Story

Part One - Chapter One

Part I

1

I awake from my nightmare, my heart beating so hard it hurts. I wipe sweat from my brow, thinking hard. My dream had recalled a moment spent surrounded by trees, wet grass beneath my feet, the moon's cool breath playing across my skin. But when had I visited such a place? I am certain that my dream had been an actual memory; but yet I had not left the city - my home - once in my life. I peer almost expectantly out my window, as if hoping to find the answer to my question carried to me by the night sky. The glass pane is cold to my touch, refreshing compared to the warmth of my fear. The presence in that forest was so dark, so evil -- I shake myself, shuddering from the memory. It wasn't real, it couldn't have been. I refuse to let my mind twist the matter further.

The glowing, almost blinding red-colored declaration of my alarm clock announces the time; 3:19 am. I flop back onto my bed, certain that sleep has left me permanently for the night; I am so puzzled by my dream. I know what my mother would say: I was remembering my past life through my dreams. Yes, those would be her words. Well my real mother would say something different entirely, but, that was another matter. The whole of that woman was a completely different matter, one I'd rather not face at the moment.

But what if my mother was right? What if my dream was some past life of mine? What if there was something outside of "normal" - what if the things my mother believes in are true? My heartbeat pounds in my head. The thought that what I always knew to be true isn't true disturbs me deeply. If I think about it, there had been hints throughout my whole life, little things that had no explanation except that I had imagined them happening, things that could only be made sense of by dismissing as nonsense.

Idiot. I think. You're just tired. How can you actually, even for a moment, believe that? I turn over, my own thoughts making me uncomfortable. Your mother has finally gotten to you. The thought rings in my ears.

There is that sensible voice in my head, telling me I'm just delusional from my lack of sleep, telling me that no such thing is possible. And there is that part of me, mute, without a voice, somehow knowing, though not admitting, that my dream was a real memory - I felt the grass cutting my feet, I felt the wind licking my skin. What dream can create that so vividly without an actual memory for reference? Not once had I ever stood barefoot in a field, not once had I felt the night air fill my lungs.

But it wasn't real! The voice in my mind forcibly persists. I just want sleep, I just want to forget about this for now, at least. And somehow, amidst the chaos of my thoughts, I do sleep. Luckily, no dreams find their way to haunt me.

***

Sunlight seeps vividly through my closed eyelids, staining my vision red. My alarm clock screams at me, violently jolting me from my peace. As quickly as my lethargic mind can react, I slam the top of the machine, shutting it off before it wakes the whole neighborhood. Mindlessly, I swing my legs out of bed, my feet slamming a little too painfully against the hard, wooden floor. Wincing, I retract my legs back onto my bed, now awake from the pain. As I do so, I notice the minuscule scratches covering the soles of my feet, thin enough to be inflicted by blades of grass.