Gifted Children

It was two weeks before my fifth birthday according to my parents. I bugged them every day asking if it was my birthday yet. As I was asking them for what felt like the two millionth time today, they chuckled softly at my impatience, before tucking me into bed. “You should learn to be patient my sweet princess.” Came my dad’s soft, husky voice through a cloud of fog, as sleep began to take over. “Why?” I mumbled gently in my half-dazed state. “Patience makes for a valuable queen.” My father replied, kissing my forehead after my mother. Nodding my head to indicate an understanding, even though I had no clue what my father was talking about. Sleep had quickly taken over my tiny mind. Falling into the suspended darkness. **** Vision **** The sudden darkness engulfing me, my heartrate picking up speed in my chest. Should I call out into the night? Hoping someone would hear me? Looking around noticing I can’t even see my small hand in front of my own face. If I couldn’t see, then how would someone be able to see me? Suddenly, cutting through the small wave of fear mounting in my small mind, came a small voice, soft as if far away, “Don’t be afraid, please.” Shaking my head simply thinking I had made up the voice in my own mind. Continuing to gaze into the darkness, turning around slowly to ensure I didn’t miss any shred of light no matter how small. Nothing I hadn’t missed any light filtering in. I must have made up the voice attempting to console me. My own mind using anything to deflect the fear. “That would be an idea, if you were alone.” Came the soft voice again. “Who are you?” I called into the darkness. Looking for any sign of movement around me. “It’s not who I am, but what I am.” Called the voice again. “Then w-w-what are you?” I stuttered, backing away. My small body tripping over something that had appeared behind me suddenly. “I am a booterbear.” Replied the soft voice. “A what?” I asked, refusing to look at what I had tripped over. “A booterbear. You tripped over me just now.” The voice stated. “I-I-I-I’m sorry, I had no clue.” I stammered out quickly getting up. Spinning around, looking all over, including at the ground. Still not seeing the creature, “W-W-Where are you? I-I-I-I can’t see anything.” I call out into the darkness, as my fear began to rise again. “I’m here, at your feet.” Called the soft voice again. Turning its small head, the bristling fur on my feet causing me to jump and scream, as large amber colored eyes looked up at me. **** End Vision **** Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, sitting straight up in bed. The early morning rays, spilling through the blinds, casting an illuminous glow on the carpet at the foot of my bed. Wondering what king of dream, I had just awoken from. Climbing from my bed, running down the hall to my parents’ room. Knocking loudly on their door. “What’s wrong my sweet girl?” Came my mom’s voice as she pulled open the door. “Bad dream.” I cried, twirling my mom’s hair around my finger, as she picked me up under the arms, and carried me to her bed. Snuggling in between my parent’s, attempting to forget about the dream I just had. The only thing that made me feel remotely better was my parents. My mother’s soft, short, dirty-blonde hair spun around my finger, as I drifted back into sleep for a few more hours. Waking to my father’s gentle voice asking, “Why is she in between us?” “Claimed she had a bad dream. I don’t know what about, do you think she could be one of them?” I heard my mother’s voice float through the air. Feeling her push my hair out of my face. While the question arose in my small mind one of what? “I don’t think so, I mean how could she be? There hasn’t been any since before our parent’s generation. They are extinct by now with no children to help them.” My father replied. What was extinct? What did it mean, and more importantly what were they talking about? Could what they were talking about have anything to do with my bad dream? Would I have more bad dreams in the future? After a week of having the same bad dream and curling up to my mother every morning. I finally got up the courage to ask her what was going on, and why I kept having the same dream repeatedly. “Mom, why is it coming back?” I asked, watching her face contort into an expression I didn’t understand just yet. “Why is what coming back sweet girl?” My mother asked gently. “The dream.” I reply almost instantly, watching her face fall, into a frown. “I’m not sure. Can you tell me what you see during this dream?” My mother asked again. “It’s always black, I can’t see anything.” I reply. “What else do you see?” My mother gently coaxed me into talking. “Nothing, there’s voice though.” I say, looking up at her. “What kind of voice?” My mother asks. “Its soft.” I reply. “Soft how?” My mother asks. Why was she asking so many questions instead of answering mine? I was the one having the dream, not them, so why did they refuse to believe me? Was I slowly going crazy? What was this mysterious creature I kept dreaming of in the darkness? I had forgotten about asking my parents about the creature, and the dream I had kept having every night for the last two weeks. I was determined to enjoy what little party my parents had thrown together for my fifth birthday. We came from a small town, with a population of around two thousand five hundred people, most of the people coming were either friends of my parents with small children around my age, or family. I had made up my mind about asking my grandparents upon their arrival at the party. Hopefully, they would answer the questions I had been trying to ask my mother. Whatever this creature was in my dreams, hopefully it wasn’t real.