Chapter 1: Nightmares

Everyone has dreams. People have dreams, animals have dreams, and babies have dreams. My mom's dream was to have a perfect family in a nice sunny town with two cars and a little puppy to keep the kids happy. My dad's dream was to have a happy family living in the town he was born in with beautiful children and a wonderful wife to come home to, after a long day of work. My brother's dream was to live with a cool family in a big house (preferably a mansion) have a girlfriend in California, go to some Ivy League University on a basketball scholarship, and play for the best team in the state. My sister's dream was to live in a simple quiet town, go to school with normal friends and classmates, and go home to supportive parents who ask her how her day was during a nice, normal family dinner.

I don't dream anymore. Dreams can go die for all I care. When I was a young child, I dreamt of bright blue skies and beautiful rainbows, and there would be fluffy bunnies and unicorns prancing and dancing about. Then these dreams turned into dark and stormy nights, and endless days of suffering. The bunnies and unicorns became heinous, gruesome, vulgar beasts and monsters. I constantly awoke from nightmares panting, sweating, and my heart racing for its dear life. I didn't have dreams anymore. I had nightmares.



I ran as fast as I could. My breath was becoming more shallow and rough. My legs ached, and my eyes started to water. I licked my dry, cracked lips and quickly scanned for an escape. There was none. I turned a corner and headed down a long and dark path. There was trash everywhere, and my nose was hit by a strong smell of whiskey and rum. A blinding flash was the last thing I saw before I was enveloped in absolute darkness.

"Why are you here?" a deep ominous voice asked.

"I don't know." I replied.

"What do you want?" it asked.

"I don't know." I replied.

"Who are you?" it asked, getting frustrated.

"I don't know." I replied.

How am I to know who I was, what I desired, and my purpose for being there? I was lost in a state unknown. I was scared. I was a child.

I felt large claws dig into me, picking me up and I was hurled against a brick wall. My body became numb, and I fell into a deep sleep.



I remember writing a lot of poetry in elementary school. One of them was even published in a newspaper. People thought I was an intelligent child with artistic talent that would get my far in a writing career. One day, as I was cleaning under my bed, I came across a crumpled up paper. I opened it and looked at the childish scrawl. The words were cryptic and dark. I don't think anyone realized what I was feeling when I wrote this. I was only seven.

'Things I Love'

I love my family, they love me too.

I love my friends, they love me too.

I love my teachers, they love me too.

I love my neighbors, they love me too.

And I love my life.

Things aren't always what they seem. I can't believe that was published.


Sorry if there are any errors. I reread it a few times. This story is basically an escape for me and those whose life isn't all rainbows and sunshine. My life doesn't suck; I just don't like what it has to offer, so give me my rainbows life. Give me my damn pot of skittles at the end. So whose POV do you think it is? Anonymous reviews are accepted.

Song of the Week: Dress for the Weather by Action Item

-IBFF