ACT I, CHAPTER ONE ❛ as seen in a dream, first blood ❜ content: underage drug use (alcohol&marijuana), ghosts/paranormal, violence, blood/gore.
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Disturbed by sleep, Kay left for her morning run before the sun rose, when her breaths still clouded in the frozen morning air and she had to splash her way through puddles of last night's rainwater to keep a steady pace. She sprinted as fast as she could. Not to outrun her nightmares, but to feel something tangible and alive inside her for a fleeting hour. To not be inside her mind, slipping between haunted dreams. Most nights like this one, running was the only way Kay stayed sane. Peace was the rhythm of her footfalls against the sidewalk beneath her.
Ten miles later and her worn sneakers were much muddier, skin sheening with perspiration and lingering humidity, her blood hot as fire in her veins. Dread chased away by adrenaline. An hour after she had dashed through the front door into the night, Kay turned back down her uncle's street at an unrelenting pace. The rising sun beamed gold between the trees, birds chirruping in the leafy canopy above. For once, her body felt light. Better. Despite her tiredness, she smiled to herself. Sometimes better was all that mattered. It could make coming home bearable.
The path beneath her feet changed from asphalt to gravel as she veered off the main road, past the copse of maple trees surrounding her uncle's driveway then up the creaky porch steps. Under the shadow of the porch she finally stopped to catch her breath, hands on her head as she caught her breath. A newscaster's cheery voice filtered through the open kitchen window overtop the sound of eggs sizzling on a frying pan. Iseul must have set his alarm, a rare occurrence. Her breathing was still ragged when her uncle's voice called through the window:
"You gonna stand out there all day?"
He'd heard her panting. Kay tipped her head back in silent irritation, glaring at the warped roof. But she shook off her muddy sneakers before walking through the front door. Uncle Iseul was in the kitchen, dishing out a pan of eggs and bacon onto two plates. He slid her a full plate, sat with his own plate right across from her, and reached for the bottle of maple syrup.
"We didn't have pancake mix, and I tried making them from scratch, but. . ." He gestured to the sink, where a burnt, batter-stained griddle still steamed as it cooled. "Luckily, we had Eggos."
Kay took a big bite of a toaster waffle to show her uncle it was a perfectly acceptable substitute.
If it had been up to her, this would be where conversation ended. Yet she didn't get two bites into her eggs when her uncle asked, "How was your run? You left earlier than usual."
She frowned. "You saw me leave?"
"I heard when you slammed the front door at 3 AM."
