Falling

A Boy with a Dream

Falling. So high up. I feel like I could fall forever. It's beautiful up here, surrounded by the clear blue of the sky. Falling. the ground so far away, speeding towards me. It's coming up so fast now. Closer, closer, closer, I'm about to hit it.

Nothing. I can feel nothing now. My body is broken. Nobody can save me now. The ground isn't beautiful. It's cold, hard, and brown, and it just broke every bone in my body.

Wait. Who's that, coming towards me?

I can't see her face. She looks strong. And she looks beautiful. I don't think I've ever seen her before.

"Who are you?" I manage to croak out, barely able to speak. All my ribs are broken, and one has punctured my lung.

"I'm the girl who's going to save you," she replied. She leans over to whisper in my ear. I still can't see he face.

"I'm the girl who loves you."

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Suddenly I'm falling again, feeling the wind against my bare chest. I have a sword strapped to my back, but it won't do me any good now.

I'm falling, up so high up, so very fast. The ground rushes up to meet me, ready to swallow me in the cold embrace of death. I close my eyes, the only thing I can move. I'm paralyzed with fear.

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I wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath and looking around wildly. I'm still in my room, at the school, the books in the cabinet and the swords hanging on the wall. My skin is cold and clammy, and my heart feels like its trying to burst out of my chest.

"My God, that was so realistic," I mutter to myself. I look over at the clock beside my bed. It's already 5:00, just a half an hour before I would have to get up anyway. I decide to go ahead an take a shower.

I take off my boxers and get into the shower. The warm water feels good, and washes away the sweat from my dream. 

'What was that about?' I wonder. 'I've never had a dream like that before. It seemed so real. I've never  been that scared. I've fallen before, from even higher points than that, but I've never felt such complete and utter terror as that.'

For a while after I just stand there, letting the soothing water wash over me, not thinking of anything. Then my mind wanders to the girl.

'Who is she? What did she mean she was the girl who loves me? How could she have saved me? I was seconds away from death, I could feel the life draining out of me.'

'Why am I getting so worked up over a dream? It's just that it didn't feel like a normal dream. But it was.'

I decide to let it go. It was just an unusual dream, that's all.

I get out of the shower and put in my contacts. I look at myself in the mirror, and like always, I'm a little surprised. I'm a little bit odd looking. Not bad, but a little odd, at least to me. In fact, not to brag, but I think I actually look pretty good, and judging by all the girls I catch staring at me, I'd say they agree.

I'm fifteen, 6'5", and really well muscled for my age. At thirteen I was tall and skinny, but I've filled out in the two years since. I almost had a six-pack even then, and over the last two years the muscle came in down there, as well as in my arms and legs. I now have a full blown eight-pack. Working out for almost the entire day for three whole years probably helped. I have dark brown hair, not too short and not too long, just the right length so that it keeps out of my way when I'm fighting but still looks good.

The weird part about how I look is all the tatoos on my arms and chest. Intricate symbols and designs have been carved into my skin, especially on my chest, and because I train with my shirt off, I catch a lot of people looking at me during practice. I think the eight-pack help a little bit, too.

Thing is, I have a secret. It has to do with my tatoos, and nobody has ever found out what it is. It's this secret that my mind turns to as I walk downstairs to get an early breakfast.