I shake Gordo desperately, feeling tears well up in my eyes and blurring my vision.
"Gordo, wake up! Please!" His eyes suddenly flutter open, and he starts to cry out, but I slap a hand over his mouth. He stares at me, his eyes confused and scared. Finally I move my hand, sit on the bed next to him, and hug him tightly. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. He pulls away and looks at me.
"For what? What are you doing here, anyway?" I shake my head.
"This always happens," I mutter. He persists, even though the last thing I want to do is talk about it.
"What?" I sigh, and look at him, wondering how long he will live. They all die, I think, what makes him different?
" Whenever I tell someone about my dreams...it...kills them. I don't know how, but...it must haunt them. But when I don't tell anyone, they get worse, and haunt ME. I don't know what to do, Gordo, I don't think I can take it anymore!" He hugs me then, and when he pulls away his expression is sympathetic.
"Miranda, think carefully about what you're saying to me. You're saying you kill people with your dreams? That's not possible, okay? I think that you're blaming the deaths of people you loved on your self, and in turn blaming your dreams. So you have bad dreams. If you tell someone, that person will probably have it on their mind when they go to sleep, and then they'll most likely have the same dream. Dreams can't kill people, Miranda, they just can't." I stood up, feeling a little angry.
"You don't believe me? Look at you! You're really sick, Gordo, whether you want to admit it or not. And don't you go all psychiatrist on me, you know I hate that! And...and...it's my fault and I'm so sorry you have to die this way." Just as the words leave my mouth, a strange thought flutters through my head. He's going to die anyway, so I might as well just put him out of his misery...shouldn't I?
"Gordo, wake up! Please!" His eyes suddenly flutter open, and he starts to cry out, but I slap a hand over his mouth. He stares at me, his eyes confused and scared. Finally I move my hand, sit on the bed next to him, and hug him tightly. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. He pulls away and looks at me.
"For what? What are you doing here, anyway?" I shake my head.
"This always happens," I mutter. He persists, even though the last thing I want to do is talk about it.
"What?" I sigh, and look at him, wondering how long he will live. They all die, I think, what makes him different?
" Whenever I tell someone about my dreams...it...kills them. I don't know how, but...it must haunt them. But when I don't tell anyone, they get worse, and haunt ME. I don't know what to do, Gordo, I don't think I can take it anymore!" He hugs me then, and when he pulls away his expression is sympathetic.
"Miranda, think carefully about what you're saying to me. You're saying you kill people with your dreams? That's not possible, okay? I think that you're blaming the deaths of people you loved on your self, and in turn blaming your dreams. So you have bad dreams. If you tell someone, that person will probably have it on their mind when they go to sleep, and then they'll most likely have the same dream. Dreams can't kill people, Miranda, they just can't." I stood up, feeling a little angry.
"You don't believe me? Look at you! You're really sick, Gordo, whether you want to admit it or not. And don't you go all psychiatrist on me, you know I hate that! And...and...it's my fault and I'm so sorry you have to die this way." Just as the words leave my mouth, a strange thought flutters through my head. He's going to die anyway, so I might as well just put him out of his misery...shouldn't I?