When I was a kid I used to have this recurring dream. It was the middle of the night and I stood in the street between houses filled with light. But this wasn’t a normal neighborhood, there were millions, maybe even billions of houses. Their light felt good, as if I was being covered in a soft blanket of light. About halfway through the dream a great purple light would streak across the sky. With a powerful bang it slammed into the ground, throwing me onto the street. When I got up I would immediately notice that there was one less light than before. 

“A light must have crashed into it, destroying it,” I would think. A second later another light went out, then another, and then another. Soon a great cascade of darkness would overtake the light. I took a step back and would try to run away, but it was never enough. Without fail, I would always be caught by the cold darkness and immediately wake from my dream.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Whenever I tried to talk to my parents about it they always said something along the lines of, “You’re just watching too much T.V.” I realized that I wasn’t going to get answers from them, so I stopped bringing it up anymore. A couple of years later, when my parents died, I stopped having the dream. Actually, I stopped dreaming at all. Maybe it was because of my situation or maybe it was because I had to struggle to survive. However, no matter the reason I wouldn’t see that dream anymore.

Recently, I started having the dream again. I didn’t know how to feel about it at first, but after some time I enjoyed the nostalgia it brang. To a time without the Gifted or the Old City. To a time where I was happy. Yet, escapism wasn’t an option. I had to embrace my reality or tragedy would eat me from the inside.

I woke up from the dream again today. My alarm beeped loudly, waking me from the abyss and alerting me it was 7:00 AM. I groaned and pulled myself out of bed. It was time to go to school.