A Short Story Starring Beatrice Marron

Prologue

The wind whipped her hair, pulled it back in its strong hands and held it there. She watched the water rushing in and out. In and out.

A minute ago, Beatrice had kept herself busy as she completed puzzles and waited for her last batch of bread rolls to bake. She had sensed a presence in the room, something creeping softly towards her. In the reflection of the window she recognised Loneliness, felt its cold, clammy fingers touch hers. Come with me, it said.

She took its hand and Loneliness lead her across the road to the beach. "I haven't been to the beach in ages."

She sat down by the stone wall that held back the sand dunes. Her arms hugged her legs, and she felt another companion sit down on the sand beside her, and she realised that, for once in what felt like forever, she wasn't doing anything at all.

Beatrice felt its cold hands on her throat. Memory's grip tightened slowly, choking Beatrice, until she could see vividly the memories which she had been trying to forget for a year.

Beatrice couldn't remember much of the shopping trip she had planned with her friends and siblings. They had got there, eating takeaway food for lunch, and the hours flew past like a flock of birds. Suddenly it was four o'clock, and the loudest sound she had heard in her life broke its way into her ears, pushing away the voices of people and the sounds of passing trams. Screams replaced voices and her life shattered like the glass of the shop windows.

Then the shopping centre dissolved into a bright white room, with a strange person peering down at her.

Bea remembered weakly calling the names of all those she had lost that day: 'Beth? Andy? Tr... Trisha?'

'Dr Nelson,' said the only face Beatrice could see.

Then she noticed the other face in the room. Panic. It struck her across the face, white hot and ferocious. It held her with its invisible hands, almost lifted her up by the collar, and Beatrice could hardly breathe.

'Megan Nelson?' she managed to say, her throat catching. 'Do you know her?'

The doctor sighed and Beatrice felt Panic tighten its grip. 'I am so, so sorry Beatrice. She is the only one of your friends who survived.'

The hospital room disappeared and in its place came the funerals. Six almost consecutive days, sewn together by tears and grief. In loving memory of Elizabeth Miller. Andrew Hamilton. Trisha Harris. Rest in Peace, Patrick and Benjamin Marron. You will be sorely missed.

After each she would walk to this beach and watch life go by, though Life never saw the broken girl sitting on the sand.