I have dreams. Every night. And the funny thing is, somebody else always has them too.
I have visions randomly. Every day. They are always in a different language…as if I was stepping into someone else’s dreams…and they are across the globe.
Dreams, clippets of some and lengths of others, swirl around me 24/7.
At first I didn’t mind.
But now the government’s after me.
I’m on the run. With the strangest companion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hated parties. They were so stupid and cliché. I mean seriously, Spin the Bottle? Who honestly plays that anymore?
I hugged my thin jacket tighter around my torso and ducked my head, swirling my long ebony hair around my head as I walked by an ally.
I stepped up my pace and glanced around nervously. It was a dark night. In a city. There was nobody around.
Dangerous.
I knew all too well how bad of a situation I was in. Not only was I in the bad side of town, but I was also on the verge of having an ‘attack’. That’s why I left the party in the first place, and not staying to hitch a ride with my friends.
They didn’t know about my attacks. I always excused myself from their presence when I felt one coming. I hid them well.
And intend to keep it that way.
I had only told one living being of my, er, ‘problems’. And I knew he could keep a secret.
Who is this amazing secret-keeper, you ask? Why the most, adorable, loveable, sweetest dog/wolf hybrid you’ll ever meet! My cutiekins, Amauri (AH-MORE-EYE).
Yes, I do love making up names. It is my specialty.
I wish Amauri was here right now. He’d protect me from the attacks. Whenever I had one around him, he would lay down right on top of me and lick my face until I returned to reality. It was a nice way to know I wasn’t in this alone.
But he was at home, probably barking his head off because he ‘knew’ I was scared. He always seemed to know these things, see, because we have an odd sort of ‘link’ you could say. He knew when I was sad, always curling his bulky brown body right up next to me and resting his muzzle on my arm, shoulder, knee, or leg. He would stare up at me with beg brown eyes and I would pour all of my problems out to the boy-he’d listen to, and even though I knew he probably didn’t understand, he seemed to.
One time, I was walking to school and I was super worried about the test I had in second period, when out of nowhere this streak of muddy brown runs up to me and practically tackles me, all the while barking his head off.
He had ‘sensed’ my worry.
I wondered if my older sister would keep him locked up inside or if she’d let him run outside and across town to come and meet me.
I hoped she’d let him out. He was smart-I knew he couldn’t get run over, and he knew where I was…almost like he had planted a tracking devise on me and he was after me like a STALKER.
Speaking of stalkers, I probably shouldn’t be sitting on this bench day dreaming about my dog. A creeper could sit down next me and then smile and he would have like four yellow teeth with the rest gone, and then there would be maggots and worms wiggling around in his mouth. Ew.
With that lovely thought, I stood up and began to swiftly walk down the street some more. I had to get all the way across town to reach the tiny house my sister and I shared.
My sister, Raye-it was originally Rachel, but she didn’t like that name so she changed it to Raye when she got married…but then she got divorced, but she still kept the name-is alright. She’s better than my dad, who didn’t want me to live with him because I’m some sort of pain in the arse. I personally think that he’s a bastard that just doesn’t want anyone to know he got married and had kids.
I hate him.
My mom died when I was ten. I’m fifteen now, and I’ve been living with my sister for five years. She’s twenty-five now. So yeah, we’re ten years apart. The ‘rents did have her when my dad was 21, and my mom was 19.
My mom was wonderful. She was…different. In a good way. She loved all the voodoo stuff, like astral prophecies, horoscopes, runes, numerology, tarot cards, and palm reading. She wore turbans around the house and long necklaces with wooden beads. She wore long, flowing dresses with large sleeves that came in a rainbow of soft hues that blurred and mixed in thousands of patterns.
Because of her, at age eight, I knew I was going to have a rough love life and I would be a single mom with twins-a boy and a girl, and that the man I least expected to love would end up as my husband.
I knew that I was going to live in a series of homes, travelling a lot, and then when I was done with all the excitement, I would settle in a quiet, small town far away from big cities.
I knew that my occupation would be hard to live off of, and that I would have to switch my career and drop out of college. I would struggle and then I would get an opportunity that would be hard to refuse.
I knew that something was going to happen that would change my life forever.
I didn’t know my mom was going to die.
I did think about that though.
When I was nine, I read a palm reading book in the school library. I wanted to be just like my mom. So I snuck into my parent’s bedroom one night and saw that her life line was cut short.
I didn’t fully understand what this meant, because I wasn’t much of a reader and didn’t really want to read all of the long, small words in that book, so I didn’t realize that this meant my mom was going to die. I had tossed the idea around my head, but then decided that it was much too likely. My mother couldn’t die. It didn’t seem possible at the time.
Apparently, it was.
