It was cold outside. That was her initial observation. Perhaps the Dementors are coming, she thought wryly.

She shivered in the cool night breeze, the sudden chill causing a prickling sensation down her arms as the tiny hairs stood up straight, stock still. Like soldiers standing to attention. Row upon row of soldier. Obedient. Attentive. Strong. Vulnerable. But she wasn't thinking about the cold any more. She brushed her hands along her arms, flattening the hairs. Flattening the soldiers. She shook off the sensation, ignoring the sense of unease turning her stomach.

Intending to redirect her attention she averted her gaze to the garden. Bathed in moonlight, the tulips glowed ethereally. The yellow buds peered up at the moon hopefully. White jasmine petals curved downwards, shying away from the dominating moon beams, though the yellow centres bravely faced the moon. Several jasmine flowers lay on the soil, their stalks severed. The weeds surrounded the garden bed, creeping forward. Inching ahead stubbornly. Taking over. The tulips and daisies stood their ground. For the time being. They were vulnerable; eventually, the weeds would stomp them out.

Up above, the stars sparkled, like jewels scattered across a velvet sheet spread across the night sky, the corners pinned tentatively to the edges of the Earth. Dark blue, so dark it verged on black, it looked fierce and strong, but the edges would tear away with the force of the rising sun. The strength, the power; it was all an illusion.

Over the fence, in a little brick cottage, her neighbours slept peacefully, their thoughts unhindered by the sorrow that penetrated hers. Wearing her down.

Something shot across the sky, leaving a trail of shimmering particles in its wake. A falling meteorite.

He always wanted to see a shooting star. She wished that she could share the experience with him, the moment that should have been so much more magical, and would have been, had he been there with her.

He was taken from her too early. Far too early. She just wanted a second chance; a chance to experience all that she would now never be able to.

He had hoped it would be 'magical', said that witnessing the journey of a meteor from somewhere in the universe to 'our humble Earth' would be witnessing one of the few ways of contact our world had with the world 'out there'. Communication with the unknown.

He was wrong. All she felt was a hollow sensation. A feeling that something had been wrenched from her stomach. All that lingered was a memory of how it used to feel to be happy. A ghost of happiness. It would never be 'real' again.