This was actually written for LA… But the story forum looked lonely, so I’ll post it. Please comment… I know the ending is sudden (or as Bells said, there is no ending at all!), but I was trying to finish it fast. I don’t know if I’ll edit it or add on or anything, so please just comment…

Sasha opened her eyes. At first, her vision was blurry, but then it cleared and a fiery red filled her head. She sat up, alarmed, staring at the magnificent bird that sat in front of her. It cocked its head, as if wondering why Sasha would ever be scared of it, as if saying, Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. But Sasha scrambled to sit up anyways, frightened by what she saw. And then…

Then it didn’t matter, because it all faded away.

Sasha opened her eyes, this time for real. She looked around wildly, but already knew what she’d see: just her plain old room, still a babyish pink from so long ago, her floor coated in junk, her shelves out of order. Yep. No magnificent, fiery bird.

Half of her was still alarmed after seeing that bird, but the other half wished it might come back. That was the third night she’d dreamed about waking up and seeing a majestic bird perched in front of her. The strange thing was, that was all she saw. Just the blinding red, the colour of a flame, then the elegant bird cocking its head. Her dream wouldn’t show her the setting, but she had the feeling she wasn’t waking up in her room.

She slowly eased herself out of bed, trying to erase the strange dreams from her mind. For the past week or so, she was feeling like she was always forgetting something, even though she turned everything in on time at school, remembered everything for every outing. Some people forgot everything, but Sasha never forgot. The forgetting feeling was driving her crazy.
A knock came at her door. “Sasha, are you awake?” Her mother.
“Yeah, Mom. I’ll be down in a minute,” she replied distractedly.
Her efforts to erase the dreams were not working. The image of the bird stuck with her all the way through breakfast, all the way to the bus, all the way to school. All through homeroom, the bird gazed at her questioningly, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not get rid of it.
She was walking down the hallway to her first class, when a shout of, “Sasha!” came down the hallway. She turned to see a tall, skinny, dark-haired boy dashing towards her.
“Hey, Tristan.”
“I just finished this book… It’s really good. It’s called Featherflite, and get this! It’s written by someone with your name! See? S. Bowers. Isn’t that weird? No, it’s cool! It’s weird and cool! Wouldn’t it be awesome if it were you somehow? If it is, you’re a really good author! In fact, you’re amazing! I really, really loved it, Sash. It’s so good. It’s about a girl—she’s got your name, too—and a phoenix named Simon. Do you know what a phoenix is?” Tristan paused to ask, but then he plowed on. “Of course you do. I know you do, we read all these fantasy books.” Tristan explained anyway. “They’re those birds that burst into flames when they die and are reborn from the ashes. You know, those fiery red birds?”
S. Bowers? The main character named Sasha? This was weird. And… fiery red birds? Like in her dream? But then she pulled herself together. “Tristan, don’t be stupid. There are a lot of S. Bowers in this world. And it’s just a coincidence that S. Bowers wrote a book about a girl named Sasha.” With a fiery red phoenix in it, she added silently. As she said this to Tristan, though, she became more and more unsure about her thoughts.
Tristan was looking at her strangely. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence, Sasha.” For once, he didn’t have any more to add to that. Then, “Anyways, here.” He handed the book to her. “Read it, but I want it back. That book’s priceless to me. It’s fantastic, I know you’ll love it, especially since it’s about you.”
It’s not about me! Sasha protested silently, but she couldn’t force herself to say it aloud. She looked down at the book, and her eyebrows went up. It was old and tattered, a faded red, heavy in her hands. The cover was wrapped in some sort of cloth, so it frayed at the edges. All in all, it wasn’t in very good condition, except for the elegant golden engraved letters on the front that read:
Featherflite
Cautiously, Sasha opened the book. It was just like an old-fashioned fairytale storybook, with each chapter beginning with an elegantly illustrated letter. Intricate designs bordered each page, and it completely took her breath away. “It’s absolutely beautiful,” she breathed.
“Isn’t it?” Tristan said, eyes shining.
“It looks so old! When was it published?” Sasha asked him, briefly looking up from the amazing book.
“This may sound strange… But there’s no publishing date. No dates at all. From the story, it sounds like it’s set a long time ago, but setting means nothing when it comes to publishing. I have no idea.” Tristan shrugged.
Sasha frowned and turned over the book. Nothing. “Where did you get it?”
“This lady gave it to me at the bookstore. She said it was really good, and that when I was done I should loan it to my very best friend, who would probably like it, too. It’s great.”
“It does look really good,” said Sasha vaguely.
That turned out to be an understatement.

It was too busy during school and right after to start Tristan’s book, so Sasha decided to read when she went to bed, She clicked on her reading light and settled into bed with the book. From the first page she was captivated… and a little spooked…
I am Sasha Bowers, and this is my story. It is a story of love and life, happiness and courage, hope and wonder. It is a story of firebirds, also known as phoenixes, of time-travel, and magic. But most of all it is a true story. Fictional stories are all very well and let your imagination run wild, but sometimes you need a true story to bring you down to earth. This story, however, is somewhere in between, but I can assure you it is the truth.
This may not make any sense to you and may discourage you from reading further, but I promise that if you continue, you will find a magnificent tale, not necessarily woven in the most magnificent way, but brilliant all the same. Please, reader. Continue, and let yourself go.
Sasha was breathing hard, now. Sasha Bowers. A story about another Sasha Bowers. How? Was it her? Was it a coincidence? She wanted to put it down, give the beautiful book back to Tristan. At the same time, she couldn’t put it down. She told herself it was all a coincidence, that she just needed to give herself a chance, like this S. Bowers said. But as she read on, after an awful lot of hard breathing and calming thoughts, she became less and less convinced of this.
My story begins, as many stories do, with a dream. Three dreams, actually. Dreams about fiery red birds. Dreams where I didn’t know where I was, what was going on, just that I woke up and a firebird stared me in the face.
The dreams bothered me for a long time, and I always had a strange feeling, like I was forgetting something. But then, one day, a good friend gave me a book. It was a very old book, faded and red, torn and tattered, the cloth it was wrapped in unraveling at the seams. Still, I read it, and it changed my life.
Sasha’s heart beat wildly. This could not be a coincidence. This was an exact account of the past few days. This wasn’t a different S. Bowers. This was her. This was her autobiography of sorts. This was her.
How? Thoughts ran through her head, uncontrolled. These did not stop her from reading more.
I was eager to begin reading the book, but a busy schedule would not allow it. Finally that night, I sat down and opened the book and began to read. My heart began beating quickly, for this book appeared to be about me. I remember how astonished I was to find this. Just as I began the second chapter, I heard a knocking at my window…
End of first chapter. Was this her in the future recounting her experiences? When she began the second chapter, would she hear the knocking, as the book-S. Bowers did? Carefully, hesitantly, Sasha lifted the page…
…and froze. For just then, there came a knocking at her window. Sasha sat there for what felt like forever, not knowing if she should go see what it was, if she should close the book, if she should ignore it all and keep reading. She decided to quietly close the book, so as not to let the knocker know she was there, and peek out the window just a little, so she might identify the knocker. She eased herself out of bed, trying hard not to make a noise, then crept to the window. As she raised the blinds, she saw a pair of piercing green eyes, like drops of emerald. Then she saw the fiery red, and then she saw nothing.

When Sasha woke up, at first she thought it was her dream for the fourth time, because all she saw was a blinding red. Then her vision became a little bit more focused, and she saw the fiery bird, which she now knew was a phoenix, sitting in front of her, cocking its head like it did in the dream. She sat up, alarmed, just like the dream, but this time she knew it was all real, and her surroundings came into focus as well.
She was sitting in a clearing in a forest she knew she had never seen before. It was almost like she was in the middle of a faerie’s meadow, for tiny, delicate, crimson flowers were planted in circles. Five of the flower circles were spread out within the clearing, and Sasha was in the middle of one of them.
Where am I? she thought, looking around.
The Sorrowful Forest, said a voice inside her head. Sasha twisted around hurriedly several times, trying to figure out where the voice came from before she realised it was inside her own mind.
She turned to the phoenix. Struggling for the words, still astonished by her surroundings and the firebird in front of her, she managed to squeeze out, “Was that you?” The phoenix dipped its head, which Sasha interpreted as a sort of nod. “You can talk?”
Yes.
“I—You’re a phoenix, right?”
Yes… We call ourselves firebirds.
“Oh, sorry. Firebird then. I didn’t know ph—firebirds could talk.”
You didn’t know we showed ourselves to humans, either, did you?
She didn’t have a response to that.
The bird’s emerald eyes curved up, glinting in the moonlight. It made a musical noise, and it took Sasha a moment to realise that it was laughing, or at least expressing amusement in some way.
“Do you have a name?” she asked it.
Firebirds do not give ourselves names. We know each other by our plumage and our songs. But it is difficult for… others to understand this. You may give me a name if you wish.
Sasha’s mind was blank. How could any name live up to this bird’s majesty? She slowly stood up, using her hands to push herself off the ground, when her hand landed on something hard and smooth. She turned, already knowing what it was.
S. Bowers’s book had come with her. The old, faded red thing with the engraved golden title had somehow been taken with her to wherever she was now. If it was herself writing about this, would it reveal the future? Would it tell her what she needed to do, what she would name this strange creature, how she would get home?
Sasha picked up the book, moved to open it, when suddenly, out of nowhere, the phoenix swooped down (or was it up?) and snatched it out of her hand with its shimmering golden beak.
Perhaps you should not read that just yet. The bird’s mental voice had a cold edge to it.
“Why not?” she inquired. Wouldn’t it help her?
Time is dangerous, was all the bird would say. Now follow me.
Reluctantly, Sasha let go of the book. She straightened her T-shirt and dusted off her pajama pants, ready to go, but the bird just hovered. Hurry up! it demanded.
“I’m ready!” she said.
Well, I can see you have never flown with a firebird before, it sighed. Grab onto my tail.
Cautiously, Sasha reached out and grabbed the beautiful, fiery tail. And just like that, with no warning, she was up in the air, being tossed around in some strange wind that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She tried to scream to the bird over the torrents of wind, but it was to no avail… There was no mental voice at all.
Finally, the winds died down, and she and the bird, surprisingly, landed gently on the ground… In the exact same place they took off from.
“We’re still in this forest?!” Sasha exploded.
Of course, the firebird said calmly. Where did you think we were going?
“I don’t know… Somewhere else,” Sasha grumbled.
A branch cracked somewhere. Quick, come here, the bird ordered. She followed it, ducking under low branches and running smack into one. Still, she managed to find her way behind a hedge with a minimal amount of noise.
A woman melted out of the trees. She looked, at first sight, rather ordinary
(brown hair, jeans, T-shirt), and a stranger. But when Sasha peered further, she realised something astonishing.
“That’s me!” she exclaimed softly. The firebird nipped her hand with its beak to make her shut up. Sasha obeyed, but she still watched the woman—her—fascinated.
“Simon, do you think she’s really here?” asked the woman.
As the bird replied, Sasha heard him in her own head. Of course, Sasha. You remember crouching here, watching this, right?
“Oh, it’s so confusing. What if something had happened?” The woman sat down on a fallen log.
Nothing happened. She’s here.
“But I can’t see her?”
Do you remember you seeing her?
“No…”
Then no, you cannot. Now come… I still want to show you the Mountain.
The bird launched itself upward and hovered in the air, waiting, Sasha guessed, for the woman to grab its tail, but still the woman stood there. Her lips parted slightly, and she whispered, “Hello, me. I know you’re here now. I know I’ll never see you again, but you’ll see me soon.” She paused, then, “Simon’s a brilliant firebird. Trust him.” And with that, she grabbed the bird’s tail, and they were gone.
Sasha slumped to the ground, in total shock. “I—”
Do you understand now? asked the firebird, Simon, she supposed.
“I…. I don’t know.” She sat there for a few minutes longer, still unsure. “Are… you a time-traveler?”
I suppose you could call us that.
“You mean all firebirds can?!”
Yes. We come to certain humans that show promise and reveal to them the secrets of time. I’ve just taken you to the future.
“What about the book?”
The book? You write that in the future, too, about all the things that are happening to you right now. Except you write it in Victorian England. I take you back to that time, and that is where you slip away.
“I die in Victorian England?”
Yes.
“This is all too much… I’ve never been good with time. I’m always late for everything… Aren’t there many rules about time travel? How do you firebirds do it? I’m so confused. Can everything I do alter history in some major way? What if I screw up and kill an ancestor? Will I cease to exist? I know that’s what always happens in books. Will I have never been alive? Will I be in someone else’s body? If I cease to exist, does that mean none of this is happening right now?”
Calm down, dear Sasha. The Secrets will be revealed to you in time. For now, I’d just like to give you a taste of some different eras.
“But… Simon… I’m not ready for this. I’m really not. Why was I chosen? Why—”
I said… The Secrets will be revealed in Time. Be patient. Now grab onto my tail…