Nobody Likes S1trus

My Darling, Arthur.

There is always that moment before a storm hits. My father can feel these moments, or so he says. He says his bones ache, and his mind swirls and he has a dream. My father says he doesn't dream. But before a storm, he dreams of my mother. He dreams of her blonde hair, and her ice cold eyes. He dreams of her name, and her face, and everything that made her, her. I used to believe him, I used to boast about how my dad had magic powers. Until my sister told me about the radio, and weather predictions. My world was shattered. I had thought, up to that point, I had the coolest dad in the world. I mean, to any 9-year-old, someone claiming they could sense something before it happened would have been mind blowing. I had no reason to doubt him either. He would always walk into the kitchen, with messy hair and an unkempt beard and say,

"Good news and bad news gremlins, which do you want first?" and we'd always reply the same way, my sister rolling her eyes and scoffing over a bowl of cheerios and me anxiously sitting on the edge of my seat,

"Bad news! Bad news!" I'd shriek, my whole body shaking with anticipation. My dad would sigh as he sat down in the empty seat, rub his beard and say,

"My bones are telling me storms are coming." he said in his thick Irish accent. "Good news is we'll be fine."

"How do you know?" I scoffed, crossing my unbelieving, yet fully trusting arms. I never doubted him, it was just part of our routine. But that stopped when I turned 14 and my sister ruined everything. She had said it happened to her, with our eldest brother. And when my younger brother turned 14, it would be my turn to ruin his everything. I knew I would never do that. I watched him, everytime dad came out of his room, muttering about his bones and rubbing the top of his head. As the words leave his mouth, I watch as my baby brother bubbles with excitement. Why would I ruin that?

I loved him in a way I had never loved anything before. He was my everything. From the moment he was born, I was parading him around like a brand new doll. He was my most precious thing. But he killed my mother. Not on purpose, of course, he was breech. He came out feet-first and it took her. My sister was angry. My father was broken. My oldest brother was lost somewhere. So I cared for him. I named him. I bathed him. I fed him. He wasn't their baby. He was mine. And I'd do anything for him.

I remember the day I died, the sky was clear, not a cloud in the sky. Yet my father walked into the kitchen, rubbing his back with tired eyes. He didn't say anything to any of us as he poured himself a cup of coffee. I watched him, a small part of me anxiously waiting for him to say his line, his introduction to the routine I missed dearly. But he didn't say anything. He just sat down and rubbed my brother's head. He put a worn, weathered hand on mine and sighed. He was going to say something. He was going to go off script.

"Run along now, Arthur. I have to talk with your sister." he said to my brother. I named him after the story of King Arthur of Camelot. It was my favourite. I wanted him to be great, like the king. I figured if I named him after greatness, greatness would come. I was right. But there was a cost. I watched Arthur scamper away, dressed in hand-me-downs from our neighbors. After a moment, I looked at my father, completely expecting him to nag me about my slipping grades or something like that. Instead he turned to me, sadness filled his ocean green eyes.

"Mags." he said, in the soft way he said everything. "Mags, something bad's about to happen. I can feel it."

"In your bones?" I said, excitement blossoming in my chest. For a split second I was a kid again. I was that little girl who trusted her father's every word. The little girl who boasted about a magic dad to her peers, in hopes she'd make a friend.

"Yeah, in my bones." he sighed, letting go of my hand and rubbing his face. At the time I didn't understand why that was so bad, to me it was just another storm.

"Dad, it's just a storm, we'll be fine." I said, clearing the dishes from the table. My dad shook his head and stood up, pulling me into his large, soft body. He hadn't hugged me since I was little.

"It's not just a storm, Mags. It's something bad. Promise you'll come home after school. No dilly-dallying. No delays. Come right home, with Arthur." he said with urgency. I had never seen him like that before. He was genuinely terrified. But of what? A storm? We've gone through storms a million times, why was this any different? I chuckled and put my hands up in surrender,

"Alright, Dad. We'll come right home. Pinky Promise." I held out my pinky. He shook his head and wrapped his much larger finger around mine.

I did intend to keep my promise. In my family you never broke a pinky promise. But life happens, you know? It's like how one moment the waters are still, and the next the waves are choppy and scary and deadly. Nothing interesting happened that day, honestly I forgot all about it. But on the walk home, when Arthur's hand was locked in mine and the port was quiet and slow, I heard a whisper. A single sentence, ringing like a small gong in the back of my head. I tried to ignore it, but the faster I walked the faster the words spoke. As if they were following me.

Mags, come home.

I stopped, turning slowly to look at the water churning only a few feet away from me.

"Arthur." I said, letting go of his hand. "Run."

"What?" he said, looking at me like I was joking. I looked at him, dead in the eye, serious,

"Run." Arthur must have seen the urgency in my eyes because he started running. I watched him for a minute before turning back to the ocean. The sky was becoming cloudy and dark, the water choppy and violent. The words rang in my ears over and over, faster and faster. I let out a shaky, somehow I knew what I needed to do. I had never felt anything like that before. An impulse, a need, a knowing of what I needed to do. I took one step after the other, walking closer to the bubbling water with every soul-crushing pace. I knew I'd never see my family again. I'd never see my darling, Arthur. I'd never watch him grow up into a fine young man. I heard my name being screamed. A faint but panicked sound,

"Mags!" I turned to see my father standing on the cliff above me, watching me with wildly scared eyes, Arthur was beside him, tears streaming down his little face. They were scared. But why? I was going home. I smiled at them, letting them know I was okay.

The ocean surrounded me, pulling me into its depths. The sky cleared and the ocean calmed down. I felt myself rise above the water, as if I was being pulled towards heaven. I watched my family, but they didn't watch me. Their eyes were looking down at something. I called out, trying to get their attention but they ignored me. I looked at where they were looking and saw myself.

I was floating on the water, my purple streaked blonde hair fanned around my face. My clothes, worn and hand-me-downed where tangled around my body. My brown eyes were open and scared. My lips were contorted into a scream I never let out. My father was running to me, Arthur not far behind.

In Heaven, I was told that my death was for Arthur. I named him with greatness in mind, and sometimes to achieve greatness people must die. If I could go back and change anything, I wouldn't. My darling, Arthur went on to create the world's first time travel machine. He stopped terrible things from happening. At no cost, but my life.

Im so proud.