Maybe It Was The Dream

I rode my bike down the empty and frostbitten street as the snow clumped to my tires and slowed me down. Instead of me actually paying attention to the obvious danger around me, I flipped over the front of my bike and went sliding across the icy ground. I lay there for a second, sighing with the feeling of pure stupidity hanging over my head in an ominous, dark cloud. I stood up and brushed the snow and glass-like shards of ice off my clothing, watching hues of red flow along with the falling clumps of frost. I huffed, kicked my bike; which only resulted in more pain, and walked away. Who cares about a bike, anyway?

I walked down the street more, suddenly coming to the realization that I’m not on my street, or even in my neighborhood. I honestly wasn’t quite sure if I was even on Earth. I turned around, but there was my house. Everything looked so different.

I snarled with grogginess after waking up from such a surreal dream and looked at my Mickey Mouse alarm clock. At first my eyes widened with pure shock and disbelief when I saw that it was 9:53, but I soon realized that I didn’t even care. I just won’t go to school today I thought. It’s not like I learn anything anyway. I sat up and stretched my hands up to the ceiling and felt my toes curl at the delight of being in a new, loose position. You know, most other teenagers really love sleep, and it’s just about all they do, but I hate sleep. I hate laying down for hours, not being able to control what goes on. I don’t like staying in the same position for more than twenty minutes, let alone six to eight hours. I hate dreaming too, it annoys me. But I am a teenager, so I am obligated by the secret teenage law to hate everything.

I got up and walked to go look at the fridge, hoping that some sort or nourishment magically appeared overnight, but I quickly sat down. Head rush. There was no sort of food, drink, or anything but a bottle of expired ketchup and a single boiled egg that smelled like nothing I ever wanted to experience in my fridge, what a shocker. I angrily slammed the door to the refrigerator closed because I felt like it, went to go put on a shirt, grabbed my wallet, and treated myself to some nice breakfast from a little Mom-and-Pop-shop kind of thing on the end of my street. It was grossly hot outside for being the near-middle autumn but I suffered through and continued to walk through my bourgeois neighborhood. Everything is the same. Another head rush. My phone buzzed in my pocket, initially scaring me, but I realized there was no danger, and refused to answer it.

I walked into the small and rough building and felt the cool air rid me of my heated problems. Sighing in relief, I went to the back section, picked up some twinkies, a donut, a weird sausage stick thing, a box of frozen waffles, and a room-temperature Dr. Pepper. I walked to the cash register, hoping for minimal conversation. I don’t like conversations with people I don’t know.

“How are ya, boy?” some weird old lady said behind me. Her voice sounded like every cliche grandmother on basically every movie ever produced. I have no idea who this woman even was. I sighed and groaned and turned back around.

“Boy?” the lady repeated, angry this time. Stooooopp I thought.

“Yes, ma’am?” I mocked with incredible sass in my voice. My face felt numb, like it was sagging. My left eye felt heavier than my right, but not heavy with sleep or heat exhaustion, but with something else that I really didn’t like. I started twitching.

“Are you Christian, boy?”

“No. I believe not in religion”

“No. Are you Christian” the lady must have thought I was stupid,

“Oh” I blushed, forgetting my name for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Okay” the lady began with the typical grandmother voice “well I have a message for you, boy”

Instead of being interested in what message she could possibly have for me, I was more involved in the fact that she knew my name, but still called me boy. I put my hands in my pocket to try and mask the fact that I was shaking. I said nothing and awaited her response.

“This message for you is coming from yet another man named Christian” she begun. The clerk behind me sighed and rattled the bags, reminding me that I need to pay. “Christian says: ‘Do not fear son, as your ends are near. Do not fear for your sister, as she is with you’.”

I shivered. Head rush. I believed none of what this woman was babbling about and grunted. Instead of saying anything back, I simply turned around, payed for my groceries, and walked out of the door.

It wasn’t as hot outside now, so I breathed deeply and continued to walk. There was a strange ringing in my ear, and it was about to drive me absolutely wild. I took my index finger and swirled it through my ear, hoping it would wipe away the ringing; it didn’t work. I began to pull at my earlobes.

I’m on the ground. Why?