~Introduction~
When it started, we all knew something was happening. It was just that none of us had any idea what. & the only thing I can think is that this is all just a bad dream. I watched too many sci-fi movies before bed & I must’ve eaten something that’s sending my brain funky signals & the result is this messed up dream. This just can’t be real. There’s no way. But, I haven’t woken up yet… & that’s what scares me the most.
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So, there’s this big tall thing. & it’s like… A building or something. But, it’s moving. Like, each floor can revolve or some shit. & there’s a lot of lights. Seriously, I mean every light in every window is on. & they’re bright mothers, let me tell you. & this building is tall. Really tall. Gotta crane my neck all the way back to see the top. Don’t understand how the thing can be that tall, but, well, it is.
& there are people, everywhere, everywhere, they’re bustling. But it’s not a fray, it’s not uncoordinated. It hasn’t got that sense of disorientation or anxiety or rush, rush, rush like normal crowds do. These people are just here, they have business to attend to, & they’re going about their merry ways. Except, they aren’t very merry. No, they’re actually all pretty apathetic looking. Like they don’t really care about anything. Even about whatever tasks it is that they’re headed to. They just do. They just are.
There’s noise, too, I think. I can’t really place what it is, but it reminds me of a construction site or something. The sky is black up above, so I don’t know why they’re working at night, but that’s what it sounds like. I guess that blinding light coming from the tall building is day light enough for them. It’s enough for me, too. Hell, as I’m standing there, I have to shield my eyes to keep from getting blinded.
& then it changes. I’m in a desert, with the midday sun burning right above me, making me sweat. There’s a breeze, though. As I sit here in this dusty Jeep, as the Jeep drives through the barren desert surrounding it. The dry air rushes past, soaking up some of the salty perspiration on my neck & forehead. The road is bumpy, not very comfortable. I hold onto the holy shit handle & glance over at the driver.
I realize I don’t know him. I can’t even tell what he really looks like, either. He’s wearing goggles & a kerchief over his mouth. Probably to protect himself from the dust. I shout something at him, but I can’t hear my voice. He does, however, apparently, hear me. He replies, I know, despite the cover over his lips, because I can hears bits & clips of his voice over the sound of the engine. I still don’t know what he said, though.
The boy’s eyes widen suddenly, & the breaks slam on. I hear screeching, I feel the seatbelt dig into my shoulder, & then there’s a loud crash. But then there’s nothing but blackness, & a great, great silence. Except… Wait… There!… There’s something… Again… & again… A dripping. Light, somewhere close. Drip, drip, drip. The blackness goes away rather suddenly as something bright is shone into my eyeballs. It’s the boy from the Jeep, & he’s totally okay. He doesn’t even have any desert dust on his clothes.
I sit up, to find myself on a dirty & bare mattress that’s laying on a wooden floor. I stand & the boy puts his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. He says something again, but I still can’t hear him. It’s like I’ve got water in my ears, or cotton balls or something shoved up there. His voice is muffled, but I can still understand the inflections. He doesn’t even sound worried at all. Does he not remember the car crash? Except he leads me outside & the Jeep is right there, sitting pretty.
Another change. Again. I’m in a car. Again. Except this is a normal car, & it seems really familiar. I’m in the backseat, & the people in the front are quietly talking to each other. There’s no need for them to speak so softly, though. It’s just apparently one of those days, I can see, as I stare out of the window. The sky is completely gray, leaking with a light rain, & the faces of the people in the cars passing by are all morose. Well, not necessarily morose… Just bored. Blank. Not there. It’s a blah day, & everyone’s feeling it.
But then there’s a break in the clouds, revealing that yes, the blue sky & the sun are still up there behind the cloud’s thick blanket. Except, there isn’t a sun in this little keyhole look at the sky. Instead of the sun, there’s a large black… Something. It looks as if the very sky itself was being torn apart, with flames licking at the edges. We keep driving & the clouds cover up the sight again, but then another break comes up. & now, instead of the massive hole, there’s all these black twisting things. & they look like they’re falling to the earth…
__________________
“Aubrianna, Isleen, Brinkley!!! Wake up, now!!” A screeching, loud & piercing in my ear. I grumble something & turn over in my bed, my sheets twisting around me in a protective cocoon. I hear something, a sigh of annoyance, & then footsteps. & then suddenly it’s very cold & I feel very naked & exposed. With a yelp, I sit up in my bed & glare at the offending blanket stealer. My eyes narrow as I see my eccentric mother, standing at the foot of my bed, with all my sheets & comforter in hand. She throws them back onto the bed & crosses her arms.
“Young lady, wake up & get ready, now.” She says haughtily while giving me the eye. I stare blankly at her. I’m too tired to comprehend anything right now except for the fact that I’m still cold. I do, however, recognize what my mother is wearing. Which is rather unfortunate. Does the woman have any concept whatsoever of what she puts on her body? A giant poncho with haphazard patterns & colors that hurt my eyes. Of course, everything hurts my eyes right now, considering my pupils just woke up too. My mother raises a brow, noticing me scrutinizing her outfit. I’m sure she knows what I think of it.
“I don’t want to hear it, Aubrey. Just get up & get ready for school or you’re going to be late.” She tells me before marching out of my room. I notice that she’s wearing a scarf around her head & earrings that are way too huge for someone her age. I sigh & hang my head. It’s any wonder I grew up fairly normal with her as a parent. Shaking my head, I run a hand through my bed-head hair & throw my legs off the side of my bed. With a yawn, I stand & robotically walk towards my bathroom. Although she said I needed to wake up now or I’d be late, I know my mom was exaggerating. She always wakes me up like that, & always more than an hour early. I’m in no hurry.
Without much thought, I disrobe & step into my shower, turning on the water & letting it warm & wake me. Half an hour later (because I take long showers like that) I am clean & bathed. Apply lotion, brush my teeth, blow dry my hair. Get dressed (in something much more fashion appropriate & figure flattering than that atrocity my mother is garbed in), add the accessories, put on my face, sprits on some perfume. Gather my school books, stuff them in my book bag, grab my iPod & my purse & walk out of my room with fifteen minutes to spare.
As I enter the hallway, I feel a mass run into me & then a loud thud as something hits the ground. I automatically check my belongings, but everything’s fine. I glance down at my feet & notice Finnley. Apparently he’s who bumped into me, & he fell down onto his little prepubescent butt. I resist the urge to chuckle, but a smile breaks out on my face anyway. I lend him a hand.
“Sorry, kid.” I apologize, helping him pull himself up off the ground. He wipes the wrinkles from his polo shirt, fixes his hair, & sends me one of his signature goofy grins.
“It’s no problem, Bri.” He says in his normal happy-go-lucky way, sea green eyes sparkling. I don’t understand how someone could possibly be so upbeat in the morning. I muss with his sandy brown hair, to which he replies with a defiant “Hey!” & pushes my hand away. I let myself chuckle this time & wrap my arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“It’s not my fault that you’re too adorable for your own good.” I tell him with a smile, walking with him down the hall. He rolls his eyes a bit, but I can see that he’s blushing. He’s a sensitive little dude, & he is mighty adorable. Even if he is only my half brother, I love him like a whole one.
Yeah, he’s my half brother. & I have a half sister, too. Lilliana. But I assume she’s still sleeping. She’s not quite the morning person like Finnley is. Finn is twelve, Lill is fourteen, & I’m the oldest at seventeen. My mom remarried when I was only two, so I don’t really remember my biological father. Greg’s been my real dad throughout my life, & while I love the old man to pieces, it still doesn’t feel exactly right. I see pictures of my biological father, hear stories of him from my mother, try to focus the fuzzy memories of him that I do have… & I wish that I could know him now. Wish that I could talk to him, ask him what happened. Cause my mother sure as hell won’t tell me.
Finn & I reach the staircase & I let him go down ahead of me. Thinking about my father always makes me space out. I drag my feet as I move, until I reach the bottom of the stairs & step onto the smooth wooden floor of the foyer. The living room (where we don’t do much living… It’s more of a ‘sitting’ room.) is to my left, the study to my right. Behind me is the kitchen, & that’s where I head. I can smell French toast & my tummy rumbles. While my mother is an incredibly strange individual, she’s a mighty good cook. Finn is already seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen, a plate in front of him.
I follow suit & plop myself down beside him, setting my things on the floor next to my stool. Mom sends me a sly look as she hands me a plate of French toast. I role my eyes & grab some utensils. Yes, mother, I owe you oh so much for waking me up just in the nick of time. I cut a piece off of the thick, vanilla-y, doused in syrup & sprinkled with powdered goodness bread & stick in my mouth. Mmm… Mom’s French toast.
Moments later, there’s a rumbling on the staircase. None of us are phased, even as there’s the sound of something heavy being thrown onto the floor. It’s the same routine everyday, none of us bat an eyelash. There’s stomping & then there she is, Lilliana, as she bursts into the kitchen & slams down onto one of the chairs at the dinning table. She grumbles a curse & glares at mom.
“Thanks for waking me up, Mother.” Miss Priss, as I lovingly call my half-sister, hisses angrily. Mom says nothing, but gives her a firm look as she hands Lilliana a plate of French toast.
“I did wake you up, Lilliana. Right before I woke Bri.” Mom says, making her way back to the stove to start another batch of French toast for herself, & for Greg when he comes down. Lilliana grimaces & stubbornly cuts a piece of French toast.
“Well, you obviously didn’t do a good job of waking me up.” She mumbles as she sticks the piece of food into her mouth. Mother rolls her eyes. We all know Lill never wakes up unless you manually throw her out of her bed, we all know that I don’t usually wake up unless you rip the blankets off of me, & we all know that Finn never has any need to be woken up. Cause he’s always the first one awake in the morning, anyway.
I finish my food & I’ve got about five minutes to wait for my ride to come pick me up. My ride being my best friend’s rusty old tank of a car. It’s got to be at least twenty years old. I think it’s an Oldsmobile. Or a Buick. Hell, I don’t know. I don’t give a flying shit about anything dealing with cars. Which is why, even though Greg & Mom so graciously said they’d buy me a car when I turned sixteen last year, I am one of the very few seniors at my school who doesn’t own their own car. But, I am sure, I am the only one who has absolutely no grudge against their car-less status.
“Mom,” I say, standing & pulling the strap of my book bag over my shoulder. “I’m gunna go wait outside for Kirk.” I kid you not, my friend’s name is Kirk. Kirk McGill. I can’t say that the name doesn’t suit him, though. Because, like his parents (obviously, considering they named their freaking child Kirk), he is a major nerd. But, more so in the technology & interwebz area than for Star Trek.
“Alright honey, have a good day at school.” My mother says, glancing over at me to send me a smile before turning back to her cooking. I grab my purse & throw the strap over my other shoulder, give Finn another hair ruffle, & then head back the way I came in. As I walk through the hallway that leads to the foyer, I hear heavy footfalls on the stairwell. I reach the bottom of the stairs the same time Greg does.
“Morning, Greg.” I say to my step-father. He’s a fairly tall man, has a bit of a gut, but isn’t fat. He’s got a full beard & mustache ensemble, as peppered with white as his still surprisingly full head of hair is. He’s a very dad-ly looking dude.
“Good morning, Aubrey. Have a nice day a school, dear. I’ll see you at dinner.” He says, giving me his usual firm pat on the shoulder before shuffling off to the kitchen. It’s the overpowering draw of my mother’s cooking. I smirk & shake my head, walking the few more feet to the front door & walking out into the crisp morning air. Just in time, too, cause Kirk is just pulling up to the curb.
__________________
“God, I had the weirdest freaking dream last night.” This could be my line. In all honesty, it probably should be. But no, this is Kirk talking to me as the two of us walk up to our high school amongst the sea of other students who prefer to be on time. “Like, it was a mix between The Matrix, National Treasure, & Star Wars.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, a look of concentration on his face. I can’t help but laugh, but he doesn’t notice.
“You had a movie marathon before you went to bed last night, didn’t you?” I ask Kirk with a grin, he shrugs nonchalantly & I shake my head while snickering. “If you watch an abundance of weird movies before you go to bed, then you’re bound to have freaky dreams.” I say matter-of-factly. “Actually, dreams, by nature, are bound to always be weird & freaky. That’s just what dreams are.”
Kirk snorts a laugh at me, I glance sideways at him with a ‘wtf is *snort* suppose to mean?’ look. “What are dreams, anyway? I know, technically speaking, it’s just your brain remembering what’s happened to it that day. & it just turns into these weird clips & scenes that our mind’s eye sees while we’re sleeping.” He explains in his ‘I wikipedia’d it, but I know it’s true cause I saw it on this one Discovery/Health/National Geographic/History channel program once’ voice. “But, I mean… What are dreams really for? Why do we actually have to have them? I mean, you’d think the brain could remember stuff without us needing to watch it do so. So… Is it like… Entertainment for ourselves when we’re asleep? I mean, honestly, how useless is that? We’re asleep for Christ’s sake, we don’t need a TV playing on the inside of our eyelids for us to watch while we sleep because, god forbid, if we get bored.” Kirk just shakes his head, but I burst into laughter. He tries to ask me what the hell I’m laughing at, but the first bell rings & cuts him off.
“I’ll see you in class, Kirk.” I say through my laughter before heading off to homeroom. I expertly maneuver my way through the sea of my classmates. Because, after so many years of making your way through the rush hour traffic jam that is school hallways, you inevitably become an expert at ducking your way around, through, & sometimes, in rare cases, underneath of people to get to your classes.
& I have always wondered this… Like on the highway, during rush hour, why does it become such a traffic jam? You’d think if everyone were going the speed limit that such a jam wouldn’t happen, ya know? But, I suppose, it’s just too many cars &, in school, too many people spilling out into this one place, merging & whatnot, that accidents will occur & it will become a veritable jumblefuck.
Ah, se la vie.
I get to homeroom & go slump into my usual seat at the back of the room by the windows. There’s really nothing at all notable about homeroom. I pull out a book, so do a few other kids. Some are slouching in their seats, the hoods of their hoodies covering their heads, asleep. Some listening to their mp3 players even though you aren’t technically allowed to, but most homeroom teachers don’t really give a shit. Some girls are whispering gossip, some nerds are checking their homework, some people are texting or playing games on their phones. The fat kid who sits next to me breaths heavily & his chair groans in the effort it takes to keep his fat ass from tumbling to the linoleum tiled floor. The teacher takes role halfheartedly. The announcements that no one listens to come on. The national anthem plays for the Pledge of Allegiance that no one says or stands for. The bell rings. We leave.
(*Note*: No idea if high schools have homeroom anymore these days... If I weren't home schooled then I might be privy to this information, but seeing as I AM home schooled... Oh well.)
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