MST with a question mark because the end of the chapter I have is leading into a mystery but whether it can still be classified as that, I have no idea. I have two things to ask. First, does the excerpt I've written below grab your attention? Does it feel really hard to drink down and kind of cottony and druggy? (That's the feeling I'm trying to go for....)
Second, what do you think of the rest of the story? The ending?
I awaken with a gasp, covered in sickly sweat that is somehow freezing. I sit up and run a hand through my soaked hair and am almost instantly disgusted. I crawl out of bed and step barefoot across the hardwood to my bathroom door and turn the brass knob. I am greeted with tussled blonde hair and bruised eyes. I finger underneath them and sigh, wanting them to go away. I slip off my boxers and hop in the shower.
The whole time I'm thinking about that dream. It's not the first time I've had one like it, they all have that same calm about them, then the fog stirs—literally—and just as something happens, I wake up. I'm almost positive that smoker was me; I don't smoke, but it sure looked like me.
As I get out and dry off, I struggle with the meaning of it. Why was the fog red? Why was it so thick and low? Why was I smoking? Who were those guys? None of it makes sense, and I know not all of it should—hell, its the world of the mind, nothing can be predicted there—but at the same time, the fact that this concept has been plaguing me for almost a month now must mean something.
I go back into my room and grab all clean clothes, my blue jeans ripped at the knees, and the black tshirt baggy on me. I open my door and look out into open area, the front door to my right, the living room a little ways to my left, although its not really a room. I walk across the space, passing the couch on the way, and walk into the kitchen.
The kitchen is clean with pale blue walls and a square, dark wood table. I'm surprised to find it empty; Mom is usually in here doing dishes. It boggles me, how she is always doing dishes. Dad is never home, I don't use dishes, so it's got to be Melina making all the mess. She is a pig, I know, but I never actually catch her eating...
I yawn and open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of the sweet red liquid that keeps me alive. I down it and lick my lips, tossing the bottle in the bin under the sink. A redhead walks in, still in her red fleecy pyjama pants and white tank top.
She yawns as she comes in, and starts when she sees me leaned against the counter. "Oh...hey."
I give a small smile in return. "Hey."
"Where's Mom?"
I stare at her. "You don't know?"
"Uh...no. I thought you might."
I shake my head. She bites her lip and stares at me quietly. "Doesn't she normally leave a note or something?" I look at the table, which has the place mats set but that's all. "Maybe she's still sleeping."
"Can you go check? I'd like to make some breakfast."
"Sure." I smile at my sister then leave the kitchen, turn right and head up the stairs that are almost flush with the kitchen doorway. I get to the top and stop at the door right beside me. It's closed, which possibly suggests she is still in there, but it is closed most of the time, I remind myself. I knock and wait.
After two minutes I knock again. Another minute passes and I try the door. It opens and I find my parents room deserted, bed made meticulously by my mother. I close it and go back downstairs into the kitchen.
"She's not there."
Melina is now sitting at the kitchen table, soup spoon in hand, now paused midway to her mouth because of what I said.
"Where the hell is she, then?" She mutters, bringing the milk and Cheerio filled spoon to her mouth and chewing. "This isn't like her," she managed between biting, "I hope she's okay."
"I'm sure she's fine." I hop up on the counter and let her finish her bowl before trying to get anything from her. She may be a girl, but Melina is definitely a stranger to manners. It even grosses me out at times. "She didn't tell you that she had to go and buy anything within the past few days did she?"
"Not that I remember."
"Maybe she just forgot to tell us..."
"I don't know, Hayden. She's not like that. You know that."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean she can't sometimes forget things."
Melina's head tilts and her face scrunches slightly in disagreement. "Eh." She doesn't say anything more as she puts her bowl and spoon in the sink. "It's ten o'clock right now. I'll give her until one o'clock to come home. If she's not back by then, I'm going to call Dad."
I cringe. "I really don't think you should bring him into this. I'm sure it's nothing." Convincing myself of this is really hard because Mom never leaves the house without telling anyone. Something is wrong and I can feel it in my gut. I'm just too naive to admit it to myself.
"That's bullshit. I'm calling him if she's not home by then." She folds her arms. "This might be serious."
I shrug helplessly. "Fine." I scratch the back of my neck absently. "I'm going to Bryce's today, though. If she doesn't come home let me know, okay?"
"Sure thing."
I walk out of the kitchen and go to my room to grab some socks. As I grab my high tops, I can't help but notice my leather boots in the shelf and my leather jacket hanging in the closet. I tie my shoes and head out the door. Did something as small as my clothes even have some symbolism to them? I shake it out of my head and try to keep my mind clear as I walk down the dirt path to the city.
Our house is a really old style mansion, about half a kilometre outside of the city. When I get into the city I can't help but compare it to my dream; it was these very streets that were stuffed with that wrongly colored fog. My mind becomes trapped in the dream, and everything I look at seemingly has a read tint to it.
I get to Bryce's door and knock. He opens it knowingly and smiles. "Hello, sugar-cube."
"Hey." I step through the door and into his green carpeted living room and take a long breath. I don't know why, but the general scent of his house is calming. I flop on the couch and he comes up behind me, running a hand through my hair.
"Everything okay?"
"I had that dream again." I sigh and grab his hand, entwining my fingers with his momentarily before letting go. "And Mom is nowhere to be found."
"Oh?" He comes around the side and sits beside me.
"Yeah. She's not in the house and she didn't leave a note. Melina's giving her 'til one to show up or she's calling Dad."
Bryce cringes in the same manner I did. "Is that the greatest idea?"
I shrug in return. "I couldn't convince her otherwise, and what else can we do? We can't call the cops; she hasn't been missing for twenty-four hours yet."
"I suppose." He rubs the beige fabric of the couch absently, the black criss-cross patterns extremely old fashioned. The walls almost match the carpet, and the whole place has an 80's feel to it, or somewhere around there. The only up to date thing in the room is the 46" flat screen TV against the wall, accompanied by BlueRay player and PS3. Beside the lights and Bryce's laptop, its practically the only technology in the house.
I sigh and lean back on the couch, closing my sleepless eyes.
"What happened?"
"Hm?" I peek one eye at him.
"In the dream. What happened?"
I summarize the dream to the best of my ability, making careful note on the amount of detail I felt in it; how slow everything seemed to move until I had to run. I also mentioned my theory about what things had meaning, and that I was pretty sure it happened in these very city streets.
He bites his lip in though, silent for a moment. "I do think something about that is important. The fact that you're pretty sure it's you in every dream and that fog seems to be a prominent detail must mean something."
"And it's red. Fog isn't red. That has to mean something too."
Bryce nods, getting off the couch and disappearing for a couple minutes, through the kitchen and into the hallway that leads to his room. He comes back with his Macbook and sets it on the table that's between the couch and the loveseat. He opens it and turns it on, then turns to me while it starts up.
I can't stand Macbooks, simply because I've never really been addicted to a computer like him, and they work so differently from PC's that I can't even begin to comprehend how to use them. I barely even use my own laptop, so I never even bother with Macs.
"Is it sticking with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you said you're pretty sure it is taking place in these city streets. On your way walking here, did anything from the dream come forth?"
I'm hesitant to admit it; I don't know why. I feel a little crazy, I guess. "...yes. I couldn't help but picture the fog, and then everything seemed to have a red tint to it. It really freaked me out, I mean—it shouldn't come forth that strongly, right?"
Bryce shrugs. "Well, not for humans, but—"
"Vampires are close enough to humans. They have the same neurological makeup and same brain. They wouldn't be any different."
Bryce raises an eyebrow. "First of all, they have powers, such as mind reading and mind control. Maybe that can effect it, I don't know. And second, you're a half vampire. That sets completely different standards."
"It shouldn't."
"Well, not completely different, but, like...you get it, don't you?"
I nod absently, leaning back into the couch.
The computer is finally ready and Bryce grabs it, opening Safari and clicking on Google from his bookmarks menu.
"What are you looking for?"
"I want to see if we can find any meaning for any of this."
"I doubt you can..."
"Well, let's start off with something easy. The fact that it is recurring." He clicks a few things then reads something. "Okay, it says here that recurring dreams often have a strong message, that it is so important that your mind just won't let you forget it." A pause as he reads more. "To help you take more notice to them, it says here that they can often be...nightmarish and frightening."
He looks up at me and our eyes meet in mutual understanding.
"Okay, so it's trying to tell me something. That was kind of obvious. Is there more?"
"It can occur from life situations, phases, or a problem that just keeps coming back. There is little variation in it, and could possibly be trying to make note of personal weaknesses, fear, or inability to cope with something in your life. The recurring patterns indicate the valuable information; it could be a conflict, situation or matter in your life that is unsolved. An urgent message in your unconscious is demanding to be understood."
I'm silent for a minute as I take it in. "...I've been thinking about that for a while, but I really don't know what it could be. I know it's the subconscious, but still. Nothing's really happened that I haven't been able to solve."
"Maybe you just don't remember it. I think the fact that it's in this city means it's something that has happened here."
I nod in agreement. "Which means within the last eight years. Totally narrows it down..." I roll my eyes.
"Well, if you think about it, it actually does. Knocks eight years off."
"Uh-huh. What else?"
"Lemme see if I can find anything else." He searches around a little more than his eyes widen. "Okay, I don't know what your dream means but I think I found a solution."
He hands the laptop to me and I read over what is on the page. There are exactly seven steps, although I find the fourth and fifth ones the most helpful. Number four being to look for subtle variations, and number five being to pay attention to your life; patterns may appear. It will help to find out what is causing the dream.
"Okay...but I need to know what's causing it first..."
"That'll come."
I hand the laptop back to him and he attempts to do some more searching. "A city means a sense of community and social environment. An alley means limited options or you are sidetracked from your goals because of communal responsibilities. Fog is troubles, scandals, uncertainty, and worries. You aren't seeing things the way they really are. Or, it could be mystery, secrecy, and protection."
There's more we can search up, but Bryce stops for now and looks at me. To try and connect what we have so far. I run a hand through my hair, seeing what I can piece together. "The city and alley settings conflict with each other." I start. "Community and social environment is usually positive, but I'm also limited in my options."
Bryce opens OpenOffice and copies down what we have so far. "Yes, but it also says you could be sidetracked from your goals because of communal responsibilities. So maybe...your responsibilities have something to do with the city."
"Okay, okay. And fog is uncertainty or mystery—not seeing things the way they are...so the city is hiding something?"
"No, I think that's too intricate. I think it's more so that you're ignoring something that's plain as day, or there's something you need to find but you don't know where to look."
I'm silent for a minute, trying to connect with this recent events. "I'm not outside alot, unless I'm going to school or coming here. I haven't really seen anything out of the ordinary or something I should do something about. And I don't think I've lost anything recently. Not something important enough to cause a dream like that, anyways."
"Well, you saw those guys holding weapons in your dream, too right?"
"Yeah."
"You need to defend yourself physically or emotionally. Again conflict of some sort. Possible hidden desire to hurt someone or something."
I stand up, getting too antsy to sit. I start pacing the room. "There's some form of conflict here, that seems to be the common denominator. I haven't been angry." I bite my lip, still pacing, socks sinking ever so slightly into the awkwardly colored carpet.
"If we take everything, maybe you've lost something, and you don't know where to look because something is standing in your way. Something—or someone—that wants to hurt you."
"But I haven't lost anything yet."
"Do you think it's coming up, then? Maybe you will lose something."
"Come on. We may be vampires but we can't see into the future."
Bryce shrugs, out of answers.
"What about the color red?"
"Um..." he taps a couple keys, "raw energy, force, intense passion, agression, power, impulsiveness. Deep emotional and spiritual connotations. Seeing red denotates anger."
"Whatever I lost...or possibly will lose is going to cause great pain and it's going to piss me off. The people are covered in red fog, is it something everyone takes from me?"
"No, I think thats too big scale again. Hey, hey, how calm your dream was is really important too. Says it could mean the calm before the storm."
I nod and snap my fingers a couple times. "Yeah, yeah. That makes sense. Everything is calm, and then suddenly goes berserk."
"I think it's sounding more and more like foreboding. I think it's trying to tell you that your life is okay now, but something is going to happen. Maybe you'll deny it at first—then you get angry, but you eventually have to try and do something, but someone tries to stop you."
I sit down across from him, the meaning sinking in. "That's..." An unsure look crosses my face. "...that sounds like it belongs in a book. That's too...prophecy-ish."
Bryce shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe this is all just bullshit coming from your active imagination. Just...keep it in mind."
"I will." I yawn, laying back on the loveseat and staring at the cieling, those stupid little stucco bumps all over it. Just as I close my eyes, I feel my pocket buzz. I pull out my phone and click 'view' to the one new message. I read it and bite my lip.
Bryce straightens up. "What is it?"
I hand my phone to him. He looks at his wrist watch. "You said she'd give her until one?"
"Yep."
"I think you have cause for worry, then, mate."
I look at my own watch that reads two o'clock, take my phone back from him and read over the message again.
Mom still not home. Hospital says Dad never showed up. -Melina
The fog is so dense and solid, it seems like it is a living being, shifting around into everything it can fit into. It roils thick on the ground like clouds, not even moving when people shuffle through it, blinded by its opaqueness.
These people, they come and they go, disappearing and reappearing in and out of the fog; beings to shadows to nonexistence. They are all so used to this fog, this trillion tendriled entity, that they take no notice of the rat poison and tar filled smoke being added to it by one single cigarette. Its blurry greyness is stark against the blood red quilt of brume, but no eyes turn to watch it float into the air, reaching ever higher than the fog and dissipating.
That appeasing smoke leads back to a white cigarette trapped between pale, dead lips, which are apart of a beautiful face complete with rosy cheeks, angular and unbroken nose, closed eyes with thick lashes, and shoulder length gold waves slicked back from a flawless forehead, delicate skin covering a perfect bone structure and strong muscles.
The killing instrument leaves virgin lips so that more poison may slip between them and crowd the night sky. Head tilted back, ice blue eyes slowly open and gaze at a moon shrouded in crimson. The night is calm and soothing, caressing the shoulders of those who dare to relax in its wake.
But as ice eyes close once again, it is evident the peace will not be kept. A toned, unscathed body stands, and black leather boots crunch the powdered head of the cigarette, brown and white paper alike shredding onto the cement pavement.
Taught, experienced leg muscles carry this body down the street and into a pitch black alleyway, then break into a run as the first shot is fired.
Expert hands grab the splintered wood of a fence and catapult athletic sinew straight over, feet making barely a sound as they make contact with grayed
grass and continue on the path to freedom.
Three men the size of elephants stand in the way, ready to pummel anything that tries to pass. They see the leather coat coming towards them and raise crowbars, baseball bats, and clubs. But try as they might to break a free soul, they are unsuccessful.
He will not be taken tonight.
These people, they come and they go, disappearing and reappearing in and out of the fog; beings to shadows to nonexistence. They are all so used to this fog, this trillion tendriled entity, that they take no notice of the rat poison and tar filled smoke being added to it by one single cigarette. Its blurry greyness is stark against the blood red quilt of brume, but no eyes turn to watch it float into the air, reaching ever higher than the fog and dissipating.
That appeasing smoke leads back to a white cigarette trapped between pale, dead lips, which are apart of a beautiful face complete with rosy cheeks, angular and unbroken nose, closed eyes with thick lashes, and shoulder length gold waves slicked back from a flawless forehead, delicate skin covering a perfect bone structure and strong muscles.
The killing instrument leaves virgin lips so that more poison may slip between them and crowd the night sky. Head tilted back, ice blue eyes slowly open and gaze at a moon shrouded in crimson. The night is calm and soothing, caressing the shoulders of those who dare to relax in its wake.
But as ice eyes close once again, it is evident the peace will not be kept. A toned, unscathed body stands, and black leather boots crunch the powdered head of the cigarette, brown and white paper alike shredding onto the cement pavement.
Taught, experienced leg muscles carry this body down the street and into a pitch black alleyway, then break into a run as the first shot is fired.
Expert hands grab the splintered wood of a fence and catapult athletic sinew straight over, feet making barely a sound as they make contact with grayed
grass and continue on the path to freedom.
Three men the size of elephants stand in the way, ready to pummel anything that tries to pass. They see the leather coat coming towards them and raise crowbars, baseball bats, and clubs. But try as they might to break a free soul, they are unsuccessful.
He will not be taken tonight.
Second, what do you think of the rest of the story? The ending?
I awaken with a gasp, covered in sickly sweat that is somehow freezing. I sit up and run a hand through my soaked hair and am almost instantly disgusted. I crawl out of bed and step barefoot across the hardwood to my bathroom door and turn the brass knob. I am greeted with tussled blonde hair and bruised eyes. I finger underneath them and sigh, wanting them to go away. I slip off my boxers and hop in the shower.
The whole time I'm thinking about that dream. It's not the first time I've had one like it, they all have that same calm about them, then the fog stirs—literally—and just as something happens, I wake up. I'm almost positive that smoker was me; I don't smoke, but it sure looked like me.
As I get out and dry off, I struggle with the meaning of it. Why was the fog red? Why was it so thick and low? Why was I smoking? Who were those guys? None of it makes sense, and I know not all of it should—hell, its the world of the mind, nothing can be predicted there—but at the same time, the fact that this concept has been plaguing me for almost a month now must mean something.
I go back into my room and grab all clean clothes, my blue jeans ripped at the knees, and the black tshirt baggy on me. I open my door and look out into open area, the front door to my right, the living room a little ways to my left, although its not really a room. I walk across the space, passing the couch on the way, and walk into the kitchen.
The kitchen is clean with pale blue walls and a square, dark wood table. I'm surprised to find it empty; Mom is usually in here doing dishes. It boggles me, how she is always doing dishes. Dad is never home, I don't use dishes, so it's got to be Melina making all the mess. She is a pig, I know, but I never actually catch her eating...
I yawn and open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of the sweet red liquid that keeps me alive. I down it and lick my lips, tossing the bottle in the bin under the sink. A redhead walks in, still in her red fleecy pyjama pants and white tank top.
She yawns as she comes in, and starts when she sees me leaned against the counter. "Oh...hey."
I give a small smile in return. "Hey."
"Where's Mom?"
I stare at her. "You don't know?"
"Uh...no. I thought you might."
I shake my head. She bites her lip and stares at me quietly. "Doesn't she normally leave a note or something?" I look at the table, which has the place mats set but that's all. "Maybe she's still sleeping."
"Can you go check? I'd like to make some breakfast."
"Sure." I smile at my sister then leave the kitchen, turn right and head up the stairs that are almost flush with the kitchen doorway. I get to the top and stop at the door right beside me. It's closed, which possibly suggests she is still in there, but it is closed most of the time, I remind myself. I knock and wait.
After two minutes I knock again. Another minute passes and I try the door. It opens and I find my parents room deserted, bed made meticulously by my mother. I close it and go back downstairs into the kitchen.
"She's not there."
Melina is now sitting at the kitchen table, soup spoon in hand, now paused midway to her mouth because of what I said.
"Where the hell is she, then?" She mutters, bringing the milk and Cheerio filled spoon to her mouth and chewing. "This isn't like her," she managed between biting, "I hope she's okay."
"I'm sure she's fine." I hop up on the counter and let her finish her bowl before trying to get anything from her. She may be a girl, but Melina is definitely a stranger to manners. It even grosses me out at times. "She didn't tell you that she had to go and buy anything within the past few days did she?"
"Not that I remember."
"Maybe she just forgot to tell us..."
"I don't know, Hayden. She's not like that. You know that."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean she can't sometimes forget things."
Melina's head tilts and her face scrunches slightly in disagreement. "Eh." She doesn't say anything more as she puts her bowl and spoon in the sink. "It's ten o'clock right now. I'll give her until one o'clock to come home. If she's not back by then, I'm going to call Dad."
I cringe. "I really don't think you should bring him into this. I'm sure it's nothing." Convincing myself of this is really hard because Mom never leaves the house without telling anyone. Something is wrong and I can feel it in my gut. I'm just too naive to admit it to myself.
"That's bullshit. I'm calling him if she's not home by then." She folds her arms. "This might be serious."
I shrug helplessly. "Fine." I scratch the back of my neck absently. "I'm going to Bryce's today, though. If she doesn't come home let me know, okay?"
"Sure thing."
I walk out of the kitchen and go to my room to grab some socks. As I grab my high tops, I can't help but notice my leather boots in the shelf and my leather jacket hanging in the closet. I tie my shoes and head out the door. Did something as small as my clothes even have some symbolism to them? I shake it out of my head and try to keep my mind clear as I walk down the dirt path to the city.
Our house is a really old style mansion, about half a kilometre outside of the city. When I get into the city I can't help but compare it to my dream; it was these very streets that were stuffed with that wrongly colored fog. My mind becomes trapped in the dream, and everything I look at seemingly has a read tint to it.
I get to Bryce's door and knock. He opens it knowingly and smiles. "Hello, sugar-cube."
"Hey." I step through the door and into his green carpeted living room and take a long breath. I don't know why, but the general scent of his house is calming. I flop on the couch and he comes up behind me, running a hand through my hair.
"Everything okay?"
"I had that dream again." I sigh and grab his hand, entwining my fingers with his momentarily before letting go. "And Mom is nowhere to be found."
"Oh?" He comes around the side and sits beside me.
"Yeah. She's not in the house and she didn't leave a note. Melina's giving her 'til one to show up or she's calling Dad."
Bryce cringes in the same manner I did. "Is that the greatest idea?"
I shrug in return. "I couldn't convince her otherwise, and what else can we do? We can't call the cops; she hasn't been missing for twenty-four hours yet."
"I suppose." He rubs the beige fabric of the couch absently, the black criss-cross patterns extremely old fashioned. The walls almost match the carpet, and the whole place has an 80's feel to it, or somewhere around there. The only up to date thing in the room is the 46" flat screen TV against the wall, accompanied by BlueRay player and PS3. Beside the lights and Bryce's laptop, its practically the only technology in the house.
I sigh and lean back on the couch, closing my sleepless eyes.
"What happened?"
"Hm?" I peek one eye at him.
"In the dream. What happened?"
I summarize the dream to the best of my ability, making careful note on the amount of detail I felt in it; how slow everything seemed to move until I had to run. I also mentioned my theory about what things had meaning, and that I was pretty sure it happened in these very city streets.
He bites his lip in though, silent for a moment. "I do think something about that is important. The fact that you're pretty sure it's you in every dream and that fog seems to be a prominent detail must mean something."
"And it's red. Fog isn't red. That has to mean something too."
Bryce nods, getting off the couch and disappearing for a couple minutes, through the kitchen and into the hallway that leads to his room. He comes back with his Macbook and sets it on the table that's between the couch and the loveseat. He opens it and turns it on, then turns to me while it starts up.
I can't stand Macbooks, simply because I've never really been addicted to a computer like him, and they work so differently from PC's that I can't even begin to comprehend how to use them. I barely even use my own laptop, so I never even bother with Macs.
"Is it sticking with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you said you're pretty sure it is taking place in these city streets. On your way walking here, did anything from the dream come forth?"
I'm hesitant to admit it; I don't know why. I feel a little crazy, I guess. "...yes. I couldn't help but picture the fog, and then everything seemed to have a red tint to it. It really freaked me out, I mean—it shouldn't come forth that strongly, right?"
Bryce shrugs. "Well, not for humans, but—"
"Vampires are close enough to humans. They have the same neurological makeup and same brain. They wouldn't be any different."
Bryce raises an eyebrow. "First of all, they have powers, such as mind reading and mind control. Maybe that can effect it, I don't know. And second, you're a half vampire. That sets completely different standards."
"It shouldn't."
"Well, not completely different, but, like...you get it, don't you?"
I nod absently, leaning back into the couch.
The computer is finally ready and Bryce grabs it, opening Safari and clicking on Google from his bookmarks menu.
"What are you looking for?"
"I want to see if we can find any meaning for any of this."
"I doubt you can..."
"Well, let's start off with something easy. The fact that it is recurring." He clicks a few things then reads something. "Okay, it says here that recurring dreams often have a strong message, that it is so important that your mind just won't let you forget it." A pause as he reads more. "To help you take more notice to them, it says here that they can often be...nightmarish and frightening."
He looks up at me and our eyes meet in mutual understanding.
"Okay, so it's trying to tell me something. That was kind of obvious. Is there more?"
"It can occur from life situations, phases, or a problem that just keeps coming back. There is little variation in it, and could possibly be trying to make note of personal weaknesses, fear, or inability to cope with something in your life. The recurring patterns indicate the valuable information; it could be a conflict, situation or matter in your life that is unsolved. An urgent message in your unconscious is demanding to be understood."
I'm silent for a minute as I take it in. "...I've been thinking about that for a while, but I really don't know what it could be. I know it's the subconscious, but still. Nothing's really happened that I haven't been able to solve."
"Maybe you just don't remember it. I think the fact that it's in this city means it's something that has happened here."
I nod in agreement. "Which means within the last eight years. Totally narrows it down..." I roll my eyes.
"Well, if you think about it, it actually does. Knocks eight years off."
"Uh-huh. What else?"
"Lemme see if I can find anything else." He searches around a little more than his eyes widen. "Okay, I don't know what your dream means but I think I found a solution."
He hands the laptop to me and I read over what is on the page. There are exactly seven steps, although I find the fourth and fifth ones the most helpful. Number four being to look for subtle variations, and number five being to pay attention to your life; patterns may appear. It will help to find out what is causing the dream.
"Okay...but I need to know what's causing it first..."
"That'll come."
I hand the laptop back to him and he attempts to do some more searching. "A city means a sense of community and social environment. An alley means limited options or you are sidetracked from your goals because of communal responsibilities. Fog is troubles, scandals, uncertainty, and worries. You aren't seeing things the way they really are. Or, it could be mystery, secrecy, and protection."
There's more we can search up, but Bryce stops for now and looks at me. To try and connect what we have so far. I run a hand through my hair, seeing what I can piece together. "The city and alley settings conflict with each other." I start. "Community and social environment is usually positive, but I'm also limited in my options."
Bryce opens OpenOffice and copies down what we have so far. "Yes, but it also says you could be sidetracked from your goals because of communal responsibilities. So maybe...your responsibilities have something to do with the city."
"Okay, okay. And fog is uncertainty or mystery—not seeing things the way they are...so the city is hiding something?"
"No, I think that's too intricate. I think it's more so that you're ignoring something that's plain as day, or there's something you need to find but you don't know where to look."
I'm silent for a minute, trying to connect with this recent events. "I'm not outside alot, unless I'm going to school or coming here. I haven't really seen anything out of the ordinary or something I should do something about. And I don't think I've lost anything recently. Not something important enough to cause a dream like that, anyways."
"Well, you saw those guys holding weapons in your dream, too right?"
"Yeah."
"You need to defend yourself physically or emotionally. Again conflict of some sort. Possible hidden desire to hurt someone or something."
I stand up, getting too antsy to sit. I start pacing the room. "There's some form of conflict here, that seems to be the common denominator. I haven't been angry." I bite my lip, still pacing, socks sinking ever so slightly into the awkwardly colored carpet.
"If we take everything, maybe you've lost something, and you don't know where to look because something is standing in your way. Something—or someone—that wants to hurt you."
"But I haven't lost anything yet."
"Do you think it's coming up, then? Maybe you will lose something."
"Come on. We may be vampires but we can't see into the future."
Bryce shrugs, out of answers.
"What about the color red?"
"Um..." he taps a couple keys, "raw energy, force, intense passion, agression, power, impulsiveness. Deep emotional and spiritual connotations. Seeing red denotates anger."
"Whatever I lost...or possibly will lose is going to cause great pain and it's going to piss me off. The people are covered in red fog, is it something everyone takes from me?"
"No, I think thats too big scale again. Hey, hey, how calm your dream was is really important too. Says it could mean the calm before the storm."
I nod and snap my fingers a couple times. "Yeah, yeah. That makes sense. Everything is calm, and then suddenly goes berserk."
"I think it's sounding more and more like foreboding. I think it's trying to tell you that your life is okay now, but something is going to happen. Maybe you'll deny it at first—then you get angry, but you eventually have to try and do something, but someone tries to stop you."
I sit down across from him, the meaning sinking in. "That's..." An unsure look crosses my face. "...that sounds like it belongs in a book. That's too...prophecy-ish."
Bryce shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe this is all just bullshit coming from your active imagination. Just...keep it in mind."
"I will." I yawn, laying back on the loveseat and staring at the cieling, those stupid little stucco bumps all over it. Just as I close my eyes, I feel my pocket buzz. I pull out my phone and click 'view' to the one new message. I read it and bite my lip.
Bryce straightens up. "What is it?"
I hand my phone to him. He looks at his wrist watch. "You said she'd give her until one?"
"Yep."
"I think you have cause for worry, then, mate."
I look at my own watch that reads two o'clock, take my phone back from him and read over the message again.
Mom still not home. Hospital says Dad never showed up. -Melina
