Secrets of the Gods

Chapter Two

           Caw. Tap. Scratch.

           Screams.

           Caw. Tap. Scratch.

           Laughter.

           Repeat. Over and over and over again.

           I wake up in a cold sweat. I'd had this dream so many times before that waking up screaming did nothing for me any longer. It is in my best interest to keep these night terrors to myself, lest I wish to wind up sitting in a chair across from another shrink that pretends to understand. You spend your life hunched over books, to tell people that "you're there for them" or "you understand" or "maybe try meditation". I don't need a master's degree to spot bullshit from a mile away.

           So, instead of running to mommy I wipe my brow with my arm and stand up. Stretching my stiff muscles, I look in the mirror. My tanned skin is paled from the night terror, but that's not the most concerning thing about this picture. Because if your eyes travel down my slender body and land on my hands, there's blood. When I look down I see crimson  staining my olive colored skin. Little pieces of wood are lodged in the palms of my hand as if I had been gripping something- but I had, hadn't I?

           Figments of imagination. Learn to believe it, and then you will always have the answer. Tell yourself something so many times that it becomes the truth.That means I'm going to take a tweezer to my hands, and then pretend like I fell of the swing set last night and landed in the wood chips they use as ground there.

           Step one complete and I move on to the next task. This is not the first time I've woken up from  a dream that, somehow, mixes with reality. I know the drill.

           Closing my eyes, I stretch my neck. A dull ache makes my brows furrow, but it would disappear soon enough. I don't bother looking at the clock. I know the sun hasn't risen. My floor to ceiling windows aren't covered with drapes that block out the sun. There aren't people behind us, so there is no need for it,and besides, I'm not one to cover nature. There's a little forest and stream that runs in our backyard and shielding myself from it seems like an injustice to a world filled with infinite wonders.

           My bathroom is exclusively mine. Embellished with a large bathtub, shower, and gold-rimmed mirror, I have nothing to complain about. I turn on the water and slowly ease myself in. The feeling of water against my skin is a warm welcome.

           Water does not wash away sin. You can cleanse the body, but cleansing the soul is simply unachievable by the minds of simple fools that don't understand the intricate system of these things. That's why humans feel guilt even after they're forgiven. You can take away surface pain, but unseen scars are the true pains of people scorned. While my dreams may not be as dire or serious as sin, they sure do leave a mark. And not just psychologically.

           Before I knew it, I'd been in the shower for almost an hour.

           Step two complete and I'm sitting on my bed staring at the screen of my phone looking at the thirty-two missed calls and seventy-three messages I'd missed. I guess you don't really know what you have until you've obliterated it with a lightsaber and sent it to the moon. Reid isn't even winning a text back. In fact, I swipe my finger to the left and scroll down until block this caller pops up and I don't even hesitate as I press the button.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

          By now the sun rose, and I slather on some makeup, grab the keys to my Audi, and begin the descent into a hell I like to call high school. It isn't the learning part that has me so hesitant to even go to class most of the time, but it is the simply fact that there is a social class distinction so clear it is like night and day. It is subtler than big screen movies will have you believe, yet it does exist- of that much I can guarantee.