Warm, splashing water. The faceless people surrounded me in playful enjoyment. Ice laced the edges of the body of liquid where we bobbed. The cold, we felt not.
People, a group, came stumbling down the steep hill, claiming to be the sole survivors of the ship, Titanic. Their appearance was of a pre-teen, but their exclamation was of a much older one. No skepticism arose.
One girl told us that she knew the secrets of a house. She led us down the path to the house; giant and vacant. Inside, it was familiar. Up the stairs, we headed. She showed us the room with the secret passageway, hoping to be the one to reveal to us where it was, but I had my epiphany. It was coming back to me. I had been there before. Running, I reached the right wall and pushed it open. Hidden was small room full of bookshelves and a leather recliner in the middle. I rounded the edge, into the hallway in the far right-hand corner of the room. A huge frosted window was fixed on wall. I hurried around the spiral path and came to a room where I had to decide. I had followers behind me, curious to where I might lead them.
I started to panic. I chose the door to my right and sprinted down a flight of stairs, fully aware of the anxious cries being let out by the crowd I left behind. Downstairs was much different than the top. Underneath the supposed deserted house, was a hotel casino, full of people who remained oblivious to the young girl running past them. I hurried past them and through a room that sparked my interest; a costume department with outfits for the performers there. I momentarily slowed down but heard heavy footfalls behind me. I picked up speed and ran on.
I came into view of the grand staircase and realized what I had to do. Up and up I ran; stair after stair after stair. Sixth floor was where my energy ran out. Exhausted, I laid down to catch my breath. I heard my heart racing and my blood pounding in my ears.
On the balcony, I saw a group of elderly ladies brandishing empty bottles of wine. They threw the glass canisters over the edge. They crashed to the steps, but came up a flight short of where I was laying. One adjusted her spectacles and murmured to the crowd that they had missed me.
Too tired to continue with my eyes open, I closed them and waited. I heard the policemen reach me; I could smell their leather shoes and feel the floor shake in front of me. One lifted me up gently and carried me.
When I opened my eyes, I was standing on an Asian-style palace rooftop. On both sides of me, stood two people: my sister and my best friend. They stood duct taping my wrists together. Looking down, I could see the tops of all the buildings fifty feet below us. In front of me, the sky as black as ink, was a neon purple cross. A man, whose face was so familiar, I remember it burned into my brain, approached me. He was accusing me of these absurd things that I couldn't possibly have done. Irritated, I asked him what was illegal about running. He told me that if I had to ask, then I deserved my fate. In my sarcastic and accusing way, I countered that he deserved to be here as much as I did. I hit a nerve in him.
He told me that it was time. I sat down on the cool, curving roof. I slowly slid down to the edge. One last look behind me and I slid my behind to the rim. Nanoseconds before I pushed off, I saw my sister fall. Her skirt fluttered in my peripheral vision. I could feel the wind rush around me. My heart was dropping as I fell. All that I could feel was the anguish of my sister falling as well.