I glanced down to my watch, only the hour hand still visible. 3pm. The exiting bell rung throughout my ears and kids slowly dispersed into the halls and out to where life took them for the weekend. I use to like fridays, before my parents made me sign a contract with the school's therapist to come to his office every friday for 10 to 15 minutes before I walk home. I guess I understand why they would want me to talk to someone besides them. Growing up was simple without friends holding me back.
A few nights ago 'the dream', as they call it, happened for the first time. It happened again today during class this morning. Nobody can decipher it, not even me. I have never met the masked man. I have never seen anyone that looks like him. I have never had sadness like this until the dream happened for the first time.
I sit in the therapist's office. He stares down my files on the computer and sighs. Telling me to listen carefully he leans against the front of his desk. He asks about my school work and I shrug. Sleeping schedules will have to be made and logged his says, sighing again, handing me a blank black notebook and a number 2 pencil to take. I nod and put them in my bag. The phone from the next room rings 3 times before answered by a young woman voice. The therapist stands in place as if waiting to hear something. The woman from next door calls him in by his first name and he groans, exiting the office. I wait for a minute hearing the door shut behind him then I make my break for the door.
