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Day of Dreams: Part 1

By @ActressMawuena


“Wake up!” My dream guy that his ****** features I can’t comprehend shakes me.

“Wake up!” He says again, but I am awake.

“Wake up!” I can comprehend his face now. He looks like- my dad?

“Wake up!” My eyes flutter.

It was a dream, The thought flies into my brain.

I hit the thought.

I don’t care, I create my own thought.

My dad- a bald, shiny headed, medium everything guy- stares at me.

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly.

Dad starts to smile. “School,” he says.

I grin.

He grins too.

I slide down the handrail of our spiral staircase. My great-great-great grandfather owned the Bank of Cyrath. It’s in Minnesota, where we live.*Note: I do not think this is a real place. Based off the USA, but not completely.* My dad owns it now, however, there is a population 100,000, which is pretty small. Plus, there are other banks.

But in our suburb, everyone goes to my dad.

I almost fall. Why was I thinking about banks?

I glance up and see the thoughts of dad floating above me.

I glare.

They leave.

Our house is pretty old. As is every other house on our block. You’d think we have those stereotypical creaky stairs, but we don’t. Personally, in my opinion, not those random thoughts, that stereotype is rude to the people who built our homes. They really think Penelope Winslip would live in a rocky house? Ha.

“Rome! Get down here!” My mom screams.

I scurry down the stairs, inhaling the smell of bacon, pancakes, scrambled eggs, english muffins, and sausages.

Paris, my older sister, has already piled my plate with three pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup and is packing my three of favorite sandwich and some orange juice into my lunch box.

“What do you want?” I say.

Paris is a nice sister. But she usually wants something.

“Nothing,” She says.

Austin, my older brother, warbles like a baby. “Shes just pappy bequase she has a bwoyfriend.”

My favorite sandwich is an english mufffin with part of the inside cut out. You stuff that with scrambled eggs. The top half you cut out the inside, but you cut up slices of bacon and sausages and place it in the muffin. Then you close it. Done.

I always have one on the bus to school, which is half an hour from my house.

I eat my pancakes and grab the lunchbox, stuff it in my backpack.

I waltz out the door and then sing, “Have fun with your boyfriend!” I yell, because I know she’s going to skip school to take her boyfriend to the ocean and make him watch the Little Mermaid after.

I can feel Paris’ face get warm.

“Hey, girl!” Penelope Winslip greets me on the bus holding two cups of coffee. We fake kiss each other on each cheek like they do in France then sit down.

I open my lunch box.

“Look. It’s sandwich day,” I say. Penelope screeches with joy.

Just then, Ava Cado plops next to Penelope.

“You’re here!” I say, and hand her the orange juice. She doesn’t drink coffee.

She presents three strawberry pop tarts. Yes! Today is going great.

Me, Penelope, and Ava met on the first day of sixth grade. Penelope was drinking coffee nonstop, I was eating a sandwich, and Ava was eating cinnamon pop tarts. We all sat down and Penelope reached over to Ava and said, “Hey. Can I have one?”

Ava shrugged. Penelope asked Ava if she wanted a coffee, but Ava said no thanks.

I asked Ava too. “Sure. As long as I can have a sandwich.”

Pretty soon it came to this.

We all assemble our matching lunchboxes.

Then we dig in.

We’re addicted to food- something every kid at Cyrath Middle School knows.

“I can’t believe we’re going to high school next year,” I say sadly between bites. “What about the Day of Dreams? It must be totally different there.” Sure, we don’t have to wear uniforms, but…

The Day of Dreams was a day where you fulfilled you dreams or shared the dreams you’ve had.

Penelope snaps up. “Hey. Remember last week?” She asks Ava.

“Oh yeah, we had the same dream.”

I roll my eyes. We all had the same dream. It was the thoughts jumping from one brain to another and back.

The bus stops to a halt fifteen minutes in.

I peek out the window.

I see a dead- well, maybe not dead– body lying on the street.

I scream.

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