Laura
It started as a bizarre dream, the kind that left me questioning reality even after waking.
I was in a field of sunflowers, their golden heads swaying under a bright sun. The serenity shattered when the man who shot me appeared, stepping out from behind the flowers like a villain in a low-budget movie. He was holding a bouquet of syringes instead of bullets, looking absurd and menacing all at once.
“Don’t take it personally,” he said, his voice echoing strangely. “It’s just business.”
Before I could react, my dad appeared, his hands clasped together in a dramatic prayer. “God, if you can hear me, keep her alive! I’ll do anything—sell the house, eat kale every day, whatever you want!”
Then Alex stepped into view, his image sharp and vivid against the surreal backdrop. My little b
