I've been seeing her in my dreams for years, a beautiful girl with coal black hair and silver eyes. She always has two wolves with her. Are they guarding her? I don't know. Those eyes make me think she may be the more dangerous of the three. After all, who has silver eyes? Not any human I've ever met.Who is she? Again, I don't know. The dreams have been plaguing me for so long now that I don't know what to make of them. And the dreams are always the same. I'm walking in the woods, and in the distance I see her and her wolves. In the dreams they aren't walking, it's more like they suddenly take off and are in front of me. Her mercurial eyes look deeply into mine before she pulls one hand from behind her back and offers me an apple. The apple isn't a deep red color like most apples, it's almost like there's a milky white film covering the normal deep red of a red delicious apple.
She never speaks, never says anything just holds the apple out to me while her wolves look at something she is not paying attention to, and I cannot see. It's almost like a sadness enters her eyes when I don't immediately reach for the apple. Then I wake up, I always wake up.
Sweat coats my skin causing my t-shirt to stick to me in a sticky and uncomfortable fashion. The dream is always the same, and I've never been able to change it. I thought you were supposed to be able to change a lucid dream, and as aware as I always am in this dream I can never change it. Never move, never take the apple, never touch one of the wolves, never speak. I used to try and tell my parents about her, but they always said it was just a dream. But even now twenty years later I know it's not just a dream. I just don't know who she is and why she keeps appearing to me.
I push back the covers just wanting the stickiness off my skin and then I see the clock. Five am, the same damned time the damned dream wakes me up every morning. What is it about 5:00 am and this girl and her wolves. The funny thing is she always appears to be same age, early twenties, the same as me now. I wonder if she will always be that age. I wonder how I can change the dream, take the apple, pet the wolves, talk to her?
I groan as my alarm shrills ten minutes later. There's no help for it, I need to get up, shower and go to class. There are days that I hate the fact I decided to take classes in the Summer when all my friends are out partying and playing in the sun. Instead, I get to get up early go to class, go to my part-time job and then study. Ugh!
I pull myself into a sitting position and then walk into my tiny bathroom with it's tiny shower stall to turn on the water and give it a chance to heat. I chuck my t-shirt and panties and climb into the now hot shower. When I look to my little shower rack, I notice I'm nearly out of shower gel. One more thing to put on the list to buy. I sigh, sometimes being a grown up sucks. I liked it better when I could just add what I needed to my mom's grocery list and she'd buy it and I didn't have to worry about having enough money to make it through to my next work study paycheck or my next grocery clerk paycheck.
I squeeze a small amount of the gel onto my shower pouf, the strawberry scent mixing with the steam and engulfing me in the shower, sending me back to picking strawberries with my grandmother in her garden. Some days I miss Grams the most. I love my parents, but they don't understand me, not like Grams did.
I look at the clock high on the wall above the door and see that I've managed to spend fifteen minutes musing about shower gel, and Grams. I need to hurry up or I'm going to miss the bus that comes at and then where will I be? Late for my work study shift that's where. I scrub and rinse my body and hair in a hurry, and then shut off the blessed hot water and grab my favorite blue over-sized towel. I'd lucked out finding that one in a discount store. I hate small towels that barely cover you, and I really hate towels that don't wick the water off you. But that's a story for another day. Right now? Right now I need to get my shit together and get to the bus stop.
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