Shifter

The morning was cool, the moisture from the night before not get faded from the sidewalks and the leaves of the trees. It was a little after dawn and the sun was barely peeking its head over the horizon. Faint curtains of light fell over the rooftops of the houses and the world was at peace it seemed from where I stood, surrounded by soft fronds of tall grasses.

I sighed and watched as a cloud of condensation faded into the sky. My book bag dropped to the ground from off my shoulder and I lay down next to it so I could stare up at the slow, approaching sunrise.

I was up early that morning. I had been getting up early for weeks. I had nightmares. The kind that leave you shivering for hours and you’d think that you’d still be cold even if you threw yourself into a fire. You’d think you would shiver until your bones turned to ash. I was beginning to scare myself. Sleep frightened me. I tried to stay awake as long as possible- but after a while I just accepted it. That was the way it went. Sleep while you can and try not to be scared when your mind is telling you to scream.

In my dream there were tormented utterances in the distance, but even closer were shrieks of sadistic glee. They were circling in on me. I remember those sounds lifted the hair on the back of my neck. And- the fog- the fog was so dense I could taste it and it was like a thick veil clouding my vision. And I was running. I was almost horizontal to the ground and I was terrified that maybe one of times I looked back, I would see what was chasing me. But I never did see anyone or anything. I would just fall under the pressure of a massive weight and a silent scream would contort my throat into petrified knots.

And then it would be over.

I would wake up and that would be it. If I was lucky, I would wake up closer to the morning than the night. After having the dream, it was impossible to get back to sleep.

So, lying in this field helped me kill time before I had to go off to school. Sometimes I even did some crude sketches of the clouds on my homework from the previous night.

Today, though, I just lay there and pondered my existence and if everyone suffered from terrors in the night. Maybe the dreams mean there’s something wrong with me. Something right? I couldn’t tell. Nor would I really ever understand fully why they came to me and not someone bolder, more daring and courageous.

But I was saddled with the dreams and sleeping had become a dangerous pastime.

My watch started to chirp loudly in the morning air. “Zut!”

I quickly gathered up my things and began to sprint through the grass.

Temps pour l’école.