I’m sitting in mathematics class waiting for the lesson to end while Mr. Kingsley drones on about parabolas and complementary versus supplementary angles.
I find Mr. Kingsley's lessons boring at the best of times - mathematics is my least favourite subject, and he has a habit of talking non-stop in a hypnotically dull, monotone voice, enough to put even the most astute student to sleep - and today is particularly bad. I'm lost in my thoughts, consumed with anxiety and trepidation over the mammoth task laid out before me.
Ever since I had the ominous dream, where I walked (quite literally) in the shoes of someone else, who lived here a long, long time ago - Abedabun the Native American girl - I haven't been able to stop thinking about the flaming sword.
I know with dreadful certainty tha
