It pulls me in, a swirling whirlpool, a vortex of deep, black unknown. Falling, falling, it sucks me further, the black nothing of my surroundings revealing nothing at all. Further into the vortex, I see the swirls of black, almost shades of grey, but not quite there enough to be anything. Just cloudy nothingness, like the inside of a black hole in space. I think I see something in the distance, coming closer and closer by the second. I strain to see it, stretching my eyes as wide as I can, the pupils of my eyes dilating to take in as much as possible. It appears to be a picture, but more three dimensional, a solid being. Not moving, but stock still, as if frozen in place. As it nears, or as I get closer, I see it is a little girl of three or so. She's laughing, playing in a sandpit, her fingers stretched wide as she moulds the sand into a castle, and plays with her light red hair. A little dog sits next to her, tongue hanging out, eagerly awaiting to be played with. Its little body stays still, not a hair swaying, its tongue stiff in the awkward position. They seem bathed in an ethereal light, glowing, as though not just frozen in place, but in time. I realise it is my sister and our puppy, when we were of that age. Something is wrong with the picture, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

I no longer feel as though I am falling. Instead, it is as though I am floating, gently moving downwards in the non-existent breeze. I move past the little girl and the dog, and the next image is displayed to me. It is at a park, and it appears to be Autumn, as red and gold leaves surround the two people, some on the soil ground, some left hanging in the air, caught floating midway down. An older woman, in her late twenties, perhaps, holds a younger child in her arms. Her finger is placed on her lips, shushing the child, her eyes crinkled into a smile. The child's face is screwed up, crying, but I can see the woman has a calming effect on it. Next to them, a young girl of about six sits on a swing, arms crossed grumpily, as the swing beside her is left empty. Her red curls frame her face, her beautiful green eyes only slightly marred by the expression of disgust on her face. She must feel left out, lonely, maybe. Again, something is wrong with the picture, something is missing. I come to the realisation that it is me. I am missing. I should be there. This is what life would be like for the people around me, if I didn't exist. Which, I suppose, in the dream place, I didn't. I was just a couple of molecules, floating around, with no place to go. I feel no emotions in this place, I just know. Things go through my head, without really being attached to a feeling, no sense of right or wrong, nothing. The people in the picture, they were my family, yet with me not in the picture, somehow they no longer belonged to me. They were just another family, on another family outing.

I float further into the vortex, seeing more images. The next one I see is that of the red haired girl again, now my nine year old sister celebrating her birthday. I know she is nine, because I see the balloons and the man dressed as a clown, and remember celebrating our ninth. She was my twin, and on our ninth, we invited our whole class to our house, hiring a clown and a jumping castle. We both got our faces painted as cats, after I persuaded her, convincing her that the Spiderman one she wanted was a boys thing. Jenny. That was her name, I remember now. In the picture, Jenny's face is painted as Spiderman, and she sits with a blonde girl. I want to stop and look more before moving on, and realise I can halt with my mind, stopping the continuous float downwards. I wonder if Jenny, the one from this picture, feels something is missing. Maybe she knows she is supposed to have a twin sister. I notice her face, frozen into a curious expression, as though she did indeed feel something was missing. I recognise the feeling of emptiness, and I wonder why I do not empathise with her, as I surely would in my world.

In this place, I have no morals. I wonder what morals are, if not just things to rely on, things to know, so if ever faced with a situation where you may not have faced before, you know what to do.

Moving on again, I see the woman again, who I have figured to be my mother. She is in her early thirties now, the young child from the second scene grown in to a dark haired boy, his shocking green eyes the same as his sister, his mother, and I, if I had been part of their world. Jenny holds a large lollipop, teasing the young boy, who seems to be around the tender age of nine or ten. Jenny, I conclude, must therefore be about fourteen or fifteen. If I had been part of them, part of their world, I would be, too. A certain sadness seems to fill Jenny's eyes, as though she knows all is not right. I wonder if I shout, would they hear?

The next scene to face me shows Jenny in her early twenties, dressed entirely in black. The woman, our mother, in my world, also wears black, mourning for the loss of someone. I see no boy in the scene, and wonder where he is. David, my younger brother, should be standing with our mother. I understand that it is for him they are mourning, his quite sudden and unexpected death, after jumping of the skate ramp to meet his fate. How do I know this? In my world, David is very much alive, his naturally tousled dark hair constantly in his face, his bright green eye and crooked smile always brightening the lives of those around him. I saved from his untimely end, in my world, when I stopped him from going to the skate ramp. I took him to a concert instead, and when we returned, we were distraught to find out his best friend had died in a skating incident. This is what would have happened had I not been there. So, why am I not there?

Again, I move on, the next image in sight. I discover this one isn't quite frozen, though they don't see me, and seem unaware that they are hanging mid air in space. Unperturbed by this, I notice they are going over in a loop. I try to understand what is happening. There is no sound, nothing, so I must figure out what is happening differently. I see the woman, my mother, in her forties now, grey hairs evident, peppered throughout her red hair. She holds her head in her hands, and I figure this is the start. A man in a white coat stands before her, consoling her, the nervous wreck she is. She is mouthing something, speaking, but I can't hear. Tears pour down her face, and he appears to be telling her something she doesn't want to hear. Jenny sits alone in a corner, knees up, arms wrapped around herself, rocking slightly, shaking her head. I see instruments lying about what I can see of the room, test results on the bench.

I will myself closer, inspecting the scene before me. Jenny looks sad, as though what little of her world she had left was slipping away, her grasp lost. I concentrate on what my mother is saying, as the loop goes on, continuous. I realise she is saying, 'not again'. Curiously, I look around the room again, searching for clues. It is definitely a doctor, the man in the white coat, so this must be his work place. Right at the end of the loop, before it starts over again, my mother says something different. It goes over several more times, and I eventually understand. She is saying 'It happened to me, please, not now, not to my only baby. Don't let her lose what I lost.' She's talking about me. This is why I'm not there. It's all in front of me; the pictures from the scans, some Jenny's, some several decades older, our mothers, I assume. There are the results, the tests from the foetus', the ones from Jenny showing her baby is gone. It's heart has stopped beating, she has lost it, and I wonder still why I do not feel any pain. Our mother's tests, the older and time stained ones, show two heart rates. One long, and healthy, one flat, showing no beats. It is me. This is why I am not in this world. My mother miscarried me. This is the result of nature's natural abortions.