"I have to go,too," I spoke up, my voice barely above a whisper. "My mom's waiting for me." It was only half the truth.
I went around the circle, giving each of my friends a tight hug, saving Ben for last. I tried desperately to keep the tears from...
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•°Corinne's POV°•
"Well, that's how it felt anyway. We both saw all of us, back in the cistern, together," I added, my fingers unconsciously playing with a boy's as the haunting images flashed through my mind once again.
"But we were older, like our parents' ages," a girl with vibrant red hair spoke up, capturing everyone's attention. They hung on our every word.
"Am I still handsome as an adult?" another boy with big, round glasses asked, framing his face with his hands. The group chuckled softly. "You grow into your looks,"the other girl said with a warm smile, causing a boy wearing a cast to burst into laughter. "What the fuck does that mean?"the boy with glasses retorted, feigning offense.
"What about me?" another boy asked. His head was bandaged, as if he’d been badly hurt. He smiled at us, and I felt a strange hesitation before answering. "You look the same, but taller," I told him truthfully.
"W-what were we all doing there?" the boy with the stutter asked, his curiosity palpable.
"I just remember how we felt. How scared we were. I don't think I can ever forget that," the girl replied, her voice nervous as she stared at the ground. I knew exactly how she felt. A sudden, heavy silence fell over all of us. I laid my head on the shoulder of the boy whose fingers I'd been holding, seeking comfort as the group absorbed the grim premonition.
The boy with the stutter grabbed a shard of glass and stood up, his face set with a grim determination I recognized deep in my soul.
"Swear it," he stated, his voice strong. "S-swear if it isn't dead, if it ever comes back, we'll come back, too."
I sat bolt upright in my bed, my breath coming in sharp gasps. It wasn't a nightmare, not in the traditional sense—there was no monster chasing me—but the dream left me shaken and sitting straight up in fright. I’d been having the same dream for over a week. The people in it, their faces were frustratingly blurred, as if they themselves were refusing to be fully remembered.
I’ve been wondering why I keep dreaming of people I’ve never met. Or maybe I have met them, and they are fragments of memories I can no longer grasp, locked away in a part of my mind that refuses to open.
I splashed cold water on my face, jolting myself fully awake. A glance at the clock told me it was only 4 a.m. I knew myself well enough to know that once I'm up, I'm up. Sleep wouldn't be returning.
I padded out to the kitchen for a glass of water, the dream's eerie feeling clinging to me. Needing a distraction, I went to my study to get a head start on work. Working for a magazine was demanding, especially with a boss who rode me about the smallest of mistakes. I always strived for perfection, leaving no room for error. It was easier to focus on commas and deadlines than on the blurred faces of a past I couldn't remember and a promise I couldn't place.
