What if you could escape the walls of reality just by dreaming? That's what Cordelia Johnson did. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ I picked up the journal from Gramps' old rolltop desk. I ran my fingers over the golden lettering on the wrinkled cover. "Dream, Dels, and never stop. -Gramps" Quickly, before dwelling on happy memories of Sundays sitting on the porch swing and relaying stories as Gramps and I slurped out ice cream off the cone, I opened the journal and began writing. "In the land of Forever, everyone had their own clock. As if a beating heart, these clocks dictated your time. Whenever the clock began to tick, was the very second you were born. When it ceased to make its hollow 'click-clock, click-clock' sound, you refused to come out from the very depths of the much needed slumber that was death..."

The name's Wren. Wren Larson. Over the past year I've been beaten down by my own brother (physically and emotionally), decided that I was, in fact, some sort of introvert, endured chaotic family deaths, miracles, and the occasional move. Of course, these were all normal, but what happened next was anything but.