Beautiful Daydream.

“Are you sure you want to go to college here ” She said, hesitantly. I nodded. This is what I wanted.

I wanted to see the place my dad once called home. She was just pulling into the small town, and it would be another 15 minutes until we stopped.

I opened the small notebook I kept by me at all times. It’s the only place I could talk about the things I’ve been seeing in my dreams without being judged.

I flipped through the paces, looking at the small doodles of the things I’ve seen and the adjectives of the things I’ve heard.

I started this log after the first few dreams. It was scary how they all had the same voice.

I turned open to the first page and re read it. This is the one I’ve read half a dozen times.

I’ve been dreaming this since Dad died. Even though my Aunt is here, I still feel alone.

I’ve never been too close to my dad and it’s scary when I think of him, I don’t become overcome with sorrow.

It’s as if a part of me is missing. Something strange is, I don’t know what else is gone. It seems as if half my brain knows and right when I start to think, it just shuts down.

I don’t get it.

It seems like the working half is trying to tell me. It’s trying to tell me through my dreams.

Last night wasn’t the first. It’s been a repetitive dream. The same voice is calling me.

I’m searching through the forest, flowers blossoming here and there. I touch a familiar oak tree before I run faster.

I can see myself running into darkness. Soon, it’s just black.

After a moment, the dark turns into a room. It has a long mirror and if it was furnished, it could be a dance bar.

Blood is splattered on the walls and the wall is knocked down. Some how, I know the voice that was calling me is here.

The body that its voice belongs too is here. Somewhere. I call out, wanting some one to say something.

Wanting to know I’m not alone. I am though. I am and always have been. I hear a small whisper behind it.

It seems kind of like a laugh but loving. A gust of wind whips my hair from my face. A cold chill lands of my face, almost like a soft kiss.

Blood fills my vision and all I could hear is a hiss and then colors. That’s all.

This dream has to be telling me something. I need to find out.

I need to know.

I stared at the journal, wondering. I wondered why after I wrote this down, I got a different dream. A dream showing my old high school. It showed my old town.

One showed my mother and father together laughing. I don’t get it.

“What’s that, dear?” She asked, attempting to grab it. “Nothing.” I replied, snatching the book and placing it in my bag.

No one could ever see this book. I don’t trust anyone anyway.

“Well then.” She paused, huffing. “We’re here.” She said, getting out of the car.

I closed my eyes for a second, wondering if this is what I should be doing. I’m chasing my dreams. Literately.

I pulled my hair into a messy side bun, with various strands of my black hair peeking out.

As I got out, something caught my eye. Looking up to the window, I reconized the blonde boy as my old neighbor.

There was a black headed boy.

The part of me that was yearning halted and for a moment I wanted to go and talk to him. I have officially gone insane.

I could see the hastle these boys were making, the black headed one scrambling away from the window, and the blonde boy, Clyde as I remember, was laughing.

Once I realized I was staring, I turned my attention to my stuff. I was going to find out why and what I was dreaming.

I was going to find out here.

Here in Fallen Heights.