Shooting Star

Shooting Star

A Possible Breaking Dawn

By: Natilie Sawada

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, character relationships, or the circumstances they are in. They all belong to Stephenie Meyer, not me (though I wish they did! Especially Edward fan girl scream)

Author's Note: Please review. I wrote this before Breaking Dawn came out, and it is…not my prediction of what will happen, only a story of what the plot line could have possibly been. If it does match the plot line of Breaking Dawn by some odd crazy coincidence, it is indeed just that…a coincidence. It only means Stephenie and I both have messed up crazy imaginations. I'm using Stephenie's preface because I want it to be realistic (and it matches my story line). I'm doing my best to write like Stephenie Meyer…hopefully it sounds like something out of the book (I'm trying my hardest ) so please tell me what you think.

Also, I'm sorry I skipped over the wedding, but I just couldn't get it to sound right, so you'll just have to bear with the story the way it is.

(The preface was written by Stephenie Meyer, not me. I just wrote the rest of the story, so please don't sue because you won't get much out of me)

For my friends.

Without their support, feed back, and just plain grumbling about how I always end my chapters as cliff hangers, this story would have never found its ending.

And also, for their undying devotion to Stephenie's vampire empire—showing me that I'm not alone in my obsessive, worshipful ways

"In the clearing stands a boxer

and a fighter by his trade

and he carries the reminders

of every glove that laid

him down or cut him

'til he cried out in his anger and his shame

'I am leaving, I am leaving'

but the fighter still remains."

The Boxer By: Simon and Garfunkel


I'd had more than my fare share of near-death experiences; it wasn't something you really ever got used to

It seemed oddly inevitable, though, facing death again. Like I really was marked for disaster. I'd escaped time and time again, but it kept coming back for me.

Still, this time was so different from the others.

You could run from someone you feared, you could try to fight someone you hated. All my reactions were geared toward those kinds of killers—the monsters, the enemies.

When you loved the one killing you, it left you no options. How could you run, how could you fight, when doing so would hurt that beloved one? If your life was all you had to give you beloved, how could you not give it?

If it was someone you truly loved?