chapter 3

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Feet pound against the white-enveloped earth.

They are after me.

 I try to run faster but my boots are stuck in something that slows—almost stops—my movements. I look down to see that water is my knee-high barrier. The footsteps advance closer, closer. Trees raise up all around me in an instant. I reach for a branch but it is too far away. Just out of my reach. My feet slowly trudge through the thick water until my hand grips onto the freezing bark. I use it to guide myself and increase my speed.

Just as I am almost out of the water and onto the snow-covered land, a figure yanks me back in. I fall down, sinking deeper and deeper into the dark abyss. Two familiar eyes float toward me. Once the body is fully visible, he glides his hot fingers along my cheek and whispers two little, desperate words: Help me. I attempt to tell him that there was nothing I could do, but the water fills my lungs and I can no longer breathe.

A light envelopes the cold darkness. But there is no source for the light until I look down at my glowing hands. The person in front of me is then replaced by a fullsized, dirt-encased mirror. What I see when I look into the mirror is my face but it doesn’t really look like my face—because of the eyes. They emit a bright golden light.

I reach out to touch the mirror but it disappears. In its place is a pair of wings. Floating in the middle of the black water, they shimmer with a golden sparkle.

The earth begins to shake. I swim upward, but once again, I find that I can’t move. The shaking becomes more fierce until the light is gone, and so is the water.

I wake to Andrew shaking my arm. “Stop, stop,” I mumble tugging the flat pillow over my face.

“Get up. Wilkinson is pulling in.”

I sigh. One good thing about having super-hearing is that I can tell when somebody is lying. And Andrew unquestionably just lied.

“No he is not.”

Andrew throws the pillow across the room and hands me a plain t-shirt and some jeans that might fit. “Get up now!”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and run to the bathroom just to get away from him and his horrible mood.

Gross. This room is even more disgusting than last night when I was half asleep. The dirt on the mirror seems even thicker too. Taking a wadded up towel from the floor, I wipe off as much brown as I can until I see my flustered face looking back at me.

This mirror looks a lot like the one from my dream, only smaller and much more sickening. That dream seemed so real. Like, in a way, it was trying to tell me something.

Light on, I think. And exactly like last night, the bulb over the mirror lights up. I glance at the bathtub and flinch back. It doesn’t look like anybody has occupied this room in ages. Or at least cleaned it.

            After taking a hasty shower and grab a semi-clean towel from under the cabinet, I hear wheels squealing to a stop which makes me jump. I knock over a picture that was hanging on the wall, shattering the glass.

            “Hey, what’s going on in there?” Andrew bangs on the door. Rude.

            “I slipped, chill out. Oh and by the way, Wilkinson just pulled in.” I say this while debating on picking up the pieces. My better nature takes over and I bend down to gather the bigger shards of glass. There is no trashcan in here, so when it is all in my hands, I walk out to an empty room.

            Beside the bed sits a tiny bin with a few crumpled paper balls. The pieces slide out of my opened palm and land on top of a drawing. Curiosity gets the best of my and pick up the crinkled notebook paper. On the faded blue lines is a sketch of a figure standing over a mountain of rubble. Wings spread wide from east to west, hands raised north as if summoning something. Anything.

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