The Dream
Chapter 1
Cold sweat. Sick to my stomach.
Just another Tuesday night.
My feet are awfully loud as I rush across my room, the dream replaying in my mind. It’s become incessant. The past two weeks, it’s wrecked my brain, keeping my eyes from opening until the last second when I need to make a beeline for the bathroom, where the toilet bowl swallows my face whole.
As I fixate on the ceiling of the restroom, I notice the light flickering. The bulb’s recently been verging on busting, but the urge to change it out escapes me. It’s expected, though. I have tests to study for, tests that require every fiber of my being to stay alert. I’m running purely on the fear of disappointment, desperately trying not to burn out.
I roll onto my knees, using the sink to steady myself. The water is freezing along my palms as I sip it and gurgle, striving to get the puke residue off my tongue. I pull in another mouthful and spit it out, the aftertaste nearly making me gag.
Behind the dingy surface of the mirror, two dark gray-blue irises hidden under sandy locks stare back at me. I curse myself under my breath as I stand, my head growing dizzy. There is no reason for me to suffer this way. Nothing gruesome happens in the dream, and yet, here I am, dying.
I grit my teeth and switch off the light, wiping the tears from my cheeks. One of my biggest fears used to be throwing up, but since the emergence of these wretched repeating dreams, I’ve gotten over it.
For the most part, anyway.
The pantry door squeaks as it opens, revealing what little snacks I have left. I’ve been stuck in a depression while attempting to climb out of the lowest spot in my class, so I’ve been disregarding everything else. Nothing else matters to me at the moment. Only school.
I pull out a roll of crackers and munch on them as I settle on the linoleum, letting the salt suppress the taste of bile. I gather my short hair into a messy bun, putting the crackers back and making my way to my bed. I’ve always hated it this length, but rules are rules. If I had the choice, it would be to my ankles, even if it sounds like a hassle.
I snatch a book from the floor and open it, glancing over the images and words in hopes of lulling myself back to sleep. It has fighting techniques, different languages, home workout assignments—the usual, alongside notes stuffed between the pages. No matter how many I take, the information just won’t stick.
After a while, I doze off. The reoccurring dream doesn’t greet me again, thankfully, but the morning comes too, too soon.
SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!
With a grunt of anger, I slam my fist on to my phone. The plexiglass doesn’t shatter, but at this point, I wouldn’t have cared if it did. The call of sleep wraps me in a warmth I wish wasn’t a lie.
I slap on makeup to hide the bags under my eyes, eyeliner to look somewhat presentable, and sling my bag over my shoulder. It’s the butt-crack of dawn. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, but I need to suck it up. Early workouts are mandatory. Every eligible student is required to stay fit in case they get called to fight in the war.
I massage my temples to stave away the headache forming as I step out of my dorm and into the hallway. Mounted screens stare down at me, announcing things like the lunch menu and class relocations as renovations continue in the right wing. Few students go down that way. It’s more the artsy side of the school, which means I have to traverse the stupid construction area daily.
“Alice!”
I spin around, startled by my friend’s chirpy voice. Ordinarily, our energy is bursting at the seams as we bounce off one another’s, but this morning, along with the previous thirteen, I’m not in the mood.
“Ian,” I sigh as he catches up. His dark hair is frumpy and his practically black irises hold no trace of exhaustion. “Howdy.”
He scrunches his nose. “What crawled in your ear?”
I frown at his taken aback tone. “Nothing. I had that weird dream again and blew chunks, is all.”
“You should have that checked out,” Ian says, adjusting his backpack. We’ve been friends for about a year. It’s hard to believe that when I first met him, he was barely going through puberty. Now he’s an inch taller than me.
Color me green with jealousy.
I frown and slip my arm into the second strap of my bag, the rest of the students coming out of their dorms. Freshmen stay on the lower level where the teachers and coaches can watch us closely, since fourteen-year-olds appear to be the most unruly. You would think that as we approach eighteen, as we come closer to the war, we speak out more. On the other side of the coin, it amazes me how the seniors have virtually no supervision.
“I can’t stand doctors,” I grumble to Ian as Mrs. Cole’s voice rings out over the loudspeakers. She’s over the entire high school: judge, jury, and executioner. I’ve never been a fan of her, but she seems okay, at least. I’m not a troublemaker, so I don’t visit her as often as Ian does.
I tune her out. “Ready for exams next week?”
He makes a face. “Nope. I have a feeling we will continue to reside in our spots as the bottom-feeders of our graduating class.”
“Let’s hope we don’t get the boot,” I comment as Mrs. Cole stops talking. “I’d rather be on the front lines than in the wasteland.”
“We’re too essential to the theater department for that,” he jokes, trying to lighten my soured mood as the crowd thins out for breakfast. “Mrs. Gray canceled rehearsals next week for finals, though.”
“Yeah,” I grunt, but my mind is elsewhere. There’s an odd tingling along my skin, anxiety clawing at my cerebellum, like something’s about to go wrong.
I stop walking, Ian staring at me, puzzled.
“You good?”
I open my mouth to speak when my stomach plummets. My instincts scream, Run!
I grab Ian’s wrist and pull him toward me, pressing against the wall as the building shakes violently.
“Get down!” I shout as chaos erupts. The ceiling is ripped off, debris falling on us as fire licks the paint on the walls. Through the hole, I see a polished black spacecraft suspended maybe a hundred feet over our heads.
“We need to find someplace secure,” Ian shouts over the pandemonium as the ship’s lasers illuminate a brilliant green, charging to shoot again.
“Why would Imbra attack our school?”
“What do you think?” Ian snaps as he yanks me in the direction the crowd is scrambling. “Kill the children, destroy your enemy’s future.”
I take a deep breath as my brain switches into survival mode.
Zzzzap!
Red lights explode against the ship above as our school’s security system kicks in.
The partition to our right collapses, knocking the wind from my lungs. I push myself from the wreckage and stand, getting a clear view of the vessel as it crashes to the ground. I return my focus to Ian, removing bricks and shattered glass from his unconscious body. Suddenly, I’m glad we only have a height difference of one inch—I’ll probably have to drag him to the nurse’s office myself.
I shake him to wake him as the other kids rush to safety. Adults spill into the insanity, telling us to stay calm while pushing through the panic in their systems.
I pray to God the people laying still are breathing.
As I pull Ian’s unconscious body free, a hatch opens at the base of the ship. Several people in black uniforms march out, armed to the teeth. I freeze, staring at the scene before me. I can’t avoid feeling like I’m going to die.
Behind the onslaught of Imbra soldiers, a boy appears, sneaking out of the hatch. He wears all black, and as he peeks over his shoulder, my heart leaps into my throat.
Images from the dream come upon me like a deluge.
A gem the size of my palm and the color of magenta pulsates at my feet. It calls to me, the heat it expels unbearable. The world around me is thick and black. The only other thing visible is a face. A face belonging to a boy my age with caramel irises, bronze hair, and a what will be a strong jawline when he loses the rest of his baby fat.
The same features as the boy tiptoeing out of an Imbra space craft.
He presses a button by his ear, and a helmet materializes. He slips through enemy lines as troops that protect our school sprint to meet the approaching army. A disembodied voice comes through the speakers and announces our shields are at fifty percent and on the rise.
An instructor rushes over to us, crouches beside us, and hefts one of Ian’s arms around his shoulders.
“Thank you,” I breathe.
I steal one last glimpse of the incoming swarm of men, and spot the boy and the girl in matching suits vanish into the school’s shrubbery. Part of me wants to go after them, to see what they’re doing, to stop them from doing it… but Ian needs me.
I return my attention to the task at hand, the instructor helping me get Ian to safety. Surely our soldiers will find and deal with the two Imbra intruders.
Surely.
Just another Tuesday night.
My feet are awfully loud as I rush across my room, the dream replaying in my mind. It’s become incessant. The past two weeks, it’s wrecked my brain, keeping my eyes from opening until the last second when I need to make a beeline for the bathroom, where the toilet bowl swallows my face whole.
As I fixate on the ceiling of the restroom, I notice the light flickering. The bulb’s recently been verging on busting, but the urge to change it out escapes me. It’s expected, though. I have tests to study for, tests that require every fiber of my being to stay alert. I’m running purely on the fear of disappointment, desperately trying not to burn out.
I roll onto my knees, using the sink to steady myself. The water is freezing along my palms as I sip it and gurgle, striving to get the puke residue off my tongue. I pull in another mouthful and spit it out, the aftertaste nearly making me gag.
Behind the dingy surface of the mirror, two dark gray-blue irises hidden under sandy locks stare back at me. I curse myself under my breath as I stand, my head growing dizzy. There is no reason for me to suffer this way. Nothing gruesome happens in the dream, and yet, here I am, dying.
I grit my teeth and switch off the light, wiping the tears from my cheeks. One of my biggest fears used to be throwing up, but since the emergence of these wretched repeating dreams, I’ve gotten over it.
For the most part, anyway.
The pantry door squeaks as it opens, revealing what little snacks I have left. I’ve been stuck in a depression while attempting to climb out of the lowest spot in my class, so I’ve been disregarding everything else. Nothing else matters to me at the moment. Only school.
I pull out a roll of crackers and munch on them as I settle on the linoleum, letting the salt suppress the taste of bile. I gather my short hair into a messy bun, putting the crackers back and making my way to my bed. I’ve always hated it this length, but rules are rules. If I had the choice, it would be to my ankles, even if it sounds like a hassle.
I snatch a book from the floor and open it, glancing over the images and words in hopes of lulling myself back to sleep. It has fighting techniques, different languages, home workout assignments—the usual, alongside notes stuffed between the pages. No matter how many I take, the information just won’t stick.
After a while, I doze off. The reoccurring dream doesn’t greet me again, thankfully, but the morning comes too, too soon.
SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!
With a grunt of anger, I slam my fist on to my phone. The plexiglass doesn’t shatter, but at this point, I wouldn’t have cared if it did. The call of sleep wraps me in a warmth I wish wasn’t a lie.
I slap on makeup to hide the bags under my eyes, eyeliner to look somewhat presentable, and sling my bag over my shoulder. It’s the butt-crack of dawn. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, but I need to suck it up. Early workouts are mandatory. Every eligible student is required to stay fit in case they get called to fight in the war.
I massage my temples to stave away the headache forming as I step out of my dorm and into the hallway. Mounted screens stare down at me, announcing things like the lunch menu and class relocations as renovations continue in the right wing. Few students go down that way. It’s more the artsy side of the school, which means I have to traverse the stupid construction area daily.
“Alice!”
I spin around, startled by my friend’s chirpy voice. Ordinarily, our energy is bursting at the seams as we bounce off one another’s, but this morning, along with the previous thirteen, I’m not in the mood.
“Ian,” I sigh as he catches up. His dark hair is frumpy and his practically black irises hold no trace of exhaustion. “Howdy.”
He scrunches his nose. “What crawled in your ear?”
I frown at his taken aback tone. “Nothing. I had that weird dream again and blew chunks, is all.”
“You should have that checked out,” Ian says, adjusting his backpack. We’ve been friends for about a year. It’s hard to believe that when I first met him, he was barely going through puberty. Now he’s an inch taller than me.
Color me green with jealousy.
I frown and slip my arm into the second strap of my bag, the rest of the students coming out of their dorms. Freshmen stay on the lower level where the teachers and coaches can watch us closely, since fourteen-year-olds appear to be the most unruly. You would think that as we approach eighteen, as we come closer to the war, we speak out more. On the other side of the coin, it amazes me how the seniors have virtually no supervision.
“I can’t stand doctors,” I grumble to Ian as Mrs. Cole’s voice rings out over the loudspeakers. She’s over the entire high school: judge, jury, and executioner. I’ve never been a fan of her, but she seems okay, at least. I’m not a troublemaker, so I don’t visit her as often as Ian does.
I tune her out. “Ready for exams next week?”
He makes a face. “Nope. I have a feeling we will continue to reside in our spots as the bottom-feeders of our graduating class.”
“Let’s hope we don’t get the boot,” I comment as Mrs. Cole stops talking. “I’d rather be on the front lines than in the wasteland.”
“We’re too essential to the theater department for that,” he jokes, trying to lighten my soured mood as the crowd thins out for breakfast. “Mrs. Gray canceled rehearsals next week for finals, though.”
“Yeah,” I grunt, but my mind is elsewhere. There’s an odd tingling along my skin, anxiety clawing at my cerebellum, like something’s about to go wrong.
I stop walking, Ian staring at me, puzzled.
“You good?”
I open my mouth to speak when my stomach plummets. My instincts scream, Run!
I grab Ian’s wrist and pull him toward me, pressing against the wall as the building shakes violently.
“Get down!” I shout as chaos erupts. The ceiling is ripped off, debris falling on us as fire licks the paint on the walls. Through the hole, I see a polished black spacecraft suspended maybe a hundred feet over our heads.
“We need to find someplace secure,” Ian shouts over the pandemonium as the ship’s lasers illuminate a brilliant green, charging to shoot again.
“Why would Imbra attack our school?”
“What do you think?” Ian snaps as he yanks me in the direction the crowd is scrambling. “Kill the children, destroy your enemy’s future.”
I take a deep breath as my brain switches into survival mode.
Zzzzap!
Red lights explode against the ship above as our school’s security system kicks in.
The partition to our right collapses, knocking the wind from my lungs. I push myself from the wreckage and stand, getting a clear view of the vessel as it crashes to the ground. I return my focus to Ian, removing bricks and shattered glass from his unconscious body. Suddenly, I’m glad we only have a height difference of one inch—I’ll probably have to drag him to the nurse’s office myself.
I shake him to wake him as the other kids rush to safety. Adults spill into the insanity, telling us to stay calm while pushing through the panic in their systems.
I pray to God the people laying still are breathing.
As I pull Ian’s unconscious body free, a hatch opens at the base of the ship. Several people in black uniforms march out, armed to the teeth. I freeze, staring at the scene before me. I can’t avoid feeling like I’m going to die.
Behind the onslaught of Imbra soldiers, a boy appears, sneaking out of the hatch. He wears all black, and as he peeks over his shoulder, my heart leaps into my throat.
Images from the dream come upon me like a deluge.
A gem the size of my palm and the color of magenta pulsates at my feet. It calls to me, the heat it expels unbearable. The world around me is thick and black. The only other thing visible is a face. A face belonging to a boy my age with caramel irises, bronze hair, and a what will be a strong jawline when he loses the rest of his baby fat.
The same features as the boy tiptoeing out of an Imbra space craft.
He presses a button by his ear, and a helmet materializes. He slips through enemy lines as troops that protect our school sprint to meet the approaching army. A disembodied voice comes through the speakers and announces our shields are at fifty percent and on the rise.
An instructor rushes over to us, crouches beside us, and hefts one of Ian’s arms around his shoulders.
“Thank you,” I breathe.
I steal one last glimpse of the incoming swarm of men, and spot the boy and the girl in matching suits vanish into the school’s shrubbery. Part of me wants to go after them, to see what they’re doing, to stop them from doing it… but Ian needs me.
I return my attention to the task at hand, the instructor helping me get Ian to safety. Surely our soldiers will find and deal with the two Imbra intruders.
Surely.
Thanks for reading!
If you're enjoying the book, please consider checking it out on your favorite bookish site! It's only $0.99! Thanks again :)
