Chapter 3

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I saved the document and logged off my computer. I had finished writing my first dream journal entry. I liked recording my dreams because there was always a hidden message in mine. I could always learn something about myself and sometimes take what I learned to be better. Dreams are the brain's garbage but they are the hearts truth.

I found out that my dreams had a pattern. Everything that either happened or was there had a symbol. Fire or burning heat always symbolized hate. The meaning of fire in my dreams will never change. It's like a marvel movie. If Benedict Cumberbatch plays Dr. Strange, he will always play Dr. Strange; therefore if a tree symbolizes family, the tree will always symbolize a family. If I was dreaming about a burning tree, it would mean that I hated my family.

I got up from my desk and went to the closet. I picked out a pair of black leggings and a plain white t-shirt. I pulled out my denim jacket and some new under garments. I held them in my arms and headed to the bathroom to shower. I stopped before opening my door to my room and quickly ran to look out my window. I couldn't see my mom's car so I knew it was safe to go outside.

I quickly showered and changed into my new clothes. I brushed my soaking wet hair and put it in a ponytail at the crown of my head after wringing it out five times and let my naturally curly hair flow down around my head. My brown curls were so tight it looked like telephone cords and it was so thick that it acted like a sponge.

I brushed my teeth and looked at myself in the mirror. I started from my head and worked my way down; criticizing everything I wish was different about my appearance. I looked at my hair that was hard to manage and cut unevenly. I looked at my caramel brown eyes that couldn't see words 2 feet in front of me. I looked at my small chest that looked like it could go on a twelve year old, despite the fact that I was sixteen and a half. I noticed the tearing of skin around my fingertips from constant abuse of nervous picking.

The only thing that I could say was good about me was that I had never gotten acne on my coffee brown skin... after the cream. I finished the rest of my morning routine and went downstairs. I entered the kitchen and went to the fridge. I looked inside to find nothing, as usual. I checked in the pantry and found nothing. I sighed and walked back upstairs. Instead of turning into my room I went the opposite direction into my mom's room.

I went to the bed and kneeled down. I reached under the bed and dragged out a box from underneath. I took out the keys from my pocket and got the golden one. I unlocked the box and looked at the money I had saved up for emergencies. My mom never cleans her room and would never expect me to stash my money with her so it was untouched. Even if she found it, she would need the key. If she wanted the key, she would have to go through me first and I never went anywhere or did anything without my keys.

I took out one hundred dollars and locked up the box again. I had saved up almost one thousand dollars from odd jobs I did for my neighbors. I left the room looking just as horrid as I found it and went down the stairs and out the front door. I walked down the street to the supermarket close by to get something to eat.

I bought some vegetables and fruits first. Although I hated both, I knew it was good for me. I then made sure to buy some nonperishable food like granola bars for emergencies. I bought some milk and cereal to eat and things to make sandwiches. I finished my search and went to pay. I grabbed a Mountain Dew and some Hot Cheetos on my way to the cashier. I paid and went home.

No one gave me problems like they used to. I didn't know why, but every time I entered the store and tried to buy something, they thought I was going to steal something. I don't know if it was because I wore all black or because I was a twelve year old buying food without a parent. All I know is it really pissed me off when it took me twice as long to buy food when I was hungry.

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