The Girl Who Dreams

                                                     "Help! Arianna! Help me, please!”

       I’m in the woods, running towards the screaming voice I don’t recognize. I hear the crunch of brittle leaves beneath my black tennis shoes as I run. My tangled brown hair whips around my pale, freckled face and I feel a deep sense of dread, like I know something bad will happen.   

       The voice screams again, loud and shrill, just as I break in to a clearing. I see a girl about my age fighting off two guys dressed in all black. I can’t quite see her face, but I can see her head of reddish-blond hair bobbing up and down as she ducks, jumps, and stabs at the guys with her gold hilted knife.

      “Don’t just stand there, help me!” she yells, throwing me a knife.

       Just as I grab the knife something slams in to me from behind. Before I know it I’m pinned to the forest floor, my knife knocked out of my hand.

       Pinning me to the ground is another one of the guys in black. His face is close to mine, and the only thing I can see through his black mask are a pair of light green eyes, eyes that beg me to understand. Before I realize what I’m doing I reach up, hand shaking, and tear the mask off his face.

       “No!” I hear the girl yell, her voice filled first with anguish, then pain. Suddenly I feel numb, and then…

                                                                Beep! Beep! Beep!

        My alarm clock goes off, waking me from my deep sleep. I sit up in bed, looking around. I see the cream colored walls of my bed room, bright spots forming as morning light filters through the large windows. Clothes, books, and papers are strewn across the light brown, hard wood floor. This sight, unlike my dreams, is familiar, safe.

        I sigh as I hit the “Off” button on my bright red alarm clock and reach under my bed, pulling out a key. I hold it in my hand and unlock the drawer of my small, white bed side table. I take out a spiral note book open it to the first page. Picking up my pen I add a tally mark to the column labeled “Dream two”. That makes ten this month.

        I put my notebook back in the drawer, relock it, and walk to my closet. I pick out a dark purple shirt, a pair of jeans and my black tennis shoes.

        After getting dressed, brushing my teeth and brushing my hair I put it up in a pony tail and run down stairs to the kitchen.

        “Good morning darling. Breakfast is on the table.” My mother says, her honey colored eyes looking in to my muddy brown ones as she smiles. I smile back, and then go to the table. My favorite breakfast sits there, cheese eggs and an orange with apple juice to drink.

        A few minutes later I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, and in walks my brother.

        “Good morning Anna. ‘Morning Mom.” He says, using my old, long forgotten nickname.

        “Good morning Stone.” My mother says. Stone is two years older than me, seventeen and a senior at our high school. His jet black hair and eyes just as dark make him quite an intimidating site. Mom says he looks just like the father we’ve never met, and most of the time she can’t look at him without bursting into tears. Even now she avoids his eyes.

        After a few more minutes of eating in silence Stone and I grab our backpacks and walk out the door. We start walking towards the bus stop, our faces burning from the hot May sun. Its days like this that I wish Stone’s car hadn’t broken down back in August.

        We get to the bus stop just as the yellow vehicle with faded black letters pulls up to the curb. I hike up my green L.L. Bean backpack up on my back and board the bus.

        I take my seat in the front by one of my friends, Emmy. In put my ears buds in and click the “play” button on my iPod. Stone sits a few seats behind me and takes out his phone.

        Just as the bus is about to drive away, two kids jump on. I tilt my head to the side in confusion. Usually Stone and I are the only ones who get on at this stop. I don’t really get a good look at them as they pass me, but they look about my age. They go and sit at the back of the bus and I continue playing my iPod, not a thing on my mind.