DreamWeaver

By
I’m Jonathan. I’m sure of that. It’s one of the few things I really am sure of. I’ve been having dreams lately…but they’re all the same. I’m always running though hordes of people like I’ll die if I don’t get somewhere. The shop signs are even the same. I don’t know what this whole thing means, and I just hope some weird guys don’t come up to my doorstep and tell me I have some weird, unheard power.

It was Sunday, and my parents were watching the SeaHawks game on TV. The whole room was decorated with blue, teal, and silver, to commemorate SuperBowl ’09. A few family friends had come over, and when I say a few, I mean more than enough to fit on the couches, chairs, coffee table, floor, and anything else that was able to hold a person. I would’ve had trouble moving around, but I wasn’t in there. I was in my room playing some Halo online with my friends. I had just sniped someone in the head when the doorbell rang.
The annoying ring let out a hidden urgency, being communicated from the people on the doorstep to the people inside the house. I opened the door quickly, assuming they were some late guests. Instead I found two burly men. They were dressed in suits, perfectly tailored to their toned bodies. One was bald and black, his head buffed so it shined brighter than my dad’s Mazda MX-7, like it was his pride and glory. The other was white with dark brown hair and a sporty cut, which was practically drooling from the extreme amount of gel in it. His outstretched hand held a leather wallet and a gold shield, intricately engraved with the words "Special Agent Jones, CIA."

"Are you Mr. Jonathan Barr?" He inquired, hoping there would be no delay in his and our business. I was reluctant to reply, afraid they would take me away from my family and friends for some kind of testing, if those dreams did mean something.

I replied with a monotone and concise "Yes." They looked satisfied for only a second, then explained that they would be keeping me under close watch. Not once did they mention the dreams, so I felt relieved. The stress I was under was replaced by even more, because the two men never mentioned the reason for my surveillance.

So now I was even more worried, for there was still a possibility that the dreams meant something, which was even worse. On top of that, I would have to watch myself and the people around me. If I told my friends, they would all abandon me. If I told my parents they would keep me at home all the time and I would never be able to see anyone. So I decided to keep it to myself.

I closed the door gently, keeping from slamming it in their "plastic surgeon" faces. I made sure to whisper a very faint thank you as the door clicked closed. I went up back up to my room and couldn’t even get one more kill.

The next week went by as if nothing had happened to me. My friends were the same and I didn’t notice any different people around me. Me and my friends went downtown on Saturday and hung out for a while. When we went to get some Chinese for lunch, I noticed the black guy from Sunday in some street clothes. Some nice Nike Shox, sunglasses, and a pair of American Eagle Jeans. To top it all off was a trendy shirt from some company I hadn’t heard of.

I could feel his gaze fall on me the moment I walked in. I stayed calm and ate with my friends. When we left the restaurant, he followed and went to an outlet mall across the street. Me and my friends decided to part there. With no one to keep me away from Mr. Sunglasses, I started to run with the intent to lose him. As soon as I bolted away, Sunglasses man ran after. Maybe this guy was Usain Bolt, ‘cause he was fast. I saw some people that looked familiar. Then it hit me. This scene was the same that was in my dreams. So technically I could tell the future. Or it was a coincidence, which was not at all possible. Not. At. All.

I dived through some open doors and was fortunate enough to lose him. I acted like I was shopping in the little trinket store for a while, then headed home with a fun Valentine’s trinket for a random girl at school. When I got there, I went to bed.

From then on, I never saw Mr. Sporty Cut Jones or Mr. Sunglasses. I continued to use my newfound talent throughout my life, sometimes predicting a bad event. As I got older, the dreams frequency decreased. In my opinion, it was a good thing. But I’m not sure. And I don’t want to think about it anymore.





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