Kissed By Death (PLZ READ DESCRIPTION)

Chapter 1- The Dream

　Chapter 1 - The Dream

I jolted upright in bed, heart racing at a 1000 beats a minute in a cold sweat. The sunlight which filtered in through the blinds and bathed my room in a golden glow could only mean one thing: Morning. To a teenager on the first Friday of September anyone could guess what that meant. It’s time for school, and what a great way to start the year - a fright night.

It's stupid how they make us go back on a Friday. Why wouldn't they give us 3 more days to enjoy our freedom before they rip it from our young hands? I don't know, I'm not a teacher; I'm a student, and the school isn't my place of work; it is my prison. One thing I do know is they most likely don't remember being a teenager, because if they did I'd still be asleep.

I slowly got out of bed some might even say "I wasn't a happy camper". I lazily sunk to the hardwood floor, and welcomed it's coolness against my skin. I reached between the two mattresses of my twin bed and pulled out a little green leather bound book. It was well worn with age and had multiple pages torn out from past years entries that hadn't met my more mature self's approval or that I simply didn't want to remember.

Some would call it a "journal" others a "diary" but it's so much more than that. It had a record of every thought and innermost desire. Within its pages, it had a record of every dream I've ever had. This included everything from those silly embarrassing ones I'd die if anyone knew about, to those nightmares that kept me up all night wondering what they meant. It's my dream journal.

I opened it up, glancing at past entries seeing if this new one tied to any of the others. It didn't. They always seemed to have a pattern, one flowed into the next nicely, but this one was completely out of place and out of the blue. I thought of what this dream could possibly mean as I quickly jotted down last night's experience.

I've learned from experience that each and every dream has its own message. Either that's an obvious one or one that you have to dig a little to find, for just under the surface lies profound meaning. I wondered about this as I reviewed my newest entry, is it really a hidden message or am I overthinking it? It was most likely right there in front of me, staring me in the face but I was just too blind to see it.

I returned the book to its hiding place and I thought about mother coming in one day, seeing how messy my room was: blankets tossed over the bed left where they first fell and a mixture of clean and dirty clothes thrown about the room looking as if a tornado hit recently. What if she happened to reach between my mattresses to make my bed, tucking in a stray sheet or blanket and came across the book? Would she read it? Oh god of course she would! She's the mother of a teenage girl, and she's bound to be curious of what mischief I was up to. She would most definitely assume it's a stupid diary and read it. Panic clawed at my chest as I made a mental note: find a new hiding place.

I got up from my perch on the floor and headed to my closet. I had no idea what I was going to wear. Should I wear something comfortable like my favourite sweats? Or something cute, something that says "Look at me!?" No, definitely not that. The last thing I wanted we’re a thousand eyes on me as I trip and fall out of nerves. I let out a sigh, sweats it was.

After getting dressed as fast as I could and trying with little success to brush out the tangle of blonde hair on top of my head, I glanced at the alarm clock rested on my bedside table. I blinked a few times in disbelief then I squinted my eyes at what I thought I saw. It can’t be, I thought. I grabbed quickly for my glasses and looked again, as it had before it read 8:05am. I was going to be late.

I grabbed my purse, throwing in a few pieces of paper and a pen, and may as well have leapt full speed down the stairs. This had been my first mistake. I missed a step and toppled down half the flight of stairs causing my purse along with all its continents to scatter all over the floor. I let out a silent scream in frustration and quickly picked it all up running next to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Mom was already at the table, with her cup of coffee and her newspaper like she always had every morning for as long as I can remember.