Disclaimer: Me, owning the GG series at the age of mere tween? I can assure you, I don't own the books

To be honest (if you haven't already noticed) I have insomnia.

In•som•ni•a /inˈsämnēə/Noun

Habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep.

Synonyms; Sleeplessness - wakefulness - vigilance

I don't sleep. Not for days. Not until I know I'll drop but even then I quietly sneak to my dorm so no one can see my weakness and only for a few hours do I rest—because the nightmares infest my dream, of course.

I may be a spy but I have fears. I am not perfect.

I'm afraid of my nightmares.

The vents are not a clean place. In fact, they're quite dusty. You know, having not been cleaned in over a century or so. Yes, as I said before, the vents are an unbelievably dusty, dirty place.

Then why do I like to travel in them, you ask? I have absolutely no idea.

Nausea engulfs me as I crawl through another vent entrance. I am crawling through another set of vents to get back to my single room dorm. The thick dust around me swirls when I let out an uncalled for cough and doesn't help my sudden rising fever.

The silver-gray vent walls are surprisingly sturdy but once I think about it, it isn't really surprising. A spy school needs what a spy school needs. And apparently, that includes vents that can hold a lot of weight.

Once I reach my room I lift the small mental entrance, placed in the top right corner of my room and shimmy my way out. Still hanging, I grip the lid with my left fingertips and slowly ease it back to its spot. I drop to the ground and let my arms hang jadedly at my sides. With a small clipping sound, the lid falls in place.

I don't have much energy to scout out the room like I usually do the minute I enter. The only thing I give notice to is my bed (which suddenly looks very welcoming) and the digital clock on my bedside, blinking—quite hurriedly, I might add—to show that it was well after midnight and well over curfew.

I don't bother to change out of my clothes before dropping on my bed like dead-weight since I can barely keep my eyes on them without picturing it having multiple images or 3-D figures.

When was the last time I slept?

Scratch that, when was the last time I had a good night's sleep? Never.

When I got myself barely comfortable on the mattress, exhaustion was thrown on me like a fifty foot wave and I fainted into sleep.

Sheen of cold sweat covers my body and I'm trembling so bad that I know I can never let this happen again. At least, not here where I can look vulnerable, be vulnerable.

The clock by my bedside table catches my eye and I scowl in frustration once I notice that I've only gotten four hours of sleep. I sigh in pure anger and run my hand through my hair. Well, it'll have to last for at least the week.

I calm down after a couple of moments and look around in confusion. Why don't I rememb—?

And then I know.

I don't remember the dream. I never remember the whole dream.

It's always flash's, small mobs and discrete images; sometimes repeating over and over again. I never understand it, I never remember it.

It's the fire. It's always the fire that I remember the most.

I know what happens. I don't forget, no matter how much I want to.

I always get reminded in my nightmares

Of how the only person I ever loved unconditionally and took care of me with passion, made sure they took her life instead of mine.

The air vents are now my safe-haven. These dusty, dirty, sturdy walls are now my midnight means of transportation. It's ridiculous really, how in a school full of spies, I feel the safest in roach infested vents.

I don't know where I'm travelling to. The vents are my safe-haven so I will go where they lead me.

A sudden soft melody of notes washes over me. The music travels through the vents and as promised, I let the vents give me free passage to the music.

I turn left, then right, another left and I have this slightly chaotic feeling that getting to the music wasn't just fueled my curiously but by a gut feeling necessity—call it spy's intuition, if you must. I keep going straight and then make a quick turn right. The tempo picks up as I near the place of sound.

When the music reaches its tempo, I find the vent attached to the room making that beautiful and strangely familiar melody.

I don't peer into the vent at first. Nope, I lean against the vertical wall and close my eyes. I try to picture; remember why these particular notes of music are so familiar. It annoys me that I cannot pin-point it right away. My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I try to remember but keep pulling a blank. It becomes frustrating to the point where the music finishes and I don't realize it until the pianist starts to shuffle his/her papers and opens the door to leave.

I snap out of my blind thinking and quickly peer into the vent. Just as the door closes behind the person, I catch his clothing (it's definitely a 'him'), the color of his hair, and the frustrated, angry, slightly saddened tilt of his lips.

And then the mahogany door slams with a bang behind him.

I stay in my position for a while and desperately try to remember the notes, the melody and the feel of the music as it had its effect on me.

But I couldn't. Everything that I just listened to was forgotten.

But that wasn't supposed to be possible,

Because I have photographic memory.

Hey world. I feel like I would've wrote more on this chapter but it's 1,000 words without the A/N. And have iiiii got news for u!

Well, lovely people of the world. I hope you read this through and through.

For one, some stuff on my story: this chapter didn't have any dialogue 'cuz I thought I was kinda over using it. The dialogue sometimes took over the whole chapter and I felt like you guys weren't really getting the image of the place. So, this was just a tester. No dialogue in this but in future chapters I hope to learn to balance it so you can get a feel of where the character is and of who the character is my the description and dialogue. If you guys have any tips, tell moi please.

And, question, are you guys getting a feel of who Cammy is now? I'm wanting her to be bad*** when with people but when alone she's more herself. The Cammy in this story won't be hugely equal to the one in the books, though I plan to incorporate the broken Cammy when she returned from losing her memory.

Now, on-ta reviews. There was this one guest reviewer who gave me a random fact about her-self and I loved it. I'm also thankful for all the reviews you guys are giving me. Mwah, Mwah. You passed my goal of 65! How 'bout we reach 78 now?

Sooo, if you read the full A/N (and be honest) review with a random fact about yourself! :D (you don't have to though)

You're reading May's work. (did you read that in a Tree-house show voice? Try it :P)

Random Fact: One thing on my bucket list is to try every single thing in Tim Horton's in no more than two go's.

Random fact two: Except the coffee. Coffee gives me migraine!