remember the day they told me Al died well. Not that Al was her real name. Alice really, but she said it made her feel like Alice in Wonderland. I proably would have kept my name as Al too. I hate Disney and I especially hate old books. Unless it's the Jungle Book. I hate the movies, but I love the book. I used to have a red hardback version. I remember reading it over and over again. But when I was fourteen, my newly born sister Sara destroyed it. Sasha tried to replace it for me, but I was acting like a small child. I hated Sasha for taking Dad away from Mum, and accepted nothing from her. Mum understood when I told her. She knew how much it meant to me. Well, then again, she bought it.

But I'm coming off the subject. I remember crying my eyes out and reading the last text message she send me over and over again. 'I'LL C U L8R'. Unfortunatly, she wouldn't. Not for a long, long time. I looked at our last picture together when we dressed up as witches for a Halloween party. I also looked at our last notes, from the day before she died. I wrote I was bored and she asked me what I was doing that Saturday. We then arranged to go to the cinema. On Saturday morning she sent me the final text. At noon on Saturday, she died. We were to meet up after my ballet class at twelve. Then we'd walk to the cinema down the road. She was on her bike, rushing, because she was late. And she was hit by a bus.

I remember also, the ambulance driver, coming in with a gardi. They asked me did I know Alice Thompson. I said I did and they then told me. I didn't cry straight away, just rang Mum. She came to pick me up. I then began to cry as I realised what was happening. Al was gone. Never coming back. Ever. And it was my fault. She was eighteen, had got into UCD University, to study Science. It was her dream. And know it could never happen.

After the cremation, I was given the ashes. As I sat in my room, staring at them, I knew what I was supposed to do. I remembered that lazy summer afternoon we both plaited each others hair and talked about everything. She made me promise, that I would sprinkle her ashes in one place she said felt like home. No wonder. Her mum hated the way she dressed and the heavy metal she listened to. Her dad was on cocaine and didn't know her name, calling her 'sweetie' and getting drunk. So I decided I had to go to Kikenny. I told Mum and she promised to drive me. And we were off.

I clutched the pot through the whole journey. When we arrived I kissed it for good luck. As Mum strolled into a Gift Shop, I went to the small house she called home at the age of nine. Kilkenny Cottage. It was old and abandoned now, but I could feel Al's spirit here. I heard her whisper, "The ashes! The ashes!" And I opened the pot. I sprinkled a few ashes around me, kissed the pot and, when the wind came, threw the rest out with all my stregnth. I heard Al's laugh, and thought I saw her rise from the ashes and wave. She smiled and turned away. She floated into the sky, still laughing. I knew then that Al was with God, and I would see her later, just like she had said.