You dreamt what?! [Wattys2017]

Prologue

I was diagnosed with having vivid dreams when I was six. I remember Michael used to tease me about it, call me silly, all that kind of six year old rubbish.

Dad knew when I had the dreams. I would wake up in a strange trance, mumbling about something or other, ‘wanting attention’ apparently. At least mum realised.

“Gary, we have to go get this checked out.” She said, walking into the kitchen where dad was sitting with me and Michael. “Marcus doesn’t like the dreams, do you sweetie?” I had shook my head. “See Gary, he doesn’t like them.”

“Well, not all of them.” I had whispered to Michael, who giggled in reply.

“Why doesn’t Michael get the dreams then?” Dad growled. “They’re bloody identical tims an’ all.”

“That doesn’t mean it will be the same.” Mum sighed. She took me into the next room. Michael followed me, eager to see what was going on. “Marcus, shall we get this checked out now?” I nodded and she took us to the car and drove to the doctors.

We were sent to the hospital and they came up with my diagnosis. I was pretty pleased it wasn’t serious and I was allowed to go home.

Three years ago, four days before that first day of school (we start school at 8), I apparently collapsed in our bedroom. I was took to the hospital in an ambulance and at the hospital later diagnosed with panic attacks for the most vivid dreams.

Mum told my teacher on the first day of school that I had to be careful when doing stuff and that I could collapse and have a literal ‘day dream’.

I got used to my new life. The dreams weren’t too bad. But that was before they started becoming real.