Part 1: Running across the garden, the cool breeze making darts out of autumn leaves and late spreading seed as I race away from my sister, laughing at her as she lags behind. I can feel the prickles of grass bending under my feet as I head to the old gate, weathered and worn from years of holding the cattle in and the world out, the finish line of our childhood. As usual I'd always reach it first, Anna second. “Adeline, wait!” Not a chance though, not when I'm so close to winning our first race in years. “Adeline! Wait!” I'm almost there, but the tone is different. This time, panicked and sharper, and just as I think that another realisation hits – I can't feel the ground.

My first thought is that I've fallen, like how in an accident when you know you're slamming forward and the seatbelt is still tightening? Everything runs slowly and you can almost see it frame by frame even though it only takes a second. Less than a second really, barely a moments decision.

Or indecision. Indecision got me here now. If I'd been just a little faster in my reactions or thought more, or maybe less, perhaps Anna could have helped me. Perhaps someone could have helped me. Yeah, someone. I thought I was falling so I reached out toward the old gate, ever too slowly, felt it's wood under my fingertips, the way it was cracked and the paint splintered, and then felt it move out of reach. And all the time Anna was screaming my name we moved further apart, as she came into view and became smaller, quieter and finally, silent.