Dream

Chapter Three

My drawings were horrid. The only thing I could draw were nightmares. Nightmares. Nightmares. And I only had more of them.

I seemed to be in the middle of what once was a beautiful forest. The trees were dim and dark, not a single green leaf-- Or any leaf at all hung on the bare branches. The dead grass was silent and frozen in a shriveled way, the wind howling like a lone wolf. The sky was dark, the moon full. Not a single star shown, as if they hid, lost in the never ending sky.

It felt as if the landscape sucked out all hope, all pride, all happiness that was in me. I felt bare and useless. Alone and helpless. I wore a white dress that fell just above my knee caps, hints of dirt on the edges, with white flats. I began walking, a trail was already shown to me, as if the trees gave way. And so I followed it.

The path was brownish color, a rusty brown. It began to rain, creating mucky, icky mud. It began to splash on my feet, ruining what once were perfect, white, spotless beautiful flats. The path stopped before dozens of trees that block any way out of the forest. They were deathly black, thick barked and bare of leaves, like the others. A mirror was hung at the large tree before me, a long oval shape that was able to show every inch of me, head to toe.

But what I saw, I could not believe. A rusty, red substance covered my legs, and splattered on the flats. A dark brown, moist liquid was dripping from my hands, down to my fingertips.

Blood.

I stared at my visage. My hair was perfectly curled down my shoulders. My eyes were wide-- but they were not my eyes. A bloody red iris, and cat like pupils. The reflection smiled at me and waved it's hand, though I did not move up my own hand, nor did I lift the corners of my mouth up to smirk. The reflection pounced at me, clawing at my cheek.

I woke up screaming and feeling my cheek. I could feel a sting on my skin, where in my dream, my own reflection scratched me. It was 5 in the morning. Sarah threw a pillow at me. "Do you seriously have to scream?"

I turned to Sarah, a mixture of horrid emotions flaring me like a fire. "I don't care, about how much you hate when I speak of my dreams, how I scream when I wake. I don't care. Nor do you. Therefore, I suppose you leave me alone if you have nothing nice to say, and are repeating what you have said before." I stood up and grabbed my prepared clothes from the dresser and stormed into the bathroom.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, now completely feared of it. I wore black jeans and red vans, and a plaid top. I did not dare stare at my eyes, or my cheek. I turned the door knob and exited the bathroom. My mother was waiting in the kitchen. Sarah must have let her in.

"Ready for your counseling?" She asked. "Yeah, whatever."

"Counseling?" Sarah said from her bed, staring at me with a face I never have seen her wear before. My mother nodded.

Silence.

I cleared my throat. "Lets just get the session over with, mom..."

✪✪✪

My mother then took me to counseling. She said my counselor was named Mrs. Thompson.

Pulling over me and walking me to the door, she kissed my cheek and said goodbye. "Don't worry, this time it'll be different, it'll be good for you. You'll see."

Before, I believed counseling was a terrible, horrid place where people would convince me to let go of my unusual dreams and come back to reality. Where they would do the most stupid exercises and 'help' me get through tough times. Overall, I thought counseling was a nightmare that came true. I thought it would be the same forever.

I was wrong.

It was 6:30 A.M. when I sat down in the waiting room, patiently kicking back and staring at the ceiling, beginning to doze off.

"The dark bags under your eyes are proof that mornings punch you in the face." I voice said from beside me. I blinked and turned. A boy about my age was sitting next to me. He smiled with his bright blue eyes, his brown hair somewhat perfect, and combed to the side in a messy way. But it did look good. He had a playful grin, and he wore a black t-shirt with a band I never have heard of, with a black hoodie and bootcut jeans. He wore some Nike free runs, a bright neon color. "No, mornings don't punch me in the face, nightmares do." I rub my cheek. "Or scratch me. Speaking of the morning, it's really early but I'm wide awake. I'm not exactly a morning person but I kind of like mornings. You get me? I like them but I don't. It's so gloomy when it's so early. I mean the sun isn't out yet, you might as well call it night."

He laughed and smiled at me. "I'm Noah Knight. Junior year in California Institute of the Arts, I'm studying photography." I returned the smile. "Lilian Hunter, Freshman year in California Institute of the Arts, studying animation." He smiled more, then paused, staring at me.

"What?"

"You have dimples. Did you know that when human skin attaches to muscles, it creates dimples?" I shook my head and laughed a bit. "You probably know a lot of things." He nodded, "Yup! I'm pretty smart, if you ask me."

"Maybe you could help me with a math question? What's the area of a 3D cylinder if the radius is 2.5?"

He paused. "Wait, hold on I got this..." He began to mumble.

And it went on for the past seven minutes. "I got nothing." He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "I guess I'm just the guy that has all the weird facts, not the knowledge of the smartest person ever."

I smiled more. "A--" I started, but was interrupted.

"Lilian Hunter? Your counselor is ready to see you." I waved goodbye to Noah. "I'll see you, Noah."

"I bid you farewell, Lilian." He replied with a smirk.

✪✪✪

I stepped into the counselor's room, a cool breeze hitting my face. The room was painted a lavender, arrayed with small sparks of color, as if someone had splatter painted all over the walls. The room smelled of fresh watermelon, probably some kind of Febreeze air freshener or something. The walls were curved, causing the room to be in the shape of an oblate spheroid. Maps and pictures scattered all over the back wall, in the center was a desk, and two office spinning chairs in front of it. A woman sat at the desk, smiling as she adjusted a few papers. "Lilian, please sit." She ushered to the chair. I obeyed, sitting down. "I am Mrs. Thompson," she smiled and held out her hand to me. I cautiously shook it, remembering the first time I ever went to counseling when I was seven.

"Hello Lilian, my name is--"

"How do you know my name?!" I screamed, jittering in the chair, beside my mother, in front of the counselor. "Lilian, honey--" my mother said, taking my hand gently. "Did you go into my records? I always go to the bathroom without a hall pass and my teacher always said it would be on my records. What are records, mommy? Aren't records those disc thingies that those old music player things have?"

"Lilian--"

"Mommy I had this dream that I could breathe underwater and so I tried to breathe underwater during my bath yesterday, but I started choking and daddy had to give me CPR! Mommy what's CPR?"

I blinked and refocused on my counselor. "So your mother says that your dreams are affecting you majorly."

"Yes, but who says that's a bad thing?" I questioned.

"Your mother."

"Well, she's wrong. I can be dreaming up rainbows and I'll be completely fine."

Mrs. Thompson raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "You've been having nightmares?" I slowly nodded. "Do you have any friends that you talk to around campus?" I shook my head. "I'm not compatible with the human species. The average human believes I am a psychotic, irritating dream maker whom cannot form any kind of relation bond with a homo sapien. Therefore, no, I do not have any form of 'friend'." I answer, holding my head highly with my arms folded.

The counselor sighed. "Go find some before our next visit."