Author : Austen Woodward
It had been a normal Saturday, I’d got up, done my hair, my makeup, slipped on my dress and walked out of the house, making sure to lock the door behind me as my parents always sleep in and are worried about intruders. I turned the key in the ignition and set off for work.
At work, again, everything was normal, I smiled at Trisha the receptionist as I walked past her to the lift, and shortly I was sitting down at my desk.
About four hours in, I felt uneasy. For a split second I felt a shift, something transcendent washes over me, the clock in front of me skips a second. Despite the uneasy feeling I carry on with the day. At about ten to five, I had finished all of my calls to clients and decided to occupy the last ten minutes by checking my social media. I open my phone and I’m met by a sponsored miscarriage support page. I remember how my mother told me about her miscarriage, I was meant to have a twin, another girl, but complications meant that she died in birth. I vividly remember mother tearing up every time she spoke of her other little girl. It’s always hard on my birthday, because she gained a daughter and lost one, so she semi celebrates and then semi mourns. I always remember the name, Lizzie, a beautiful name, Lizzie and Liza. A terrible twosome, I often wonder how fun it would have been to have a sister the same age.
I look up at the clock, it’s five o’clock. I get up and leave, and as I drive home, sirens echo all around me. I slow down, just a precaution. I pull into the driveway and I’m met by a worried mother.
“Have you not seen the news? You didn’t even let us know you were on your way back or anything Liza, we’ve been worried sick!” she exclaims. I apologize and hug her. We move to the lounge where we sit down. She asks about my day, I say “it was alright”, and then a knock. A loud powerful knock on the front door. We look at each other as my father rushes to open it. Blue lights blaze through the doorway, two policemen, clad in black stand in the doorway holding a girl about my age, blonde hair.
“Are you Lizzie’s parents?” They ask.
I look at my mother, she gets up and sighs.
“Oh Lizzie what have you got yourself into now?” she asks, sounding disappointed.
I stand up, stunned by what I’m hearing. As I run to the doorway, I exclaim “Lizzie is dead, she died when she was born”. I grab my head as it starts to hurt, my world spinning, Lizzie cannot be alive, she is dead. Dead.
The girl lifts up her face and smiles.
“No she’s not”.
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