The Story of a 14-Year Old Madman

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The Story of a 14-year old Madman


Everything was white. Too white. It would be pitch black soon. Anything would be better that darkness, though. I ran the couple past weeks in my head. Up until then, I lived a normal life. Normal life, normal school, normal, well, everything. Besides a single mother, which I guess is pretty normal. It all started about a week ago. When I turned 14. That’s when the dreams started. At first, they showed me small things. A half-second ad in my head would be the best description of what I would see. They were short, and they showed almost meaningless things, such as a flash of the lunch menu for tomorrow, or perhaps a glimpse of the weather (a sun, cloud, rain, ect.) I took no notice of these things. Then, after a week of this, I had a longer dream. This one was about 3 seconds long, and it showed a horrible crash, surrounded in snow, then a flash of a clock.

The next morning, it snowed. This was highly usual, seeing as winter break just ended. Oh well, no school today. I took no notice of the snow until I remembered my dream. I dreamt of snow. And a horrific crash. A red and a blue car locked together in a deadly embrace, blood on the windshield. Something about a clock? The clock said that the time was 8:03 A.M. I looked at the clock in my room. 8:00 A.M. I thought “If I’m right, then…nah, it’s just a coincidence.” My thoughts were interrupted by a loud screech. No, this was impossible. I looked out the door of my house. Sure enough, the exact same crash I saw not 5 minutes ago in my sleep was in front of me. My mom was downstairs instantly, already dressed, and ran outside. I did not understand. How was this possible? Then I remembered all of my other dreams. They were always right. This was impossible, so I did the natural thing. I passed out.

I had a good dream that night. This one was of a puppy. Small, brown, cute, perhaps a bulldog? It was over in a flash. I woke up. Apparently, a day has passed since I passed out. As soon as I woke, I told my mom about the dreams I have had along with the one I just had. She just looked at me strangely, shaking her head, causing me to believe she thought I was crazy. I got up, got dressed, and tried to orient myself when I heard the scratching at the door. Mom looked at me, and froze. I slowly walked to the door, and sure enough, there was a bulldog, brown, at the doorstep. I turned to see mom shaking her head and covering her mouth. His name is Fluffy.

The next week was a mess. Mom locked herself in the study to make phone calls, and then pulled me out of school. The dreams continued, slowly but surely progressing to more serious things. Most of them consisted of horrible things, random acts of violence, an horrible mauling, and the occasional natural disaster, all of which mom forced me to tell her. Every once in a while, something nice would happen. Perhaps the start of a happy marriage, or the birth of a great person. I believed that these were the dreams that helped keep me sane throughout this crazy thing. I realized that now, I was afraid of sleep.

Next week, worse dreams, still think I’m going crazy, but now realize I might be simply unique. Perhaps even special, like a superhero. All of my dreams came true (seen through news or computer.) Mom has been looking at me strangely, almost seemingly trying to avoid my gaze when I look at her, and not speaking to me. I want to just grab her and force her to tell me what’s going on, but I don’t. That night, I had another dream. This one was unusual. It showed large, black buildings, with 3 large red letters on the side. They were C.I.A. I woke up. Then I heard a door break down and I knew what would happen.

The ride there was short; effort to resist was next to none, for I knew what they could do to me. I just went, my mom now standing in the hallway, looking into a briefcase filled with money. I realized that greed knows no boundaries, only the victims it has consumed. When we arrived, the first things they did was have me take a lie detector test. They asked me stupid questions, followed by ones about my family, and finally, my dreams. I spotted the notebook that mom carried when I told her of my dreams. Apparently, they did not believe that I had this gift. Or they were simply afraid of me. Either way, my difference made me an abomination.

Everyone I knew was told I went crazy. No one dared to question them. Why would they? I am now in an asylum for the “mentally dangerous”. I have found out that this place is full of people who are just like me. They are all unique and imprisoned for their abilities, even if they used it to help people (I met a man who could see human body systems if he concentrated on someone. He was caught when he used his ability to save an off-duty agent.) The lights turn off, making the white room turn go dark. As I lay awake, scared to dream, I ask you this. Why are the gifted considered monsters… or madmen?





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kimbo5458 said...
Apr. 27, 2010 at 9:07 am
Great story....I hope to hear more from this author!!!!  Great work, interesting thought process!  I like.
 
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