The Prophecy

Chapter 1

The day was June 3rd, and as usual I needed a huge caffeine fix to make up for how tired I was this morning, but the strange thing is that I had slept like a baby all night long. I had that stupid dream again, a dream which I always woke up tired from. I felt as though all the caffeine in the world couldn't cure my insatiable cravings, why was I so tired?
"Hellooo, earth to Wendy!?"
I was brought back to reality with a screeching halt, otherwise known as my best friend Emma Reagan. Emma was a petite specimen, with long blonde hair and an impossibly perfect face and figure. I had always felt like a bit of a dandelion around Emma, she was more of a rose; perfectly shaped, perfectly coloured, always stood out in the crowd and would cut you with her thorns if you weren't careful enough. She often sported long blonde curls and a miniskirt. It was no wonder that she attracted so much attention from the male species. Whereas I always stood out for all the wrong reasons, the way most people avoided me made me feel like even more of a dandelion, as if people would pick me out then wee the bed. I very much resented the fact that I had a slightly stocky build, I was tall, a brunette, and packing a little more weight than Emma. OK a lot. I always thought that my perfect best friend Emma was way too good for me, however sometimes I had my suspicions that the only reason Emma ever associated herself with me was to make herself look more appealing.
"Ugh, Wendy you didn't have that stupid dream about that stupid guy again did you?"
Emma asked, looking rather unamused that I clearly hadn't been listening to her drone on about how she told Drake Martin she liked him, but Drake didn't reply and left her messages on seen for 2 days and then seen her in class and told her he was sleeping. OK, so maybe I had been listening a little more thoroughly than either of us had realised. It wasn't hard, Emma only spoke of one thing - boys. She was boys in the brain, the only difficult part was remembering how far down on the class register she was now.
"Alright, it's not a stupid dream, and he's certainly not... you know, stupid."
"Well either way he's not real, so can we please just get back to talking about real life boys, six packs, testosterone and all!?" Emma was beginning to look impatient.
"OK, sorry."
I had learned by now not to even try and argue with Emma, she may be tiny but she packed a punch that a six-foot bouncer at our favourite nightclub couldn't even handle. I tried to listen to Emma but I couldn't stop thinking about the guy in my dreams, his dark hair, brown eyes, and his youthful glow. His eyes screaming come hither. Perhaps I was just attracted to the fact that someone, other than Emma actually paid special attention to me. I was unsure whether I liked this strange dream character, or just the idea of him.
I started to become so fixated on how realistic my dreams were, I began to wonder if they had actually happened. However, I was a born sceptic, my mother was a sceptic, her mother before her was a sceptic, so on and so forth. Therefore, I had been raised not to believe in the supernatural, after all, there's no proof of it's existence. It defies the laws of science, or so my mother had always told me. My mother was a quiet women, well that is unless you were a Jehovah Witness, or followed any sort of organised religion. Pheobe Smith was a die hard atheist, before I brought anyone into the house I had to warn them not to mention the 2 dreaded topics: religion and the supernatural. Other than extremely opinionated in all things theism, my mother was very sweet and loving, she was 5-foot 2 inches of pure and unadulterated love. Unfortunately, I hadn't been blessed with the dainty figure that my mother had, I had always resembled my Father. Sweet man, very tall, but also very absent. I hadn't seen my Father in years, I was never really sure why, maybe it's because my parents were cut from different cloth - my mother being all things anti-theism and my father being very open-minded, very superstitious and very interested in the supernatural. I missed my father dearly, but I was never really sure whether he left of his own accord or whether he had no choice. Although sweet, my mother could be very hard to reason with, she was a Scorpio, that's why. That's what my father had always told her anyway, and of course she always believed that horoscopes were blasphemy, so to speak.
Today was going to be the longest day of my life, with almost no sleep whatsoever (so I felt), we arrived at the school gates. I looked at the time and it was 9.05am, we were already late.
"Emma, we're late!"
"Oh, pipe down will you? We've still got time, it's only French we're missing." Emma said calmly. Emma dived into her bag, slowly pulling out a silver carton which I had believed to be cigarettes, she pulled one out, placed it between her perfectly shaped rose lips, and lit it. It's amazing how someone could make the most dangerous things look so perfect.
As much as I loved my best friend, I resented her care-free attitude. Emma was a terrible influence on me, there was no doubt about that, but somewhere in the back of my mind (way back), I wished I could be more like Emma. See, I often felt like my personal wants and needs always played second fiddle to my grades, I was an innately neurotic perfectionist, I resented that about myself. With every single personality trait I could see myself becoming more and more like my mother. I didn't want to end up like that...old, alone and narrow-minded. Maybe that's why I kept having these dreams, somewhere in my subconscious, I was terrified of becoming my mother.
"Can we please go in now, Emma? I can't miss French, I have a big oral exam next Friday!!"
"Ugh, OK don't get your croissants in a twist." Emma put out her cigarette on the pavement, we entered the school gates. It was now 9.15am, I was dreading the lecture that we were going to receive from Mrs Brown...