A/N: The contest is over and I have decided! Lemme just thank everyone who entered! I got so friggin' excited. k, here we go.
I guess I should have expected for everyone to use One Direction names instead of William's *rolls eyes* you guys are incorrigable
WINNER: elsweddingplanner. guyz, go check her out, her one-shot was absolutely O.o and i hear she's writing a fic. From what she's told me, it's gonna be absolutely epic.
Honorable Mention #1: WriteIdea I loved it! That last line! and the way you handled the reaction was so realistic. Amazing!!!!
Honorable Mention #2: LuvDaBooks487 awesome! loved it!
Thank you to everyone who entered! If you entered and you want me to read something of yours, message me and I totally will!
Also, just to clear this up for the small percentage of you who didn't understand: Roza has cancer. She is the one with stage 4 metastatic melanoma. She is the one keeping it a secret. It is Roza. Sorrynotsorry. Actually I am, buuut, ya.
TWENTY-ONE:
Truth
*October 11, 2013*
They were laying in a field this time, a plain that seemed to go on and on forever and everything was perfect. Too perfect. The grass was too green, the sky too blue. But that didn’t phase Sarah; like always, she knew she was dreaming. Angel was playing with Sarah’s hair, knotting her tiny fingers into the soft strands, the comforting feel familiar. Sarah knew that feel was more than just a dream, knew that it was a memory, but she didn’t ask.
“Michael is still trying. He only has my name to help him, but he’s still looking.”
Like so many times before, Angel was silent. Angel never spoke; Angel merely listened. Sarah’d even made up the name for the girl. After the fifth dream with her, Sarah realized that the girl wasn’t going to offer any information, and, spending an abnormal amount of time, Sarah just started talking to her. And she needed something to call the girl. “Angel” was perfect.
Sometimes it felt like her mute behavior was supposed to be a sign, but every time that thought crossed Sarah’s mind, she felt silly and paranoid.
“I don’t think that he particularly cares where I came from or who I was before, rather, he cares that I care, Angel.”
Angel’s hand stopped, her hand still gentle, yet still. Sarah latched onto the reaction, however small, sitting up to face the girl. And, for the second time ever, Angel spoke, her head quirked in the same way as the first time.
“Why do you call me Angel? My name isn’t Angel, Sarah. I’m your sister, Roza.”
* * *
For the first day or so, every time someone said the name Sarah, I would jump in excitement, certain it was her, my eyes immediately searching the room. A stylist who shared her name was ‘conveniently’ transferred. By the fifth or sixth disappointment, my eyes were dull when they looked, unexpectant; and, by the end of that week, I’d stopped turning at the sound of it, unresponsive.
When William’d asked for a song nearly three years later- When we dedicated Just Breathe to Roza’s foster sister, put her name on the screens behind us, my Sarah didn’t even cross my mind. Why would she? Somewhere, my Sarah was still alive.
