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Dream


A/N: Ok so this is a little different. But it's a dream I had and it's been on my mind for a while now.

I'm running. I don't know where I'm going but all I have is you on my brain. I'm panting, my heart beating erratically as I attempt to hide from you. The darkness envelopes me and yet I'm still running, as if eventually, if I just keep running, they'll be some light at the end of this long tunnel. My claustrophobia is kicking in, the unknown pressure pushing on my lungs. I'm gasping now, unable to run any longer. I can feel the dampness of my cheeks, but ignore it. I hear a small whimpering, and quickly spin around, straining my eyes for the source of the noise. Another whimper echoes against this empty tube and I realize these agonizing sounds are coming from my own throat. I cut them off short, snapping my mouth shut and trying to breathe deeply through my nose. All I can smell is you, that intoxicating smell that always brings me up short when you're around. I am suddenly suffocated by it, blindly searching for any sort of escape. The mere presence of you is beginning to become some sort of torturous affair inside my head. Because that's all we would ever be; an affair.
I ignore these painful thoughts, reaching my arms around, looking for something to hold onto. My hands meet a cold hard surface. I stroke it, and after a few splinters slipped into my palms I realized it was wood. I moved my hands all around me, and realized very quickly that I was in a wooden box. And somehow I knew, with a panicking realization; I was in a coffin.
"Help!" I screamed, frantically kicking and pressing at the lid of the box.
"No one will help you," someone hissed, sounding eerily close.
"Who are you?" I begged, tears streaming down my face as I fervently pressed my palms against the wood above me. "Why am I here?"
"You are the only one that can save you!" he yelled over my desperate calls. "You can't get out of here until you see that!"
"I can't see!" I yelled, my eyes wildly searching the black surrounding me. "I can't see anything." 
"Look!" the voice yelled, now crystal clear. A blazing white light is surrounding me now, and pain shoots through my eyes at the change.
"Look!" he yelled again. I turned my head and I was staring back at myself, a mirror six inches from my face.
Messy head of curls, brown eyes bloodshot red from tears, red cheeks, and a pained expression.
"What do you see?" the voice pressed.
"I-"
"What do you see?!"
"I see myself!" I said quickly, watching my eyes widen with fear. "I see myself crying, and I-I see my cheeks are red, and-"
"Close your eyes..." the voice hisses, as if he was breathing right into my ear, the fierce yelling voice gone.
I did as I was told, scared of what would happen.
"Now," he whispered. "Open them. What do you see?" 
I let my eyes slowly open. There you are. Your eyes searching my face, eyebrows furrowed with obvious worry. I can't look away, even as the sight of you twists my chest uncomfortably.
"Bri?" you asked, searching my face. I couldn't answer you. I just continued to stare at you.
"Who is it?" the voice was back now, hissing in my ear as I continued to stare at you. 
"It's-" 
"Bri, don't say it. You know it's better if we don't-" You begin.
"Lies," he hisses in my ear, making the hairs stand on the back of my neck.
"It's not a lie," you insisted, staring sadly into my tear-filled eyes. "You can't say it, Bri. It'll ruin it. It'll ruin everything."
"Just say it!" the voice was impatient now, angrily making demands. "Just say it! You can't help yourself until you say it."
I suddenly remember where I am, still in this coffin underground. My throat is closing up and my breathing is coming in short gasps.
"I have to," I beg, the tears rolling down my cheeks as I stare into your pleading eyes.
"No," you shook your head. "No, you don't." 
"I do," I sobbed. "I have to say it. I have to say it before I fall apart. Before I die down here!" 
"Who is it?" there was that hiss again, that burning question that was so simple, yet so hard to answer.
"It's-it's-"
"Bri, please...." you begged.
"It's-"

I am jolted awake, my alarm clock echoing against the basement walls of my room. My eyes shoot open, and I'm breathing heavily. I can feel the sweat on my back and the shaking of my hands as I run a hand through my tangled hair. I sit up slowly, the dream rushing at me all at once. The coffin, the mirror, you...
I let the now real tears fall from my eyes, burying my face in my hands.
I will never say it, because you're right.
It will ruin it. It will ruin everything.

A/N: This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class. Thought I'd post it on here.


“I want you to start from the beginning.”

            I can’t see the guy talking to me, and that makes me nervous. But I shake it off, looking around. Everything is white; the walls, the table, the chair I’m sitting in; contrasting boldly with my bright-colored t-shirt and jeans. I shift in the cold metal chair, the handcuffs holding my hands behind my back clanking against it.

            “Well,” I take a deep breath, looking into the shadows where I know the asker is sitting, well hidden, “it started with a dream.”

~***~

            “Help! Help! Somebody please help us!”

            I ran down the hallway, heading for the calls coming from my parent’s bedroom. The hallway was so long, I just kept running and running, and yet, I couldn’t make it to their door.

            “Help! We can’t get out, please help!”

            I recognized my mom’s voice and ran faster. She was there, right behind that door, if only I could reach it…

            Suddenly I was right in front of it, and with a sigh of relief I quickly reached for the doorknob. As soon as I did, flames burst from the floor in front of me, and I jumped back. It continued like this for a few minutes, more and more flames making a wall between me and the door.

            “Mom! Dad! Hold on!” I called desperately to them, trying to work my way around the flames.

            I reached quickly into my pocket, digging for my cell phone. I clamped my fingers around it and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. I yanked and pulled as hard as I could, but it was as if the cell phone was super-glued to my pocket. I was frantic now, looking up to see nothing but dark gray smoke. I started coughing, the smoke enveloping me from all sides. My eyes were watering, the coughing was scratching at my throat, and all I could see was black…complete black…

            I jolted awake, my heart pounding in my ears. I was breathing heavily, the sweat on my back making my t-shirt stick to me. I took a deep steadying breath, trying to relax. It was just a dream…

            It wasn’t a dream though, it was a memory and it was going to haunt me the rest of my life. My therapist told me this would happen, this whole “my parents died and now I’m going to relive the memory through a vivid dream” ordeal. It is pretty scarring, being 17 years old and on your own in the blink of an eye, another thing he made sure to remind me of any chance he could. I didn’t really care what my therapist said though; I ditched him months ago.

            I sat up, the mattress squeaking from underneath me, and I stared at the glass of water sitting on my nightstand. If there was one thing I could count on in this crazy world, it was that glass of water and the twin-sized mattress I was sitting on. I watched the condensation travel down the side of the glass, making a ring of water around the bottom. Every morning I reminded myself to get a coaster. Every night I forgot.

            Ring!

            I jumped, looking around. I was sitting in my first hour desk, last minute students piling into the classroom. What? I was confused and taken aback, staring wide-eyed around me.

~***~

            “You just popped up at school?”

            He sounds like he doesn’t believe me, and I get frustrated. Why would I lie?

            “Yes,” I answer, attitude lacing my words. “Like I said, I had no idea how I got there. One minute, I was sitting on my bed stretching, the next, the bell is ringing in my ear and I’m sitting in my first hour.”

            “Hmm,” the man hums, annoying me even more. “Ok. Go on.”

            “Thank you,” I snap.

~***~

            As I got over my initial shock, the teacher began the lesson. He droned on and on, and I found it hard to stay awake. I laid my head on the desk, staring at the blank worksheet I was supposed to have done last night. My eyes slipped closed, the teacher’s voice just a dull roar in the background.

            “Why didn’t you save them?” someone whispered in my ear.

            “Save who?” I questioned, turning in circles, not able to see a thing.

            Another person whispered something else, but I couldn’t make out what it was. I circled around trying to find where the soft hisses were coming from. They were echoing against the walls of black surrounding me. I strained my eyes to try to look around, waved my arms to see if I could touch it, but nothing was there. Just those little hisses in my ear, mysterious phrases and not a reason behind any of them at all-

            “Bryce!”

            I jumped, standing in the hallway and staring at my girlfriend, Ali. She had her hands on her hips, her brown eyes searching my face.

            “Are you listening to me?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “Are you ok?”

            “Yeah,” I nodded, running my hand through her red hair and kissing her lightly on the forehead, “I’ve got a headache, babe, I’m going to class.”

            I didn’t give her time to respond, quickly turning around and heading to my next class. What in the world was going on with me?

~***~

            “So you were randomly blacking out then?” the man asks me, and I can hear the scratching of his pen on a paper I’m sure is attached to a clipboard.

            “Yes,” I reply, “but I didn’t think it was anything at the time. I just figured I was tired or something, or that maybe I was just having an off day.”

            “Hmm,” he’s doing that humming thing again, and I grit my teeth in annoyance. “When did it start getting really bad?”

            As if it wasn’t bad enough? I keep myself from rolling my eyes, instead sighing and shifting in my chair again.

            “It was probably about a week later…”

~***~

            “Psst.”

            I looked up from my schoolwork, a blonde-haired guy sitting in the seat right next to me. He had a grin on his face, and I looked at him curiously. I had never seen him before.

            “What?” I whispered, looking at him expectantly.

            “Let’s get outta here, yeah?” he suggested, a mischievous glint in his bright green eyes.

            “Are you crazy?” I ask him incredulously, looking around me. “I don’t even know you. You have fun; I’ll stay here and go home later while you’re sitting in detention.”

            “You’re such a wuss. Come on, you and me, we’ll ditch this place. It’s pointless anyways. I mean, what do we really learn here? By the way, my name’s Alex.”

            “I’m not going to-”

            “Bryce?” Ali poked me on the back with the eraser end of her pencil.

            I turned around, and she looked at me, confused.

            “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

            “Alex,” I reply, motioning towards the seat next to me.

            “Um who?” she asked, looking at the desk. “There’s no one there, Bryce.”

            “What?” I look over at the desk, Alex looking at me with a big smirk on his face.

            “No one is sitting there,” she repeated, and I turned to look at her again, her eyes full of worry and bemusement.

            “Yeah there is. Look, he’s sitting right-” I looked at the desk, which was now empty, “-there.”

~***~

            “Who’s Alex?”

            “I have no idea,” I answer, now looking at my lap and feeling embarrassed. “Ali couldn’t see him, but I was talking to him. He was right there, right in plain-”

            “Why do you think you’re here?” the man asks, completely cutting me off.

            “You should know better than me!” I retort, frustrated with this guy’s constant questioning.

            “Ok fine,” he’s speaking to me like I’m a three year old child he’s trying to talk out of a temper tantrum. “Let me rephrase. What led you to being here?”

            “Alex,” I begin, staring at the bright white table, “was…really starting to get to me.”

~***~

            “Would you shut up?” I snapped, kicking a rock out of my way on the sidewalk.

            My shoulder jolted up, a nervous twitch I had developed just recently. My hands were shaking but I barely noticed them, shoving them deep into my jean pockets.

            “What? I’m just saying,” Alex defended. “Ali’s not that pretty. Heck, with that black hair and those dark blue eyes, you could get any girl you wanted.”

            “Yeah well, she and I just got in a fight,” I muttered, watching my feet as we continued walking. “I don’t even remember what it was about. This is all your fault, Alex!”

            We came to a park bench and I collapsed into it, my shoulder relentlessly twitching and my knee bouncing up and down on its own accord.

            “My fault?” Alex asked from right next to me. “How is it my fault?”

            “Because!” I exclaimed, my whole body beginning to shake. “Before I met you, my life was fine. I was fine! You’re not even real!”

            “I’m completely real,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You can see me can’t you?”

            “Listen to him, Bryce. Listen to Alex…”

            “Why didn’t you save them? Why didn’t you save your parents…?”

            “Stop it!” I yelled, pressing my hands against my ears, desperate to make the whispers stop. I was going completely insane…

            There was a tap on my knee, and I opened my eyes to see a curious boy staring at me.

            “Are you ok?” he asked me, his head cocked to the side.

            “No!” I yelled irrationally, standing up suddenly and making the kid jump back. “No, I’m not ok! Can you see him? Can you see this guy sitting next to me?”

            “No,” the little boy shook his head, his eyes scared and wide as he stared up at me.

            I growled in frustration, flinging my arms up in the air.

            “Come on, Alex!” I screamed, swinging around in circles. “Come out, show yourself to the world! If you’re so real, how come no one can see you, huh?”

            I could hear the little boy yelling for his mom. I could hear her running towards me, asking me what my problem was. I heard her scoff as I continued to ignore her, and her exclaim something about “calling the police right this instant.”

            “Alex, get out here!” I called, my shoulder twitching as I scanned the park for some sign of him.

            “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAVE THEM?!”

            “Save who?” I bellowed in frustration. “My parents?! Alex if this is you, I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t do it!”

            I felt someone grab me by the arms and wrestle me to the ground. I struggled against their grasp, but there was no use. If I could just show them Alex, they would let me go, I could go free…

            They yanked me off the ground, and Alex was standing right in front of me. He had that trademark smirk of his plastered on his face, and I gasped, desperately trying to pull myself from the officers’ firm grips.

            “There he is!” I shouted desperately. “He’s right there! It’s Alex!”

            “Come on kid, let’s go,” one of the officers said to me calmly, both of them pulling me backwards.

            “Alex!” I yelled, looking again.

            He was gone.

~***~

            “You know the rest,” I end, looking back up at the shadows.

            The man nods, revealing himself for the first time. Brown combed-over hair, clean shaven, wrinkles on his tan forehead, a clipboard in his hand and a lab coat to match it. He pulls an orange prescription bottle out of his lab coat, setting it down on the table in front of me.

            “Do you remember these?” he asks, watching me closely.

            I pick them up, rolling them around in my hand. They looked familiar, like something you see once or twice in your childhood that you can’t fully remember, but never completely forget.

            “Kind of,” I answer, looking back up at the doctor’s scrutinizing eyes, “what are they?”

            “Experimental pills,” he says, taking them out of my hand and placing them back in his lab coat. “You signed up for a medical experiment, don’t you remember? We were testing the side effects of this new medicine on people.”

             “What?” I sit back, shocked. “How do I not remember?”

            “It must have been a side-effect of the medicine,” he answers, looking at me with sympathetic eyes. “I figured you were too young, only 17. You looked so desperate though, telling me how you really needed the money because your parents had died. So I took you under my wing, and told you we would give it a go. We put you in a room right here in this building, with two-sided mirrors so we could observe you at night. I thought everything was going smoothly, but apparently I was wrong.”

            “Yeah,” I breathe, shaking my head slowly back and forth. “So…what do I do now?”

            “Come with me.”

            He comes behind me, unlocks my handcuffs, and I follow him out the door. I’m looking at all the white doors on either side of me, each with a silver number on it. We stop at door number 27, and the doctor digs around for the key. He unlocks the door, opening it and motioning for me to go inside.

            “Sleep here and take these,” he hands me a new bottle of pills. “We’ll go from there.”

            I enter the room looking at the bottle of pills in my hand. I hear the door shut behind me and look up. I smile for the first time in what felt like forever, staring at the two things in front of me.

            The twin-sized mattress and the glass of water.


                It was so cold in there. The smell was getting to me though, but I wasn’t going to complain. I was all alone; no one to complain to anyway. It seemed like everything in this cell was wet, which didn’t make much sense since it was underground.

                I sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling. It was dripping a mysterious liquid, but I couldn’t tell what it was. It was almost pitch black in there, the only light coming from the huge hole in the ceiling. That was where my smart-self had fallen in not two minutes ago. I should’ve seen that coming; I knew better.

                I dusted off my shirt, trying to gather my senses. I pressed the small button on my earpiece, making sure the small walkie talkie still worked.

                “Jen? Jennifer, you there?” I asked, trying to keep my voice down; who knows who or what was down here.

                “Kyle?” I could hear her shifting around. “Yeah, yeah I’m here. Where the heck are you?”

                “I fell in a fricken trap,” I answered angrily. “Are you ok?”

                “I’m fine,” she replied with a sigh. “I’m trying to figure out how to, ouch, get out of here.”

                “Where are you?” I asked, getting frustrated with her nonchalant attitude.

                “I’m- shoot, Kyle, I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “I’m in some kind of back room, there are boxes everywhere! It’s like they’re forming a maze or something…”

                “Hold on,” I wracked my brains, trying to figure out why that sounded so familiar. I had definitely been in there before….

                “Jennifer!” I yelled, remembering now, “Jen get out of there right now!”

                “What? Why are you- ”

                She cut off suddenly, and there was an ominous crackling on the other end.


The Blanket


A little boy clings to his blanket, the most important thing in the world to him. He carries it to the grocery store, holding it tightly in his little fist as he looks nervously at the strange people surrounding him. He begs his mother for it when he is getting his first haircut, scared to death and wanting nothing more than the comfort of that raggedy but soft blanket. He makes sure it is snuggled underneath him every night in his bed, and can never sleep without it. His mother never minds, but his father is worried that his only son is too attached. The blanket will take away his masculinity, his father would say, while his mother argued that he was “just a little boy”.

            He sits and listens to his parents arguing, clinging to his blanket for comfort and in defiance. He didn’t understand why his father couldn’t see why he needed the blanket. The blanket was an object representing safety for him, familiarity in an unfamiliar place. When he felt the soft fabric between his fingers, he felt comforted and relaxed, and he knew that he could get through anything, just as long as his blanket was with him along the way. The attachment he felt to the blanket was an unbroken devotion; it was a loyalty, affection, need, and love for it.   

            As he grew older, his world began to change.  He began to meet new people and form friendships. He joined sports, and went to practices every day. He went to school, coming home with homework, gossip, and soon, crushes. His crushes turned into puppy love, and his puppy love turned into real love, and his real love became his significant other. His mother, behind his father’s back of course, cut the blanket into small pieces, and gave them to the boy to do with them what he wanted.  The boy always had his blanket with him; in the pocket of his jeans at school, in his gym bag at practice, stuffed in the glove box of his beat-up old car. The blanket was always there.

            He kept the blanket with him no matter what. Days, months, years went by and the blanket never left his side. In college it was there, under his pillow every night in his dorm before he went to bed. His wedding it was there, nestled in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He could feel it pressing into his chest as his heart beat fast, his beautiful bride walking down the aisle. It came with him when his first child was born, in his left hand as he held his wife’s hand in his right.

            The loyalty to his blanket never wavered. He needed the blanket; needed it like he needed air to breathe. The attachment was so strong that if he ever were to leave the blanket behind, mentally he didn’t know if he would be able to take it. It was slightly unhealthy, but it got him through the day, and helped him make it through the tough things in life he just couldn’t handle on his own.

Time flew by, the years turning into decades, generations come and gone. On his last day, his wife, between tears, had told the family that she found him asleep in his favorite rocking chair, a small blanket resting in between his nimble fingers. At his funeral, every piece of the blanket he had left behind was sown back together, laid on his chest underneath his hands. He was buried and the blanket, once again, never left his side.


Writer's Block: Connecting the dots

How do you feel about standardized tests? Do you think they accurately indicate a student's knowledge or ability?

Maybe sometimes, but is this an accurate way to indicate EVERY student's knowledge? Certainly not.
Standardized tests are one of the worst things I think our school system has created. Though paved with good intentions, the fact of the matter is, these tests aren't proving what they are supposed to. They put students in a room, early in the morning, make them take a test with only a certain amount of time to do them, and expect that to "indicate thier knowledge or ability".
The worst thing is, they give you points just for bubbling in the answers. So when you're running out of time and rushing to answer everything (which right there is showing we aren't measuring people's intelligence accurately), you end up just circling random answers for a shot at a higher score.
So simply put, no. I think standardized tests are a joke.

Can't sleep


No one even reads this, and yet I feel like writing haha.
I can't sleep.
This happens all the time, I lay down, read things for a little bit, watch some netflix on my computer, look at the time, gasp, and then here I lie, in my bed, awake. (that was quite a run-on sentence now wasn't it?)
My life is so boring right now...it's sad really. There's not much to write about in my journal, no news, just my imagination I suppose.
I've never been one to openly admit this, but right now, I want a boyfriend.
Not like the trampy girls that walk around my highschool, holding hands with their most recent fuckbuddy who they call their boyfriend.
No, I want a genuine, hold hands with, text and talk to on the phone, makes you blush and giggle, takes you on dates you never pay for boyfriend.
Honestly, it's been so long since I've had any intimate physical contact (not THAT intimate, get your mind out of the gutter ;) ) that I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I could just see it: 

*sit down on couch, at least 6 inches between our thighs*
"...."
*awkward tension* 
My brain process: watching a movie la de da, sitting next to this boy la de da...why does he keep looking at me?
Boy's brain process: uh...hello? Cuddle with me? Please? You realize we're dating...right?

I'm pretty sure that would end with him finally walking away. Or maybe just putting his arm around me and asserting himself. I'd like him ten times more if he did that, I like assertive guys.

I can't imagine why anyone would want to read this entry...it's really quite boring isn't it lol? 
Well, I guess I'll stop blabbering and either read or try to get some sleep.