Forgotten Dreams shot story

Forgotten Dreams

My name is Anna. I’m 15 years old. I am a foster child. I’m not known for my looks, but I have amazing, cool, fun friends because of my personality and general kindness towards the world. I love animals and I love my friends and family. I’m a lover not a fighter, but I’ll fight for what I love. Peter and Barbra are the closest thing I have to family and Sophie and I are working up to a sister like bond. I keep my word no matter what and I make sure others do too. I’m sweet, caring, and fun but if I don’t like you, or you wrong me in some way, I can be a b***h. I’m not afraid to be myself and neither should you. The way I see it, if the world rejects the true you, you should reject them.

Peter and I grew up together. He’s my best friend and the brother I’ll never have. He’s 6’2” with dirty blonde hair and bright amazing sea blue eyes.  Peter was born a few weeks before me. His mom died in child birth and his dad didn’t know he was alive. The doctor lied and said he died with his mom to get money for putting him in foster care. He arrived the same day I was dropped on Barbs door step. No one ever found out, but a few months ago, peter tried to find his parents and found out everything. He was heartbroken. He sat in his room for days. I could hear his cries all day and sometimes through the night. He didn’t try to find his dad. He knew none of it would make sense to him and his dad would reject him. He didn’t want to go through that pain. We’ve spent pretty much our whole lives together so we were extremely close. Sophie is the newest foster our “mom” Barbra took in. She is a shy and quiet girl, but outgoing in certain situations. Sophie’s a sweet 13 year old who’s had a rough life. Her parents dumped her on the street when she was 5 and she was picked up by a crazy homeless lady who was a drug addict. Sophie spent about 7 years of her life trying drugs her “mom” made and then sell them on the streets. Whatever money she made, her “mom” would use to fill her horrible drinking habit and give Sophie only enough to buy food that day. After her “mom” over dosed on her own creations, Sophie checked herself into the system (foster system that is) and she was put with us. She never wanted to do drugs so her hate towards them and the homeless lady and not wanting them allowed her to never get addicted to them and hasn’t done any since her “moms” “tragedy”. We aren’t very close but we spend a lot of time together.

I’m running through dark neighborhood streets. I’m scared, my hearts pounding. I’m about to get away from a tall pale man in a blood soaked shirt. His jeans were a shiny black in places blood had splattered from his last victim. I sped up, hoping to create enough distance to escape whatever sinister plans he had for me. I turned around and let out a sigh of relief. The man was gone. I slowed down to a jog and as I felt safety creep back into me, I ran into another tall dark man. I couldn’t see his face, but I could make out the rotting, disgusting smell of slightly burnt, decaying flesh and the strong metallic scent of blood. The man raised a long slender arm into the air as if to send a signal to someone. I was about to run away when, CRACK! Something slams into me. I try to pull myself up but my arm gives way in a horrible crooked pattern and I know my arm is broken. I fall to back to the ground, my arm searing with a sharp pain. I roll my head to the side and headlights blaze in my eyes. Was I hit by a car?! Something warm and gooey clings to my face as I look back up at the sky. I use my other hand to whip it off but as I touch my hand to my face it starts to sting and burn. The thick liquid must be blood. I hear footsteps.  Someone’s running towards me. I try to get up once again but I can’t. Were there more broken bones or was my body so sore from the impact I couldn’t move? A figure stands above me but the light stops me from seeing his face. I attempt to scream but blood fills my mouth instead. The figure bends over and I can finally see the face. Peter. He’s at my side now and picks up my hand to hold it. Tears flowing from his eyes make the blue even brighter. Suddenly, I hear a knife slash through the night air. THUMP! Blood trickled out of Peter’s mouth and a gurgling sound comes from his throat as if he was trying to speak. He falls next to me lifelessly. I can see a long knife stuck in his back. His blood mixes with mine in the street. I start to cry. Why would someone hurt him? Why would someone hurt us? There’s a man in an old, shredded suit standing over us. He lets out a wicked laugh that puts goose bumps on my broken and bruised arms. The man pulls the knife out of Peter’s back. It’s getting harder to breathe with every breath I take. Everything starts to fade. The man’s face was twisting with satisfaction as he watched the life leave my helpless body. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I let them shut for a split second, waiting for the man to finish me off.

                “Anna, wake up!” Someone was screaming from a distance, so far away I could barely hear it. I tried to open my eyes but I couldn’t. I tried to breathe, but I was completely frozen. I start to struggle as I suffocate. Finally, my eyes and mouth rip open as if I had no control over them. I realize that I’m not in my room. I look around a small white room. There’s a big window next to me. People in wheelchairs were being pushed to cars in the jam packed parking lot outside. I looked at the sign at the front of it all. It read St. Johns hospital. Why was I at a hospital? I looked at the door and nurses and doctors rush back and forth with bags of what looks like blood, bottles of pills, and patients on beds. Sophie was standing outside next to another window. She saw that I was awake and gave me a big smile. When she came in she gave me a hug and sat down next to me.

“What happened last night,” I asked, wondering why I was at the hospital.

“You just collapsed. We didn’t know what to do.  You wouldn’t wake up, so we called 911,”replied Sophie with a concerned face. Peter walked into the room. For some reason I felt like crying when I saw him. He was half way to my bed when a loud bang drew our attention to the door behind him. There was a slightly older man standing in the hall right outside my room. He was covered in blood and was screaming as though something had been ripped out of him. No doctors or nurses were helping him so Peter rushed back over to help him. When Peter got to him, the man collapsed. Luckily, Peter caught him before he fell. We all looked at each other in shock. None of us knew what to do. When we looked back, the man was gone. He vanished. All that was left was a pool of dark red blood. We didn’t dare say anything to Barbra when she finally got to the hospital. We didn’t want to worry her with it. She would only think we were crazy.

Around lunch time the doctor came in to discuss my condition.

“She’s stable and there’s no sign of trauma. We think that when you hit your head, you went into a very light coma. You seemed to be in a sleep-like state. We took some CAT-scans while you were in this state and found something strange. When people are in coma, their brain activity is very minimal or have none at all, which results in brain damage over time,”  He showed us a few CAT-scan pictures from previous patients “with your CAT-scan, we can see that the region of the brain where you dream, was extremely active, while all other parts were, in a sense, dead. Do you remember any of the dreams? They maybe quit significant.”

“Uhm… No sorry. I don’t remember any dream I’ve ever had. I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream in my life.”

“Most people who don’t think they dream actually dream more than others. You just don’t remember the dreams.”

“Why don’t I remember them?”

“Well, it’s usually because the unconscious chooses if it want to remember it. There are only two reasons this would happen. It has no importance, or because they contain- material that the conscious mind does not wish to remember.”

“Is there any reason it wouldn’t want to remember it,” asked Peter.

“Well, have you ever had a bad dream? Or something sad or weird happened in it?”

Peter thought for a little bit. After a minute he replied to the doctor. “Well… Yeah hasn’t everybody?”

“You’d be surprised,” said the doctor.

“Uhmm… I’m not sure if I should say anything, but I think it would be important,” said Sophie nervously.

“What is it Sophie,” asked Barb, now worried about how ill I might be.

“Well… Almost every night… Annalese wakes up. She tells me about nightmares but falls asleep halfway through. I’ve asked her about them the next morning, but she never remembers she had them.”

With Sophie’s remark about my dreams, the group turned and stared at me.

Author's Note

This is a spinoff of my book Forgotten Dreams that i had written for school