Rewrite History [REWRITTEN]

Day 17: October 29 - Bigger Picture

Wednesday

It is cold enough for people to start doubling up on clothing, but not cold enough to shiver yet, I jolt from my seat, alerting Perrin on my right.

I'm a big dreamer. I dream every night. So why is it that imaginary sensations of weapons slicing my skin and pretend uproars of hellish screams also dominate me during the day?

"Cass?"

"I'm fine," I tell Perrin, afraid my pounding heart would betray me in the almost soundless classroom.

My friend returns her focus to her exercise book, sighing exasperatedly. "Ouch. You've never brushed me off before." Lowered esteem already splotches across her face, so before she even begins to guilt trip me, I respond, my left hand dropping my pen.

"Perrin no. A lot's going through my head right now."

She pauses, discontinuing her practice essay. "Like what?"

"Dreams." Another throwing knife glares across my mind. My voice runs deeper. "So vivid yet so vague."

"Okay, Cassia, you're being cryptic right now. Tell me what you see in your dreams."

They cause memory loss. Short-term memory loss, specifically of my current environment. The classroom is deprived of noise for a reason.

"Girls, this is a silent task," Miss Alson says as I am about to answer. Gingerly, I try to retrace where I've left off my essay. At this, Perrin throws me a conspiratorial wink before our teacher notices, hushing down my worries.

"Sorry, Miss Alson." The red undertones in her hair seem to blaze more revealingly as she gives a remorseful grin. It's as if she took double the normal dose of shame since she apologized on my behalf too. Perrin also takes her chance to burst an exceedingly flashy and unmistakably sarcastic smile at Jacob and Briella, who taunt her from the front of the class.

I don't even need to look at the time to know that class is almost finished. My built-in clock has engrained my entire schedule into all of me, partly because I desire a successful first year in high school. Now, it's mostly because of Conah Haylon.

Conah Haylon.

My eyes smart, frantically searching for wherever I wrote today's date in my book.

Wednesday.

Shoot. Not now. Apparently, five days are not long enough for me to decide whether his house- training room- place of refuge is a reliable location. Efficiently filing through all the pros and cons of going is what my perceptive logic automatically handles. It's like skipping the exhausting weighing scale process. But with a time limit that's the last thing I tend to think about, the pressure rises.

I unveil the hidden map I bundled into my exercise book. Intently, I glance at Conah's marked position.

Worse comes to worst when the ear-piercing bell announces the end of the school day.

"Alright everyone, you can go." Miss Alson's voice is polite, but her inward groans due to incompletion of classwork will not go unnoticed by me, at least.

Students from every direction dart hurriedly toward the classroom exit. Perrin nudges me, vaporizing the enduring remains of illusions tainting my vision. "Let's head off," she beams, packing up, "then we can talk about whatever we were talking about." We stand, tossing our bags behind our backs, maneuvering our way out of the chairs and tables.

"Yeah, Cassia." A nasal sneer comes from the door. Briella obnoxiously thumps her fist on the frame as if the phantom spotlight on her is still not enough to dazzle us. "Talk about your sweet dreams," she sings, cocking her head to the side mockingly before dashing out after her friend.