Withdrawing
785 Words
The details were so vivid; there was a hospital, crisp white sheets, the soft beeping sound of a heart monitor... I actually watched her, and I could see the light leave her in a figurative sort of way. Her body visibly relaxed, her chest deflated softly, and the stress lines around her eyes all but vanished. It was sad, but so eerily beautiful.
By this point, I’m sure anyone would think that I have an unhealthy obsession with death, and I wouldn’t blame them. But here’s where it gets hairy:
My grandmother died three days later. The doctors said that it was a blood clot that lodged itself into her brain after a stroke sent her to the hospital.
I didn’t tell anyone about my dream. But I made the connection at that point; I could see that something really strange was going on, something beyond the odd, death-centered dreams that haunted my sleep. It was then that I began to pay more attention to this weird sort of ability, or gift, or whatever you want to call it. I started researching illnesses, connecting symptoms I saw in my dreams with real diseases and maladies. I thought that maybe, if I could figure these things out before they happened, I could help people.
And that's led me to the most important discovery. The dreams aren’t a constant; they only occur once, and only once I’ve truly gotten to know a person.
All things considered, that is the worst possible stipulation to throw in there.
I mean, can you imagine? The moment I get close to someone and really consider them a good friend, I have a terrifying dream in which I watch them die. And to make matters worse, I know it’s not just some stupid dream. It’s prophetic. I suppose in some ways that can be seen as a good thing; it means that I don't constantly have dreams about every single random person I lock eyes with on the street or share an elbow bump with in line at the coffee shop. But at the end of the day, I think I'd prefer that. I could watch strangers die and never feel all of the pain and the sadness that goes along with it. It would be as though I were simply watching a movie.
So I just started to avoid people, for the most part. Unless I wanted a whole bunch of new friends invading my brain and making my nights unbearable, I decided that I’d keep my distance and things would be fine.
Until now. Now, I sat in the parking lot of a new school surrounded by glittering, luxury cars owned by hundreds of people I did not know nor could I avoid.
At my old school, it wasn’t too much of a problem. Almost all of the people I saw on a daily basis were kids that I grew up with, people I knew from kindergarten. Their deaths had played in my mind far too long ago to remember them.
Maybe it was the fact that I was so withdrawn that led me here. It wasn't like my parents could have known why I acted the way I did. For all they knew, I'd long ago gotten over my terrifying death dreams. So why was it that their little girl didn't join in extra-curricular activities? Or why had the obituaries routinely gone missing out of the Sunday paper? Better yet, why could no one explain why she'd been spotted traipsing around the nearby cemetery just a few months ago? They had questions that could not be answered in any way other than by assuming their darling daughter had become obsessed with death.
They had no way of knowing or understanding my behavior. For them to believe I needed a change of scenery and thus a change in my school was a perfectly reasonable conclusion. I couldn't honestly even fight them without coming clean and explaining everything. Was I ready for that? For more therapists, and possibly sleeping medication? No. I would give up my old school. My comfort, my friends. I would adapt and move on and pray that McGregor Academy wasn't as posh and pretentious as its reputation.
God, was that a new Mercedes next to me?
I was quickly jarred from my thoughts as my eyes scanned the car; it was. It was a freaking Mercedes. What kind of high school student needs a Mercedes, I ask you? One whose parents have far too much money and not nearly enough sense, that’s what kind. I shook my head, finding this experience already a bit unbelievable, before sighing and looking at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I straightened my light brown hair, licked my lips, and took a deep breath.
Showtime.
- Writer
