15 | dreaming of the dead

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London ; December 30th, 2016

There are consistent sounds being produced; the tapping of rain on the rubble; the wind whistling; the lightening striking, accompanied by its devoted counterpart, thunder

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There are consistent sounds being produced; the tapping of rain on the rubble; the wind whistling; the lightening striking, accompanied by its devoted counterpart, thunder.

I look around, then blink.

I stand in front of a place I've been avoiding for the past year: Jake's grave.

Jake Pratt —
1999-2015

A loving son, brother, and member of the community, with a heart made of gold.

I feel numb. I haven't been here since the funeral — I never had the strength. It's cowardly, I know, but I couldn't take looking at his grave, because it made his death too real.

Which brings me to the question: why am I here?

Could it be a dream? I consider the option, but then, I look around once more. Everything is too vivid, every detail too precise to be a dream. But then again, everything related to Jake is engrained in the depths of my memory.

He died last year. Osteosarcoma — also known as bone cancer — took him when he was sixteen, but he was diagnosed at fourteen. I was eleven, turning twelve in a week at the time of his death.

I remember his funeral; the entire hospital staff showed up. Jake was good at making friends, unlike me. He was also emotionally strong, unlike me.

I hear a voice I thought I'd never hear again. "Little J—"

My breath hitches. Only one person ever calls me that.

"—Hey."

I turn around, and there he stands: Jake, a stupid grin plastered on his face. He's wearing his favorite basketball T-shirt, and all his hair is there.

He opens his arms, inviting me for a hug. "Well, you just gonna leave me hanging?"

And without another moment of hesitation, I run to him, sobbing. I embrace him, and I never want to let go. He lets me cry on his shoulder.

I try to speak between sobs.

"Y-you're here!" I hiccup.

Jake makes a small chuckling sound. "Yeah, I am."

Minutes pass, and I begin to calm down. I burn his touch into my memory, then I look up at him, "How are you here—"

He cuts me off, "I have to go in a few minutes."

I look up at him, my heart clenching. He has a closed-eyed, tight-lipped smile on his face. I feel the tears about to come again. "But... you just got here..." I sob again

"I know." He opens his eyes. Slowly, he pushes me away. I try to hold onto him, but I can't. Jake's face becomes serious as he looks at me, his hands grasping my shoulders. "You're in danger, Jenna."

I don't say a word, my silence indicating my confusion.

"You shouldn't have talked to her. You have to destroy her."

"...Who?" I'm getting scared. What is he talking about?

Then, I hear a blood-curdling scream; it tears through me like a bullet. It's the type of scream that only signifies angry insanity.

Jake's face falls, "Go."

Suddenly, she plummets from the sky, her white dress covered in splotches of red — blood, I realize. Her hands are also covered in red, fingernails long enough to resemble claws. Her hair is draped over her face, but once her feet touch the ground, I see it.

My breath hitches. Her face is contorted into an expression displaying pure, uncontrollable anger, a snarl on her lips.

My heart stops beating when I see her eyes, and I go numb. Her eyes; they weren't regular eyes anymore. They were as black as the night sky, filled with rage.

Rosalanea.

She opens her mouth and barks, "I'll kill you!" I flinch.

Her voice suddenly changes after that — it becomes low, to the point where it isn't human.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

She lunges at me, and I scream, closing my eyes. But, when I don't feel her nails impaling my skin, I open them.

Jake. He's gripping her tightly by her shoulders, preventing her from getting any closer to me. His face is contorted at the effort.

"Go!" he exclaims, not looking at me.

I don't want to go; I don't want to leave Jake. But despite what my heart wants, by body makes the decision for me. Adrenaline courses through me, as fight or flight mode kicks in.

I run.

Then, everything simply disappears.

I sit up, gasping. Looking around, I see my familiar bedroom, and feel the comfortable mattress of my bed beneath me.

Then, realization floods me: could I have been dreaming?

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⏰ Last updated: Dec 26, 2017 ⏰

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