Finding Jezebelle

I dreamed about Jessica last night. I had never actually dreamed about a girl before in my life. It was weird, but at the same time, it kind of make me afraid. Maybe this wasn't going to just be a few days of hell. Maybe it was going to be a lot more. That was a scary thought. And my dream didn't help any of those anxieties.

She was sitting on a bench alone. Her hair fell down over her shoulder in a smooth dark curtain. I looked all around but Marcus no one was in sight. My eyes turned back to Jessica, my breathing rapid as I just stood there watching her. A book sat open on her lap. Sometimes she would move, her motions languid but graceful as she reached up, her long thin fingers turing the thick velum pages of the antique book. I swallowed heavily looking around me again.

Still no Marcus one.

She reached up and brushed the crtain of her hair back over her ear and I forgot to breath for a minute. I started walking towards her, but she wasn't getting any closer. I frowned at first and started trying to walk faster. It still wasn't working and so I called out to her and started running. I still wasn't moving anyway. She didn't even seem to hear me. Instead she turned the other way and I saw Marcus coming towards her, a leer on his face except...I wasn't sure if he was looking at me or his sister. Jessica stoo up abruptly and the book toppled off of her lap and onto the ground, the spine breaking as it was forced suddently open.

"No," I whispered.

Marcus reached out and caressed Jessica's cheek. I wanted that to be my hand. It should have been my hand. That should be me. And then...I was there. I was standing with them. I was smiling, but something was wrong. My stomach began to hurt. I cried out as a sharp pain stabbed my side. Why couldn't they see me? "Jessica!" I yelled.

I shot up in bed, my side still sore. I fell back onto my pillow and groaned softly. If my dream was any indication of how my day was going to go, I was tempted just to roll over and go back to bed. I looked over at my clock and my brow furrowed. It was only three sixteen am. That was fucked up (excuse my language).

I ran a shaking hand through my brown hair and looked towards my window. a soft light was flickering against the window of the house closest to us. I could just see it thorugh my window. It was the Hayne house. I disentangled myself from the twisted sheets around my legs and moved towards the window. I had always thought that candle light was beautiful. Tonight was no expection. That was why I stared at it from my window wondering whose room that was.

I stood up from my bed and began to cross my room until my foot came down on something slightly cold and glossy. I looked down and saw the school magazine that I had picked up somewhere between English and Math. I leaned down and picked it up and moved over to the window so that I could look through it and see the candle light at the same time. I wasn't in the mood to go back to bed after a dream like that.

I started flipping through looking at some of the art, glancing over a few of the poems and shorty stories until I came on something very different. It was a photograph, and on top of it was a poem. I looked down at the little explanation for it and devored the words quickly. Morris High Schools anonymous photographer and poet has submitted for us a new entry. This time, we can all recognize the Harris Cemetarie's famour angel monument during winter, though it still gives us no clues as the the author's idenity. I looked back up at the picture and began to read the poem.