Monsters ↠ Liam Dunbar

0. Wren Queen of Awkwardness

prologue // Wren, Queen of Awkwardness.

W r e n ☪

I woke with a start, sitting up abruptly. I raised my hand to my forehead, to find it drenched in sweat, and my hair a total mess. I placed messily on top of my head in a quick bun, it would have to do for now. I sighed, rubbing my eyes with my palms, as if it would shake off the visions I explored. But it didn't, of course, it never does. Throwing off the covers and turning my head to the side, I read the old alarm clock placed on my bedside table; 3:42.

I looked around, sick of what had become the usual routine. Some nights I was lucky for even a few hours of sleep, and dreamless ones almost weren't an option anymore. The older I'm getting, the more vivid they have become. Full of darkness, and death.

It was hard to say I missed sleep, because I'd almost completely forgotten what it felt like. I stepped onto the cold wood of my bedroom, and slipped into a jumper ten sizes too big. Grabbing my notebook and pen, I crept out into the hall. The light of the moon still illuminated most of our open house, so there was no need for a torch.

It had been a gift - my book - and as much as I'd like to say it was from my mother, that's just not the case. She walked out on us years ago. I can barely remember her face, but my dad does, and I think he has to see the reminder everyday, in me. But I don't remember who gave me this book, even though it never leaves my side. It's like when I try to remember the day, when I was six, all I see is blurred figures and distorted objects. The only thing clear is the leather-bound journal, placed carefully into my little six-year-old hands.

It's filled with my drawings. Some people write what they feel, I draw. But it can lead to bad things, dark things, on an occasion. I've drawn places, people, even objects, that all end up a part of a murder investigation on the news. The worst part is, there isn't a single thing I can do about it.

Soundlessly, I was able to slip out the front door. The one thing I loved about our little house was the location, we were right in the edge of a hill, on the outskirts of town. The top of the hill was my favourite place in, well, the world. You haven't seen a sunset until you've seen it from up there. At this rate, though, it's a sunrise I'll be seeing.

Once I reached the top, I sat down cross legged, the soft grass cold under my bare legs. All I had on was thin pyjama shorts and my dad's old jumper. Taking in the crisp air, my mouth curled upwards, into a small smile, as my eyes scanned over the area. It may be the hundredth time I've seen it, but the view still manages to take my breath away. It was beautiful, every time.

Opening my notebook to a fresh page, I gripped the pencil loosely, preparing to draw. Stories filled these pages, and most of them originated from my dreams, if you could even call them that. Shading every once and a while, I began to detail tonight's vision; the glowing red eyes, the haunting figures.

I heard a crunch of dirt not far away, making me lose concentration. The shock caused me to knock the pencil, and draw a line straight through the middle of the page. Quite frankly, it looked a lot less terrifying like that. My mouth made a weird noise as I dropped the pencil onto the grass, with my eyes trying to follow the source of the noise, seeing a figure in the distance. He was just below the tip of the hill, staring at me, with a curious look in his eye. He looked no older than I am, 15. He could even be a freshman at Beacon, who knows?

Once our eyes met he froze. I stumbled to get up, to say something, but by the time I looked back to where he once stood, he was gone.

-

Lifting myself off of my rusty old bike, placing it in the bike rack. There were only a few other bikes occupying it, most people were driven to school. I adjusted the grip on my bag, which hung loosely on my shoulder, and as I walked the badges I had come to collect over the years made little jingle sounds.