Don't forget about the tyres

8 2 2
                                                  

I woke up the next more feeling utterly relaxed and well rested

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

I woke up the next more feeling utterly relaxed and well rested. The temperature of my body was a perfect cosy one and the thick winter bedding was almost as soft as clouds. I wanted to lay there for ever, never to worry about school or weird dreams ever again.

Dreams.

I quickly turned in my bed so I could stare at the ceiling. I could remember if I had dreamed. As I turned over in my bed I heard the sound of paper rustling. I frowned and sat up a little. That's when I noticed the many loose papers scattered over my bed, all full of a frantic, sharp-edged handwriting.

The dream.

As soon as my fingers grazed one of the papers, the images flooded into my mind. My parents, in a car accident after one of their tyres blew. The steering wheel spinning out of control. Them crashing into a tree. Blood. The sounds of sirens screaming in the distance.

With shaking hands I grabbed onto on of the papers closest and lifted it to my face. The early morning sun had broken through my curtains and gave me just enough light to read. I skipped the most part and went straight to the ending. I knew what had happened. Now I needed to know if they would live. I had this awful in the pit of my stomach that was telling me they wouldn't be. The handwriting was hard to read but I could make out the last few words:

They were still breathing.

I pressed the paper to my chest, crumbling it in the process, and let out a heavily sigh. I closed my eyes as I threw my head back. My heart was hammering against my chest and my cheeks were flushed. They didn't die. Thank God they didn't die. As my heartrate slowed I opened my eyes again and took in the sight in front of me. A notebook lay at the end of my bed, all of its content ripped out and spread around the rest of the bed. I picked up one of the other pieces and looked it over. Just like the one I was holding in my hand this one had frantic writing on it, like someone had been in a hurry to write it down. The text was exactly the same as the one I'd read. I pressed my eyes close again, holding them closed. I was really going mad. Or my sleepwalking was progressing into something worse. Or I was really going mad.

I pulled my legs to my chest, willing my body to stop shake. There had to be a good reason for this. There had to be a reason why I was seeing these things. Seeing... the future.

What if, maybe, I could make the outcome change? What if I was meant to see these things so I could prevent it from happening? Was that too risky? Isn't there such a thing about if you change anything, even the smallest something, you would change everything? Or was that about the past? Change the past and you will change the future.

What if I could do something good with this? Was this a good thing? It didn't feel like a good thing. It terrified me. I felt like I was going crazy. No one would believe me if I tried to tell them, that's for sure. I rubbed my forehead. A thumping headache was forming quickly. I let the crumbled paper fall out of my hand as I relaxed my fingers. I had been holding onto the piece too tight and my fingers were cramping.

Dreamer of Death || A Open Novella Contest II Entry || IncompleteWhere stories live. Discover now