hit your belly for the first time. I folded my arms and wished that I had my lucky cardigan with me to keep me warm. But it was in my suitcase, so I would have to wait. I loved that cardigan. I had bought it to wear to a One Direction concert last year, and one of the band mates – Zayn,
the fittest one – reached out his hand from the stage, and actually touched it as he sang. I won’t lie to you: I nearly fainted. It was epic.

I snapped back into the moment. Focus, Em.

I didn’t understand. How could I be seeing the white roses again? Logically, it just wasn’t possible. But this little voice inside me – so faint, I could feel it more than hear it – told me that they were the same white roses from my dream. The hill, the park… everything; it was as if I’d been there before, in a
sketch or something.

My mind was all fuzzy, like the time me and my best friend Kelly stole booze from my mum’s cabinet and filled a couple of panda-pop bottles with vodka and orange squash.

What did it all mean? When Nana-Rose was alive, she always said that I was
like her and Mum. Maybe she had been right, after all. Perhaps the dream was one of them prediction things. Like on the telly, you know. Well, if it was a prediction, it could piss-right-off because it wasn’t a very nice one. And today of all days was not a good time for all this nonsense. I wasn’t interested in being like my Nana-Rose, and I definitely wasn’t interested in being like my mother. Not after this.

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