Okay, I went back to look at the info….and it was bad. I apologize for that; I'm dyslexic, so it hurt my head just looking at it. Yikes.

Here's the link for the characters: stories/24325847/alice-and-memorys-unlucky-day-maybe

(Alice's POV)

KEY:

Bold: Author's note

Italics: Thoughts/Dreams

"Quoted Italics: Singing"

Underline: Text message or email

My heart races as I run through the trees.

No one but me; no one to help me, to hear my futile shrieks of mortal terror. No- I feel it now, the dark presence behind me. I can't stand the realization I'm going to die alone, here in this forest…Wait. Wasn't this just a forest? Now I find myself watching bricks speed by as the floor. I duck under a fallen wood beam and run face-first into a grated metal door.

I hear a shriek envelop me, accompanied by a low, bone-chilling moan. I scream and bang on the door until my throat is raw and my fists are bloody and busted. Screaming becomes the only thing I know. The only thing that matters. Just stop breathing and let it go away.

I bolt upright in bed and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream that even Jamie Lee Curtis would be proud of. My phone's radio-alarm is going nuts on my bedside table. Sweat covers my forehead and legs, and my hands are clammy and cold. The song my phone was playing does make me laugh, however. I can't help but chorus in.

"If I die young, bury me in satin, and lay me down on a bed of roses." I let myself loose for a moment, shaking away any last effects of the dream. The pill bottle sits on my dresser, and I kick my sheets off and head for it. The little orange bottle has been my constant companion for the last six years, varying in medications, of course. I'm supposed to come off of it today, or so Doctor Rosen said. A quick trip to his office for an evaluation and then no more bitter pills.

"As long as," I remember him stating, "You keep up this habit of not having any more nightmares." Well, I guess I'm going to lie again. What am I supposed to say, anyway; "Oops, I had another nightmare, put me back on PTSD medication,"? Oh but Hell no. I open the little bottle of Satan's piss and pop my morning dosage in my mouth. I swallow hard, praying it doesn't get stuck in my throat.

It thankfully doesn't, and so I pick up my phone and find I have a new message from Memory.

U still want me to pick u up 4 Rosen's l8r?

I text back a quick 'yes' and toss my phone onto my bed. Luckily my parents are still gone, probably at a bar or in jail. I'll get a call later to come and pick them up. But until then, I'm going to enjoy my day. First I run a brush through my hair, and then put on some minor makeup. I change into my normal clothes and look in the mirror. I look presentable. A knock on the door sends me running for the lock.

"Hey!" I greet my white-haired friend. She waves and looks me up and down, taking in my outfit. I raise an eyebrow when she shakes her head.

"You and your Chuck Taylors," she mutters, gesturing to my feet. "C'mon, we're going to be late."

A half an hour later we pull into the parking garage of Dr. Rosen's building. "Remind me, why do you drive a pussy-ass Prius?" I ask, eyes sweeping the lot for a parking spot. "Goddammit, it's Friday. Why aren't these people at work?"

"To answer your first question: because it's gas-efficient. I get forty-eight miles per gallon in this baby." She pats the dash as if it was her most prized possession. I roll my eyes. "And I don't know the answer to that last one." I point at an empty space.

"There's one," I say, tapping her shoulder. She backs into the spot and I hop out of the tampon-on-wheels. "I feel like I'm about to go shopping for a training bra. And trust me. I can't fit all this," I grab my chest, "in a training bra." Memory rolls her eyes this time.

"Ha-ha. I'm laughing on the inside. Not."

"You should be."

Did you like it? Make sure to leave a review or PM me. Also, leave a review if you caught the "The Other Guys" reference!

Signing off,

~Kat