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Sitting in the passenger seat, I sketch in my book. Instead of the boy, it was a building, a small coffee shop.
I listen to the faint hum of the engine, tuned into my thoughts.
Having what some may call a gift such as mine comes with its burdens. Before the visions of the boy, whose name I now know as Tyler, my mind was constantly plagued with images of death that weren't mine, families, or people I'd never seen before.
They turned my dreams into nightmares so while most find comfort in sleep, I dread it.
After my seventeenth birthday, It got worse. My visions were more vivid, and louder. Instead of mist, my visions were now clear images. I can smell the burning of flesh. Hear the screams, even after I've come too. The voices echo in my head. Warnings. Callings. From both the past and the future. Even the present.
"I think you'll find it better at Nevermore."
Still sketching I glance at my mom, "I hope so, I don't know if saying my visions are seizures would've been believable any longer. I have so many "seizures" I should be dead by now and those youths were starting to pick up on it."
"I know, I started getting concerned calls from the principal saying how you shouldn't be attending school in your condition."
Before I could reply a pair of gates came into view.
Nevermore Academy
"Oh! I forgot it was move-in day." my mom groans. Her words brought my attention to the bundle of cars and people scurrying everywhere with luggage and bags.
"I don't mind, if this school is as amazing as you say it is, I'll be fine." I turn my head just in time to see her smile cross her face and mine mimics the action.
My mom has visions too. A prophet she prefers. She associates the word, Psychic with witches and she has a bad history with witches.
Nevermore made my mom a better version of herself. In a normie school cliche, mean-girl clicks looked for targets and my mom was the "nerd" with a habit of sticking out.
Her dark skin is contrasted by her kinky platinum-white hair and piercing gold-like eyes. Which made her a freak and an easy target.
Fortunately for me, my mom's genes were stronger than my dad's. Giving my brown skin the same contrast.
Stopping the car, she turns over to me, tucking a curl of my hair, its color identical to hers behind my ear.
"You sure you don't need me to help you?"
I smile at her before kissing her forehead "I'm sure."
My mom laid down the ground rules and we said our goodbyes. I grabbed my suitcase and bag, making my way into the school.
If only I'd known what awaited me behind those doors.
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