Creating Jane

Chapter 3

I dreamed that I was back near the bunker. I knew it was a dream but in this dream I felt like I knew everything about myself. I walked to the bunker and knocked on the door. Why did I knock?

The door opened and I was greeted with a hot air that brushed the hair from my face. My body was then warmed up. I then entered the bunker.

The floor was wood and creaked with each step, almost moaning as if wanting to be stepped on.

“Here.” A voice said to me. I looked around hoping to see who had said it but no one showed. In front of me in the small bunker was a desk and a makeshift wooden stool; on the desk was a book.

The book was aged and almost painted yellow. I began to flip through the pages which were sort of soft. Each page had notes and words written so small you would need a magnifying glass. On the last page there was just one word I could read. “Molly.” I said to myself.

As that name left my mouth the door slammed shut trapping me inside. “No!” I yelled, banging on the door. The room felt smaller and smaller. I curled to the floor sobbing, and then I noticed a hatch under the desk.

I crawled to the hatch opening it quickly and crawling down a ladder. I felt joy as I climbed down the ladder knowing I was free from that bunker and those strange feelings.

I got off the ladder and onto the floor and felt that my hands were wet. I looked to my hands and noticed blood covering my hands. A strange and gross smell singed my nose. I turned to see a pile of bodies. I gasped in horror. My vision shook as I saw each of the plane crash survivors on the pile.

“Help me!” Someone said. I looked at the bottom of the pile to see a bloodied Joseph staring back at me. I ran to him, both of us reaching our hands out.

Suddenly a metal clanging sound similar to the noise from the jungle was heard. I slowed down my run and the bunker door came clashing down on Josephs head. I held my hand over my mouth and fell onto my back. Sobs covered what would have been my screams.

Another sob came from the pile of bodies. A woman walked to the bunker door. She began to cry sometimes muttering Joseph’s name. I picked my head up and wiped my tears from my eyes. I realized who she was.

I reached into my pocket and picked out the picture. It was that woman. It was Josephs Mother who was in this picture and that boy was Joseph. My eyes widened.

I wiped the blood from my face and hands; I got up and approached the woman. She looked to me with a killer stare and turned her hands into fists. “You did this!” She shouted. I backed away in surprise. “You killed my son! You killed these people!” She said.

How could I have done this? I felt my hands get wet again and looked to them. Blood. I wiped the blood off and noticed no cuts. I blinked my eyes a few times to see where the blood was coming from but it just kept appearing.

I felt myself sink through the floor. Blackness surrounded me and it almost felt warm. It gave me time to think again. Who was I?

It was quiet and I felt like I was suffocating. Each time I thought harder I got more out of breath. I scrunched into a ball and fell asleep in my dream which meant it was time to wake up.