Disclaimer: I do not own them. They belong to the WB.


Prue – 21
Phoebe – 14

The summer breeze blew through the midnight air. Blowing through the open, window, through the curtains and onto the older girl’s face, she turned slightly and awoke enough to hear the soft, distant voice.

"Prue." Barely above a whisper was it. "Prue."

Opening one eye tiredly, in the moonlight she could see her sister. Her sister was older now and rarely, practically, . . . actually if she thought about it never came into her room this hour. Opening the other eye and sitting up she looked at her. Yawning, she saw her tear stained face.

"What? What is it? What’s wrong?" she asked gently but still rather tired.

Wiping her tears and feeling somewhat childish, as she realized her situation, Phoebe bit her lip.

"I . . . I . . had a . . dream."

Looking at her cautiously, Prue knew there was something more. However, being that it was well past midnight, at that very moment she really didn’t have a need to find out. Pulling up the quilt that lay on her bed, she tilted her head slightly in the darkness and ease her small sister in next to her. No words were spoken and she closed her eyes.

"I dreamt that you died and Piper and Grams too." Prue’s eyes were now wide a wake again. Sleepily she sat up.

"Honey, don’t worry I’m not going anywhere."

"But you will . . . .I mean someday you will, we all will. And how do I know you’re going to be okay?"

It was just a Phoebe thing to say, a Phoebe thing to do: Get a realization in the middle of the night. Temptingly she wanted to tell her to shut up and they’ll talk about it in the morning but then she realized Phoebe was right (though she would never tell her that). Oh, God, what do I tell her? How do you answer a question you don’t know the answer to.

"Phoeebs, I . . .really . . ." Looking at her sister’s eyes that shined in the dark she went on. ‘ I really think that it’s an individual thing. Everyone looks after people they love when they die. All that stress we feel, it just goes away, and we just feel good, a lot. And we’re present always. You and I . . . and Piper were made by Mom and . . . Victor. We’re made of the same thing. The same people the feelings and therefore when your overwhelmed with a feeling you can’t understand that’s love that family, it’s what you can’t explain, it’s too great."

"But how do I know you’re going to be okay?"

". . . . .You, just, you just. . . .all the pretty things, all the smells all the beauty in our earth is all the loved one that have died. They are all remembered in beauty. You see beauty everyday, whether it be action or thing or person, that where the honored, the loved, the cherished, and the remembered love ones go. They are peace, so what better place to be than in the beauty of this world."

"Are you okay . . . when you’re at peace?"

"What do you think?"

"I just want to know if you go away. If when you die, you just stop like a machine or something."

"Physically, yeah. But honey, every person is not rememebered by what they looked like, but by who they were, and what they did. That is symply what memories are: actions that are put in place called a memory."

"But. . ."

"If you think too long on it, . . . . you’ll get a grouchy sister. Go to sleep squirt."

"But. . . "

"Shhhhhhhh . . . . "

And the wind blew through the trees of Prescott Street. Blowing the gentle clouds in the sky that were fluffy and blue in moon's full light.