I dream of nothing that night. I wake up strangely disappointed.

Saturday, I go for a drive in the country with my parents.  They "ooh" and "ah" over the scenery, and I sleep.

I come home and go to bed, praying for a dream. 

I get one.

I'm in a dark room.  Suddenly lights shudder on.  Flickering fluorescent lights, like ones in an old office building.  There are four men there.  They all wear suits and glasses. 

"Goon squad" I think to myself.

I realize I'm on a dentist chair.  A man in a white coat appears from behind the four suited ones.  With a little metal drill, and something partly hidden between the fingers of his other hand.  I realize with shock he's planning on drilling my tooth without any anesthetic.   I scream, but then find my voice is gone, only air escapes.  I also realize, I'm suddenly strapped down, and while one of the suits holds my mouth open, another holds my head still.  Pain hits me as he digs into one of my molars.  Then he takes the little metal object that until now was hidden in his hand.  When pushing a button on it, it turns into a little writhing translucent little worm.

 I try to scream again as he brings it toward my mouth, to no avail.  He puts in on my tongue.  It writhes for a moment, and then I feel it slurping into my tooth, tucking itself away.  The doctor seals my tooth as I continue to silently scream, and then I awake with a start.

There's sweat dripping off of me…yet I'm freezing.

I run my tongue over the just-drilled tooth.  Nothing.

I sigh, and I flop back in bed, reluctant to sleep after this nightmare.

At last I sink into dreamless slumber.  

I awake the next day to blue chilled skies and brisk breezes.  Sunday. I sigh, realizing gloomily that tomorrow I have school.  Suddenly there's a knock on my door.  I rub my eyes and sit up in bed. "Come in." I mumble.

The door opens and it's my dad.

"Hello Em," he says, in the businesslike way that a father greets his son, when his wife has sent him to have a talk with their unruly youth.  "how are you?" he says uncomfortably, sitting on the foot of my bed.

"I'm good." I say bluntly.

"That's good." He says. He shifts in his position on my mattress.

"Yeah."

"So…I came in here to talk to you about Friday.  Your mother and I don't like it when you use foul language. You know that."

"You didn't seem to care." I say, recalling back to him sitting there intimidating, but wordless.

"I thought your mother could handle herself." He says defensively. "Apparently not." He adds. "She wanted me to talk to you."

"Well. Thanks for the insight.  I'm sorry for my heinous breech of obedience." I say coldly.

My father says nothing and stares at me for a moment, with a look in his eyes that says "How can he be mine?"

And then he stands, and he walks out.

I wanted him to scream. Or hit me. Or slam the door, at least. But no. he doesn't care enough for even that. I roll out of bed and take a quick shower, then throw on some clothes and walk out the door.   I don't bother to shout to the parents where I'm headed. They'll figure out I'm gone eventually, and since none of my other shit is gone, I don't think they'll worry too much.

I don't even know where I'm headed.