The Fabric of Reality

Chapter One - Vision

I sigh and turn off the radio, turning onto my side as I do so. Another night, and yet another robbery. Honestly, I can't remember the last time this city had a crime-free night.

I glance at my alarm clock and see that it is just past midnight. Fantastic. I wish that I could just get one good night of sleep. Tomorrow is Monday, and that means that it's the first day of school. Summer break just doesn't last long enough.

I close my eyes, control my breathing, and I drift off to sleep.

I am standing somewhere cool, humid, and quiet. I open my eyes to find myself in what seems to be a basement, based upon the darkness and lack of windows. It smells musty, as if no human has been here in years. However, I can hear hushed voices whispering in the corner.

I turn towards the noise, and in the dim light I am just able to make out two figures. One is holding a flashlight, but he seems enraged. He is gesturing wildly with his hands, throwing beams of light against the walls.

As my eyes adjust, I am able to discern more details in the scene. The man with the flashlight is short, stocky, and has a scrap of a beard. He is obviously barely restraining his anger, and is able to convey his harsh words without yelling. In fact, it only comes out as a low whisper. The other man, however, is tall, lanky, and very pale. He is clearly mortified, and is visibly shaken.

My eyes are drawn to the briefcase the taller man holds. All of a sudden, he grits his teeth and shoves the briefcase into the shorter man's chest. The short one is stunned, and the taller man quickly makes his leave.

I watch him to see where the exit is, but my attention is soon drawn to the briefcase now in the other man's hands. While he is distracted, the latches on the briefcase pop open, and dozens of dollar bills slowly fluttered to the ground.

As my vision slowly fades away, the last thing I see before it completely fades away is an address: Number forty-two, Wilford Drive.

~~~~~~~

The jarring, electronic noise of my alarm clock startled me awake. Opening one bleary eye, I glance at the clock. It's already six o'clock. As I stretch out my sleep-heavy limbs, I bash the alarm clock to put an end to the noise.

I let out a big yawn, and force myself to get out of bed. A new school year can't be too bad, right? It could actually be fun for me, once I get past that fact that I have new classes with new teachers, and my best friend is in none of them.

I let out a sigh. I sluggishly dress myself in my usual apparel, which is not too colorful but not too drab either. I don't like to attract any attention to myself. After that, I position myself in front of the mirror and run a brush through my shoulder-length blonde hair. My hair color must have come from my dad's side of the family, because I certainly did not have my mother's perfectly wavy brown locks. I did, however, have her eyes, which were clear blue.

Satisfied with my appearance, I make my way down the hall to find my lunch, already packed, waiting for me on the counter. Mom must have made it before she left for work.

I grab the lunch, along with an apple to eat for breakfast, pick up my backpack and duffle bag, and head out the door.

I always welcome the prospect of walking the six miles to school every morning, even though most would hate it. It could be argued that it isn't worth it to wake up so early in the morning just to get to school, but something about the cool morning air and the darkness of the sky before the sun rises always makes me feel relaxed and perfectly at ease. Which, believe me, is not something I feel often.

The peacefulness of my morning walk allows me to sift through the jumbled recollections of my dream. I remember two men. They were definitely up to something shady, if only I could remember.

Then the pieces fall into place, like a jigsaw puzzle, and I can remember everything I saw. They had money, and lots of it. Something sparks in the back of my mind. The radio last night! It told of another bank robbery, the last in a chain of robberies. Those guys must have been directly involved. The address again pops into my mind, and I almost smile. I know where they will be.