A Hundred year-old

"I can't believe you're old enough to have your purpose," Mum says with a sigh. "Makes me feel old."

"You are old."

She can't argue with that, being that she's over a hundred and all, even though she doesn't look a day over forty. I on the other hand, feel exactly like what I am: a clueless (if not exactly ordinary) sixteen year-old who still has school in the morning. At the moment I don't feel like there's any angel blood in me. I look at my beautiful, vibrant mother, and I know whatever her purpose was, she must have faced it with courage and homour and skill.

"Do you think... "I say after a minute, and it's tough to get the question out because I don't want her to think I'm a total coward. "Do you think it's possible for me to be killed by fire?"

"Clara."

"Seriously."

"It's just that when I was standing there behind him, I felt so sad. I don't know why."

Mum's arms come around me, pull me close so I can hear the strong, steady beating of her heart.

"Maybe the reason I'm so sad is that I'm going to die," I whisper.

Her arm's tighten.

"It's rare," she says quietly.

"But it does happen."