Hours

11- Tuesday, May 15th

11:17 PM

I pack away my Chemistry binder, huffing a sigh of relief now that my homework's done.

Standing from my small desk, I stretch, looking at it. The top is covered with long planks of wood which, if polished, would be the perfect shade of dark mahogany. The frame is metal, black, with wheels on one side for transport. There's only one storage area, a little shelf tucked to the inner right of the desk, open on all sides except one. Mom got it for me in Grade 9 and built it so that when I returned from school on the first day it would be set up for me. I was so excited, ready to be mature and grown up. Looking at it now, I smile, though it's strained.

Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I see its nearing 11:30. I'm shocked, Chemistry doesn't usually take this long. Rubbing my eyes, I head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It's another night alone, Mom in New York, Dad at the hospital, working years of his life away. He's sweet, and sometimes I wish we would spend time together when he's not being forced to leave work. But, 'duty calls', as he says in his dorky way.

I once again examine myself as I braid my blonde hair. Same pyjamas, same hair, same face, eyes, nose, ears, bathroom, life, and- Except that's a lie, isn't it? The life's not the same because I've broken any friendships I've ever had to save a loser boy from death on the word of an angel that showed up in my car after a car crash and whom I've only seen since in a dream that felt surreal enough that it gives me chills thinking about it.

Definitely not the same.

I roll my eyes as I lie down for bed, realizing that, for 11:47 on a Tuesday, that's more than your daily dose of crazy. That's insane. A lifetime of it.

I'm not crazy... I think as I drift towards sleep. I know I'm not...

~

The singing of a piano hits my ears first, followed by the musty smell of old clothes and finally the sight of an old-fashioned dressing room. Lights line the mirror I sit in front of, big bulbs like you see on TV. I gently put down the brush I'm holding, looking at my face.

My hair is free-flowing, long, curled strands framing my face elegantly. I catch a glimpse of what might be diamond earrings until I see what I'm wearing. It's a brilliant red, dazzling, form-fitting cocktail dress, elegant and smooth. I stand, turning to see the full extent when I notice a figure behind me.

I spin, the words on my tongue nonsensical and foreign. I hesitate, unsure of what to say to this stranger. I look her over, her face familiar yet alien. Her straight black hair made her big blue eyes look even bigger. She's dressed in a white blouse covered by a jean jacket vest. The piano from the other room plays on, crescendoing, notes high and sharp but still mesmerizing and beautiful.

We stare at each other a moment longer before she finally speaks, the sounds hot and piercing, words hardly threatening but still they burn. "At least you didn't take his ticket tonight."

The sentence hits me off guard, the harshness of the calm words surprising. It's not her tone, it's something in the air that makes her words harsh when they're not. Then suddenly I see her, the woman in front of me, as who she is. Only for a second, her brilliant white wings are haloed in a glorious light and I gasp, recognizing her again. I open my mouth, about to ask her, to accuse but she cuts me off before I can say anything.

"Yes. It's not as astounding as it may seem though, if you truly think about it, Kayla." I blink, surprised still by how sharp and biting the air makes those seemingly mundane words sound. We stare at each other for a moment before she speaks again. "You're doing well. Really well. He's beginning to trust you. And you... well, you're beginning to accept him."

"That's not true!" I protest although I'm doubtful myself of the legitimacy of that claim. "I always accepted him-"

She cuts me off with a simple shake of her head. I blink, and suddenly a set of chairs as appeared between us. She looks at me, and we sit together. She begins speaking softly, the words burning truth. "The Kayla Price I saw that day in the car would never, ever, have walked away from Ashley and Lindsay in order to seek out some random boy. Certainly not one that the girls hadn't met. Definitely not a 'loser' like Micheal."

"I never said-" I protest again,

"I know. But I'm proud of you. That takes a lot of nerve. I know it's hard, but I want you to consider something for me, Kayla." She looks at me, makes me meet her eyes. "If Ashley and Lindsay are so willing, so quick, to just brush you aside and throw you out, are they truly your friends? Are they truly worth it? And don't lie and tell me that, 'Of course they are. They're my best friends.' Because-"

This time I cut her off, "They're not. They never were. I don't do that. I don't let people get close to me. The closer they are, the more hurt you become. I'm not making that mistake twice. It's not worth it."

I turn, ready to stroll out of the dressing room, when suddenly I'm faced with a massive forest. I spin around quickly, confused, but it's as if the dressing room as completely vanished. I stand there, looking around.

I'm in a clearing. It looks like late fall, everything tinged an orange colour. I'm barefoot, I notice, and the grass beneath my toes is hard and dead. Some of the trees around the cleaning are also dead, some with only a few bright red leaves. This place looks empty, like an abandoned house by the side of the road. As if Mother Nature decided to one day give up on this place, just left it as it was, and slowly it fell into disrepair.

Something white floats past me. I turn, watch as it winds through the air lazily and drifts to the ground. Snow? I walk over, the grass prickling my feet painfully. No, not snow. I stand, turning towards the wind, and see what caused it.

Fire.

It rages, snaking its way toward the clearing, a deafening roar growing louder by each second, the heat rolling off it in waves, a force of nature, a force to be reckoned with.

But the heat only calms me. Like a snake charmer, the fire has me moving closer, into the warm blanket of heat. I watch as it rounds the clearing, creating a little ring just for the two of us. Just me and the fire. The deafening roar makes all other noises disappear.

I spin, watching the circle of flames spiral closer and closer. The heat is so comforting, the roar of the flames blocking out all other sounds. The flames are close enough to touch now.

I close my eyes.

I blink in the morning sun, my mouth dry, my mind haunted. I sit up, disgusted by how hot I feel and how sweaty I am. The blankets are once again curled around me like a cocoon, and I roll out of bed. The calmness I've felt in these dreams lately scares me, as does the feeling of realness that surrounds them. I shudder, hating the way I feel.

Hoping to wash off some of this sweat before school, I head to the shower, maybe also hoping to wash if the feeling of fire.