His dreams were always very real. Often he forgot that what he was experiencing wasn't real, but rather only a very elaborate and convincing lie told to him by his subconscious. This night in particular, Spot was dreaming—once again—of his death.
He would never admit it, but his death absolutely terrified him. It wasn't fear of the afterlife, but fear of the pain. Spot could handle the dull, sore feeling of a bruise or a cut, but bruises and cuts couldn't kill you. He dreaded the burning, agonizing pain of broken flesh, caused by bullets or knives. He didn't even want to think about the feeling of not being able to breathe: the pressure on your chest and the way your head felt like it would explode right between your ears.
Spot had no idea what had caused this sudden wave of morbid nights. There was no way for him to know that he was telling himself he only had two years left.
Hurry up and save your soul.
Sunday night's dream began like any other night in Spot's life. He walked alone with his hands in his coat pockets. It had been snowing for some time, and a clean sheet of white covered the streets and rooftops. Spot's breath left his body in quickly disappearing clouds.
He suddenly stopped walking. The eerie feeling of being followed washed over him from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He turned around and saw no one. After a few moments, Spot turned back around and continued to walk.
Now he heard footsteps, but he didn't look back to see who it was that was following him. The footsteps quickened and came closer. Just as his follower was almost on top of him, Spot turned and found himself face to face with his best friend.
He sighed heavily and grinned. "Christ, Ethan, what are you doing following me?" Ethan said nothing, and he wasn't smiling. Spot's grin vanished. "Ethan?"
He didn't know what happened until his knees buckled and he hit the ground. Spot looked up and his thoughts were confirmed: Ethan had shot him. Blood ran through his fingers, which were clutching the place on his stomach where the bullet had passed through him. He was so confused. "Ethan?"
There was another shot, and he was dead. Well, he actually only woke up. Spot's hand was pressed over his abdomen, where the bullet had gone through.
No, the bullet never even existed. You idiot.
It was around six in the morning. During the night, Spot had kicked off both his pillow and his blanket, and now he was freezing. Some intelligent person felt it was a good idea to leave a window open in the middle of November.
Our hero inhaled sharply as his feet touched icy floorboards. Quietly, he made his way over to the open window. Before he shut it, though, he stared outside. It was amazing how quiet Brooklyn seemed in the early hours. For a place so full of life and energy, any quiet was amazing.
Spot continued to stare out the open window, despite the fact that his toes would soon turn to ice and his ears were beginning to tingle. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander.
He thought first of his dream. Where had that come from? Ethan wasn't a traitor or a murderer, so why did Spot dream of being killed by him?
A slight tremble took over Spot for just a moment. "What's wrong with you, Conlon?" he whispered to himself. You're falling apart.
He opened his eyes. It would still be long before the sun rose in Brooklyn, and he knew he would never be able to fall back asleep. Finally Spot shut the window. Almost immediately, he felt significantly warmer.
With nothing else to do for another hour or so, Spot climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over his head. As tired as he was, sleep would be impossible. Even so, he let his eyes close and waited for what wouldn't come.
Katherine Rose Fox was your average, every-day sixteen year-old nothing to whom love was a foreign concept. All of her days were exactly like the last: wake up, work, eat, work, sleep. There was never any change or difference, but Kate couldn't complain.
She lived in a cheap inn, right smack dab in the heart of Brooklyn. Her room was tiny; she had a bed and a mirror for a nickel and two pennies per night. So far, she'd spent $1.80.
A physical description of Kate is probably necessary. I'll tell you right now, she was not beautiful, but rather plain. She was very thin and short (a little taller than five feet) with a small nose and big open eyes. Her complexion was pale even during the summertime, and exactly fifteen dark freckles dotted the space under those huge dark eyes and the bridge of her nose. Kate was nothing to write home about, but she had a good heart.
Spot Conlon knew nothing about her, except for that he felt he'd seen her before. Kate was just the same, and she really didn't mind that at all. She had no time for relationships of any sort, be they romantic or social. She did, however, have a few acquaintances from the factory at which she worked, but no real friends. It was all quite sad, really.
Boy and girl didn't see each other for another six months. Winter came and went, sickness swept over them, and New York City was just beginning to welcome summer with open arms.
Their meeting was very brief at first. The blue of Spot's eyes caught the brown of Kate's, and then it was over. She noticed he was carrying newspapers. He noticed her, and instinctively changed his path and followed the mysterious girl.
A name was all he wanted; two words which had been whispered to him in dreams, but that he could never hear.
Short chapter with a very anti-climactic ending, I know! I have to leave for work quite soon, so I'm hoping to see tons of reviews when I come home! (hint...hint...)
Rae—You totally reminded me of that one quote, "You may have won the battle, but you will never win the war." I think it was on Power Rangers at one point or another, but I can never be too certain...
Lady Rach—Cross country totally sucks! I was on the team for about five minutes before I couldn't handle any more (which tells you a lot about motivation and me). Your puppy dog face has totally moved me to update, so REVIEW...AHHH.
Raeghann—Thanks for the supercool advice. I went back and looked at everything I had for ch. 13 of Les and just kinda set it off to the side and started over, and I think I might have something. We'll see! I might even start the entire thing over and put it in the third person, coz I definitely thing I write better in 3rd than I do in 1st. Whatever!
Sparks—The only problem with Spot-In-A-Box is that we'd probably argue who go to have him first. I might win, just coz I'm that cool (HA!), but you never know!
Lil ms kp—Thanks! Keep reading!
Medea—Aw, your compliments make me so incredibly warm and fuzzy...lol.
Madison Square—As much as you wish it so, Spot does NOT equal Jesus! Haha! You're hilarious. Although, that would make church much more interesting if he was...
Chelsea—LOOK! A long review! You're the COOLEST! I never study—EVER. Not even joking. I get good enough grades, though, so it all works out. Have fun with that chemistry!...?
Adri—Thanks a bunch! The deal is that I'll always update if you review! Haha, but seriously, thanks!