Rebirth-day

        Annabel Bartlett sat bolt upright. She knew eight-thirty was too early for bed, and that she would never sleep, but how else could she make her birthday arrive more quickly. She felt as she had as a child waiting for Christmas. Her head full of coloured tinsel and shiny packages; her body braced by a prickly sensation that zipped from the nape of her neck to the tips of her toes. She was now less than two hours away from her forty-first birthday. Why was this birthday different? Why did it feel so special? She had not felt this way about her fortieth birthday, and that was . . .well . . . her fortieth. The question surfaced again and again through the tinsel and the wrapping paper, as she pulled her 4.5 tog luxury hollow fibre summer duvet up close under her chin, and the light in the room receded.                                                                         
         Out of the darkness shafts of golden sunlight broke into her field of view. At their end was something, though she could not make out quite what it was. A hazy oval shaped something. Within moments the haze had cleared, as if someone had turned the focus control on a camera, and she recognised her brother’s face. Yes . . . it was John’s face. She was sure of it. But something was amiss. He looked youthful, clear-faced, and renewed; he looked like a teenager!
         John rushed up to her, an enigmatic and knowing smile on his face, and taking her by the hand, he led her through an old wooden gate and into the garden of her childhood. Memories, like dried autumnal leaves stirred up by an impatient wind, swept across her mind and spoke to her.
        In the sloping patch of earth to her right were her father’s miniature roses.
        “If I had a rose for every time I thought of you,” he would often say, “I'd be picking roses for a lifetime.”
        A short distance ahead she could see the great billowy willow tree under which, as a little girl, she had sat so often to read and to bookdream. Behind the willow, in a crescent-shaped flowerbed, were her mother’s favourite flowers: blue bells and blue globe thistles. And all around her the tall grasses and trees released their spawn into the air; they sailed this way and that, in no hurry to leave this idyllic place.
      “Bella!” it was her sister’s voice.
        Annabel looked over her shoulder and turned to face the house: a beautiful lime washed brick structure with a thatched roof and a rustic tiled porch. Standing at the door, she could just make out the outline of her two siblings: Giles and Carolyn. They beckoned her on, and she could feel herself moving towards them. They are younger than John! How can this be?
      “Bella, do you know where you are?” Giles questioned.
      “No, I don’t” Annabel said.
      “But I know that I’m happy and on the right path.”
        And with this, and an awakened purpose, she pushed gently past the two of them and in through the waiting door. It was suddenly dark again, and she could feel herself being buffeted from side to side as if by wild waves. She felt as if she were suspended in a rich gelatinous sea. She felt comforted and contented.
        Suddenly, from out beyond the darkness she could hear agitated and anxious female voices. The rhythm and increasing pitch of the sounds they made told her that some important event was to occur. But she could not make out their words, and she began to feel uneasy. Moments later she heard a deep rumbling baritone voice, her father’s, and with it, calm returned to the dark void, and she was reassured.
        And then . . .
        A flash of brilliance, as glorious as that which brought the world into existence, and Annabel was pushed into the light. The brilliance of the flash had made her close her eyes, but when she reopened them, and blinked twice to clear her disbelief, she saw her father’s winsome young face smiling down at her. The grey hair she had grown to love replaced by a rakish reddy-brown mop.
        “And you my little rose we will call Annabel.” He said.
        And with that she gave out a squeal of delight and forgot all that had gone before.

Word count: 732