This idea has been in my head for quite some time, so I'm finally going to start it. I can only hope that you enjoy it!
Matthew Williams ducked, his heart thudding in absolute terror. The sounds of gunshots echoed around the building, accompanied with plenty of screaming and the occasional explosion. The Canadian teenager crawled toward the exit, staying low to the ground. Boxes of explosives (oh my God!) shielded him from view of the enemy, and he just prayed that nothing was going to detonate and kill him.
He checked his watch. He only had to survive this government uprising/war/horrific action-movie-like dream for two more minutes.
Why did Americans have to have such violent dreams?
Suddenly, the whole world went dark and quiet. The sounds of battle disappeared, and the bright sky faded into a dark dawn color. Matthew sat up in his bed, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. He couldn't believe he'd actually survived such an ordeal.
It was six in the morning. Matthew stood up, took a few deep breaths, then went to shower and get ready for school.
Matthew Williams had just moved to the United States from Quebec, Canada, where he was living a perfectly normal and happy existence. Well, not really. Matthew had never gotten a good night's sleep... ever, really. He'd always been able to appear into other people's dreams. For the other people, they were still just dreams, only Matthew was in them. But to Matthew, anything in the other person's dream was fair game. He could get hurt in other people's dreams. Or worse.
When Matthew was seven, he'd been in one of his classmate's dreams and he got bitten by a dog. When he woke up, the dog bite was still on his arm. His mother asked about it, and Matthew tried to explain, but alas, he was a seven-year-old with a 'wild imagination' and his story only got him disbelieving looks from both of his parents. He learned to keep his mouth shut about it and to stay away from danger in every dream.
Matthew had also figured out that whenever the person who was dreaming woke up, he woke up, too. If he was having a particularly traumatic experience—as he'd just been having—he could count on the dreamer's alarm clock to save him. Unless, of course, it was a weekend. Matthew preferred to pull all-nighters on those kinds of days. He couldn't sleep normally. His body could only rest if he was in someone else's dream. Matthew found that he needed less sleep than most people, and could get about three hours of it and come back to school as refreshed as someone who'd gotten a nice eight-hour rest.
"Matthew? You're going to be late!" his mother called up the stairs.
"Coming!" Matthew yelled back, toweling off his hair and pulling on some clothes. He headed downstairs, picked up an apple, and grabbed his car keys. He said a quick goodbye to his mother and sister, Madeleine, and then drove off to school. He was going to have a serious talk with Alfred Jones.
"Dude, guess what? You were in my dream last night!"
Matthew shut his locker and turned to his loud, popular American friend. "Really?" He fought to keep a neutral facial expression, but he wanted to have an anxiety attack just thinking about Alfred's extremely dangerous, shrapnel-filled dream. "What was it about?"
"It was the weirdest thing! America got taken over by Russia, and I was the leader of a rebellion—"
Matthew laughed. "Let me guess: 'Russia' was Ivan Braginsky?" Ivan was Alfred's arch nemesis and the local Russian psychopath. Well, Ivan was pretty pleasant to Matthew, but Matthew knew how poorly Alfred and Ivan got along.
Alfred laughed, too. "You know it! Anyway, you were there, crawling behind these supply boxes and flinching every time something exploded—then I woke up."
Matthew nodded. Yes, it all seemed accurate. Another thing he'd noticed: Any time he was present in someone else's dream, the other person would always remember the dream with crystal clarity, even if they were the sort of person who often forgot their dreams.
"Well, I'm going to head to class," the Canadian said. Geez. He and Alfred had gotten pretty close over the one month they'd known each other, but Matthew was never going to enter another one of Alfred's dreams again. There was just too much to lose in such a dangerous environment. The only reason he'd willed himself into Alfred's dream in the first place was because Alfred had been stressing over some psychology test, and Matthew was thinking that maybe Alfred would have a stress dream and Matthew could comfort him. Honestly, it'd been a stupid idea. Matthew was thankful to be alive.
Matthew found his seat in English just as the bell rang.
"Good morning," Arthur Kirkland grunted, sipping his tea. Matthew grinned. Only water was allowed in classrooms, but Arthur brought his drinks in opaque water bottles, so he was easily able to sneak tea, coffee, and other (disgusting) homemade British concoctions to school. Arthur usually seemed pretty calm, and Matthew reminded himself that he'd have to check out one of Arthur's dreams sometime soon. Surely there wouldn't be any encounters of the rebellious kind in the Brit's mind.
In the month he'd been in America, Matthew had managed to make three very good friends—Alfred Jones, Arthur Kirkland, and Francis Bonnefoy. He was infinitely grateful for them, for their interesting stories, for the way their personalities were so heavily contrasting yet they all managed to stay friends—but other than that, no one really spoke to him. Not that he minded.
Class was mostly uneventful. It was a rainy, quiet Thursday, and many people were drifting off. Arthur was writing in his journal, and Matthew spent the entire hour doodling in the margins of his notes.
By the time lunch rolled around, the skies were in a total downpour. Matthew found his table and sat down. Francis and Arthur were already arguing about something, though Matthew knew they secretly enjoyed fighting with each other, and Alfred spoke to Matthew about how unnecessary his stress over the psychology test had been.
Matthew nodded occasionally, reaching into his bag for his phone.
"Eh? Oh, I left my phone in my car. Mind if I go get it really quickly?" Matthew asked.
Alfred glanced outside. "Sure—I hope you've got an umbrella!"
Matthew walked to the front entrance and stared at the rain pouring down. He gathered his courage and made a mad dash for his car, his arms above his head.
He was halfway through the parking lot when he heard the yelling.
"Scheiße! Let go of me! Dummkopf! Verdammt!"
Matthew stopped, blinking rain out of his eyes. It sounded like angry German cursing. As if German wasn't scary enough on its own. Matthew walked forward a bit more and he saw it—Ivan Braginsky had someone pinned down on the muddy grass of the soccer field, flailing around in the sludge and shouting angrily. Ivan had a creepily calm smile on his face, and Matthew felt a chill go down his spine. Was this who Alfred saw every time he saw Ivan? No matter. Matthew ran forward, ready to help.
"Ivan! What are you doing?" he exclaimed, running over to the altercation.
Ivan stepped back. "Oh, hello, Matthew. Can I help you?"
"Um—could you—what?" Matthew frowned in confusion. "Could you maybe go back inside? Please?" He watched Ivan nod walk slowly to the school entrance, always in that slow, strange pace. Creepy. Ivan definitely was a bit... odd. Matthew turned to the person Ivan had been tormenting. "Err, are you all right?"
"What an asshole. But thanks, I am. I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. And you?"
"Matthew Williams."
"Aren't you new this year? Senior? Yeah, you're in my class. Awesome." Gilbert attempted to wipe some of the mud off his jacket, his frown deepening. "Scheiße... This is such a mess. I hate messes."
Matthew watched, not even caring that his clothes were getting soaked. He felt bad for Gilbert. "Um, do you need help? Listen, I'm really sorry about Ivan—"
"No, no, it's fine," Gilbert replied with a sigh. "Happens all the time. Whatever. I was just headed to lunch. I like to eat off campus. Want to join me? We've got a good thirty minutes left."
"Oh, um, sure." Matthew followed silently, hoping Alfred wouldn't be too worried.
This was going to be an interesting day.