Clue

These thoughts fill my dreams…images of my mother constantly being killed by the knife that she once held. The killer I can’t even see his face, I call him the shadow master. But he whispers my own name and always sure I see my mother’s death re-played. Then questions start to form and wonder within the corners of my mind. Did he kill my mother for a reason involving me? Am I meant to become a part of something?

I woke up to the sound of my mother calling my name

She shook me as she sat at the foot of my bed “Annabelle you are sweaty.” She informs me worriedly “Are you alright? Are you sick my dear?” she asks me in her soothing voice

“No mother. I am fine…just another nightmare” I cleared my throat.

“Another? You have been having them for weeks now. They say dreams can mean something in real life.” she says to me

“These dreams are just because I watch too much horror films...I blame the entertainment.” I tried to assure her

“Nonsense I know what you need.” she firmly stated

“And that would be what mother?” I sighed; she always thinks something is wrong with me. That’s why I never told her about a tattoo mark that had appeared on my left hip a few days ago she would defiantly freak if she ever knew.

“I know a therapist. Maybe you are having stress in school, with boys? Other pressures you may have in life?” she suggested

“But Mother, I don’t need a shrink. I swear.” I scoffed

“That is what all the people say who really needs to see somebody.” she stated out

“Oh, so you think there is something wrong with me huh?” I argued

The expression on her face turned into sympathy “Yes my dear Anna.” She admitted

“Fine…take me to that therapist. Have him put me on pills for all I care” I rolled my eyes and pulled my blanket over my head. Mother took it off

“Honey, I didn’t mean to make you think that you’re not normal…your just, unique” she tried making my feelings less hurt

“Stop lying mother. I know I’m not normal. Just go ahead…bring me to the dam therapist for heaven sake”

“Alright…I will make an appointment right now” she said and then got up from off my bed and headed out of my room. Once she exited my room I quickly jumped out of bed and shut my door. It’s a shame it has no lock. I looked into the mirror that I had placed on my door and lifted my shirt. The tattoo seems like it is moving, moving downward towards my leg. It’s in the shape of a dagger; a dagger beautified with diamonds and leaves hanging off swirls. The blade of this dagger looked unusually sharp. I unbuttoned the top of my blue long jeans that I was wearing, and spotted another tattoo mark. It was a wing; a dark blue wing that tilted sideways. I recalled I once saw this exact same wing in my constant repeating dreams. It was held in my dead mother’s hand. Maybe mother is right…something is wrong with me. Why would the same exact wing that I once saw only in my dreams be perfectly printed onto my body? The exact same way I saw it lying in my mother’s hand? I was beginning to question if these dreams really did mean something? I believe they did, because why else would objects from my dream be reappearing onto me?

Reviews

[McKinleyA]

You have a good story on your hands! It certainly has me intrigued, and I would love to see more.