The Story Of Sarelle: The Immortal Years »

Chapter 9

8th September 2047

Time flew over the two weeks that followed. The Cullens rarely visited, perhaps a polite way of stepping aside and allowing me the time to adjust to Aslo's presence. Or perhaps they sensed that I had only so much space in this endless mind to deal with attention. I wasn't ashamed to say that much of that attention was given to Aslo. The five years that had spanned our parting had left a lot to be regaled. We had spent endless moments talking about the people we had met, the struggles we had endured, and the triumphs we had thrived on. It was hard listening to his account, much harder than telling my own, because he hadn't found support as I had with the Denalis. He'd been alone for so long and I knew, although he was used to it, he didn't much enjoy his own company.

Now as the sun started to rise, and I sorted through my clothing of the day while Aslo lay stretched out amongst our memories, I listened as he talked.

"I haven't looked at these in so long," Aslo commented as he casually sifted through the photos we had gathered together.

"I thought you would have left them behind somewhere. I didn't think you would still have them," I replied as I folded my chosen outfit on the dresser top and walked to join Aslo cross-legged on the bed.

"Why would I get rid of them?" Aslo frowned as he looked at me, a shaft of early sunlight grazing his cheek to reveal tinkling sparkles.

"You were always such a grouch whenever I made you pose for them." I smirked as I looked down on the pictures that documented our lives together. There weren't many. My erratic jumps had left many behind, lost in time and place. Plus I was sure his lifestyle hadn't been kind to flimsy pieces of paper. Even discounting those losses there were enough. Especially with the few I owned included in the pile.

"I never understood your obsession with photographs but I can comprehend it now. A picture can be so different from a memory." He smiled over the collection, from the sepia tones of the early years to the vivid colours of the modern prints. "I'm glad you still have a copy of this one. I lost mine," he said wistfully as he looked down on the picture of us together in the 1940s. His cigar was held regally in his fingers and his posture was the epitome of a slick city gentleman, dressed in a charcoal grey suit and a sternly set expression. I on the other hand stood beside him, my hair pinned under a hat and a beautiful beige coat that swamped my figure while my face split into a grin.

"Lord, that just sums up the 40s. You and that ghastly cigar." I laughed as I scanned over Aslo's almost superior expression in the photo.

"What ghastly cigar? That was a luxury, a show of class," he drawled.

"You smoked like a chimney!"

"It was what was done in those times, and it's not like I was going to die from it." Aslo smirked as he placed the photo back in the pile.

"But it smelt so horrid, and my poor dresses stank of stale smoke for days after." I could remember the acrid smell perfectly. I could also remember the number of times I'd sent one of his precious boxes of cigars sailing out the apartment window in an attempt to stop him.

"Better than the sixties. Remember, little Miss St. Clair, when you danced around in those dreadful caftan things with daisies in your hair and a smell of pot drifting about you." He teased as he held up a photo for proof. The atmosphere was all hazy with smoke but visible through it was with my hair long and flowing and my face lit up by sunset. Everyone was too stoned at that party to ever realise the way my face glimmered.

"It was the sixties, Aslo, simple as," I said in a matter of fact tone with a grin on my face.

"Well I much prefer this non-smoking age of society, although nothing quite compares to the fresh air of the early 1600s." He sighed as he slowly reclined on the bed, not a single creak of the springs being heard.