That Weird Dream

More chapters banzai.

Laying on my bed, I continue to stare at the ceiling of my room, in deep thought.

What was that dream? I ponder. I didn’t do much in that dream, but that was pretty interesting how I woke up in my dream, rather than being randomly set in a scene. Almost as if my falling asleep earlier was a dream. This is worth writing down. I sit up and swing my legs over the bed, then slide off towards my desk. Oh wait, he’s not on my desk right now, I remember before standing up completely, he’s on my shelf this time.

Before crossing my room, I glance to see if my notebook is on my shelf, searching for a small spiral-bound black notebook. I spot him; he is hiding behind Mr. English, a nickname I made for my English textbook, but his spiral is sticking out from behind Mr. English. I reach for him, and confirm that it is indeed Keeper. His cover has some decoration, and the spiral is completely black. One thing to mention; I am the only one who calls him Keeper. When I talk to others about him, I call him my blurt book. A blurt book is exactly what it sounds like, a place to blurt things out, like a constant thought that you can’t get out of your head, or just interesting things or funny moments in your day. People tell me that it’s the same thing as a diary, but it’s a little different. It’s not the same. I don’t mind if people read my blurt book, but when you have a diary it’s supposed to be private. So, there’s a good difference. I don’t need a diary, and I never will get one. I don’t think it’s worth it. Since I have Keeper.

As I gently place Keeper on my table, I open the cover and flip to his next blank page. Most of his sheets are blank, but that’s because I write neatly and take up little space, so that I have plenty more to write. He’s only got one hundred pages, and I really love him. I take good care of him, since he’s such a nice notebook. I have had him for a while, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put him away in a box. He’s too good.

When I reach the next blank page, I pick up one my best favorite pens, and begin to write about that dream. It honestly was an interesting dream. I don’t think I’ll have that kind of dream again anytime soon. I feel my pen gliding across Keeper’s smooth pages. I finish my last sentence, and sign it off with today’s date at the bottom. June 14, 2015… I cap my pen and close Keeper with a satisfying pap.

A considerable amount of time has passed, and now the sun is on my back after I closed Keeper. Turning around behind, the sun glares at me, and once again leaves a black spot in my eyes. Shading my eyes, I turn back around and return Keeper back to the shelf, so next time it would be easier to find him. I don’t bother checking the time, and move from my shelf flop onto my bed yet once again.

Now that I have finished that, what do I do now? As I muse over the subject, my smartphone makes a sound. Listening to the sound, I know that I received a message from someone, rather than an update of some sort from my social media. I reach over to my nightstand from my bed, an arms-length away, and unplug my phone from my charger, sitting up. I can’t believe I haven’t checked my phone this entire time. I guess I was really distracted by that dream.

Unlocking my phone from my screen lock, I swipe downwards from the very top of the phone’s touchscreen to have a dropdown come out from the top, and looking at my recent notifications. It’s a text message from Hanali, one of my friends. I tap on the notification and it redirects me to my messaging app, and from there I can see all of our earlier conversations. It seems that she sent it a while ago, because her message has a timestamp. I read her message and she asks me if I want to hang out with her today. Her icon is bright, meaning she’s in the chat room waiting for an answer. I reply to her, writing

“Sure, let’s do it. Where do you want to meet up?” Almost instantaneously after writing my message, she responds.

“How about at your house? Over here my parents are having a party and I don’t think it will be enjoyable. Is that OK?” Well, no one’s home at my house. I think it’ll be fine if I invite a friend. Mom usually doesn’t care. Not that Mom's home even, right? I write back to her,

“Sure, come on over. No one’s home, and I think my mom won’t mind.”

“Really? That’s awesome! I’ll be over there in a bit.” Her icon dims, and she doesn’t write anymore. I close the messenger, and I look around my room. Ah, my room’s such a mess. I should clean it up. I fall back down onto my back and sigh. But I really don’t want to get up… This is too comfortable. I watch the ceiling stare back at me without blinking an eye. Suddenly I envision the other ceiling instead of my ceiling, and I rub my eyes before looking again. It was just my ceiling. I sit up straight and sigh again. Ahhah, I don’t really want to do anything at all today. Oh, I should get ready to open the door for Hanali. I sit back up and get onto my feet and before I take a step out of my room I hear several musical knocks on the front door. Yep, that’s Hanali all right. I hurry down the hall and turn left past the couch to the front door, and unlock the door without checking. A flood of sunshine greets me when I open the door, and I see a shadowed figure not too far away from the porch. My eyes adjust to the light, and I recognize the silhouette.

“Yo Ecila!” she waves and smiles.

Author's Note

any grammar mistakes? Please do tell me.