Everything seemed too bright though and my eyelids were weighed down by the dream … and those damn tears. Why do I always cry? And who is that guy? I thought about the questions that'd plagued me since three this morning. The dream normally didn't bother me that bad, but something was different last night- it felt more real. Three and a half hours after the episode, I was still awake and now, out of time too. Today was the first day of senior year and I was going to be late because of some freaky dream that I've had since I was at least three. Wonderful, better get outta bed, Em. I've always loved how my brain talks to me on a first name basis, a clear sign of insanity. I reached out a ruby polished finger to hit the off button on the alarm. The silence was eerie and reminded me too much of the dream. I pushed the emerald comforter off of me and rolled out of bed. My black cotton pajamas were plastered to my damp skin. God, I look like crap! What the mirror showed was just a minimal reflection of the way I felt after last night.
