Premonitory Dreams

My least favorite type of dreams are the ones I don't remember. They leave me somehow unsettled, as though my body remembers the dream when my mind can't.

Whenever I have these dreams, the rest of the day is always the same. I go through my morning with this nagging feeling that I forgot something important. The sensation eases on the way to school, but my stomach twists into a ball as I ponder the emptiness my head floats in. The anxiety amplifies with the first bell.

Slowly throughout the day, bits and pieces of the dream come back to me. Unimportant details strike me halfway through an algebra equation, and the characters' faces unblur at lunch as I talk with my friends.

The plot creeps up on me during Spanish 1, and I start to replay the action scenes. I have a full recollection of my dream by the dismissal bell. That's usually when I realize it's nothing to worry about, and I tell my friends about it with an easy smile. 

Today is not the same.

The nagging feeling of forgetfulness doesn't ease. My leg bounces throughout homeroom, and I chew my eraser off during algebra.

During lunch, the faces in my dream remain blurred. I don't follow my friends' conversations; my mind feels foggy. I look around the cafeteria and wonder why I feel like the entire grade took part in my dream.

In Spanish 1, all I manage to remember about the plot was that it scared me out of sleep at 4 AM. 

Kloe taps my shoulder as we pack up for our last period of the day. 

"Tylin, you okay? You've been out of it all day."

My eyes shift blearily to meet her crystal gaze. "Yeah, I'm alright. My dream just left me with a weird feeling..."

"Again?" Kloe frowns. "What was it about this time?"

I shrug. "I can't remember."

RJ brushes past us with a wide grin on his tanned face. "Why worry about it, then?" he asks teasingly, and Kloe swings her backpack at him.

"Be a little more sensitive!" she scolds, and RJ winces, rubbing his toned shoulder with a large hand. 

"You carrying dumbells around or something?" he asks, flinching away as Kloe raises her bag to strike again. 

"Maybe you should!" Kloe says, shaking her sandy curls out of her face. "You know, build up those muscles a bit --"

"You calling me skinny?!"

I tune out their flirting, trying to shake off a sense of deja vu as it settles around me. I reason with the feeling by reminding myself that Kloe and RJ flirt all the time; it's probably just familiar. But the ball in my stomach tightens as we leave Spanish 1 and return to homeroom. 

"Listen up!" Mr. Poiser calls out as we file into the classroom. "Before you get settled, I want to remind you of this afternoon's assembly. Class will be dismissed forty-five minutes early to gather in the auditorium. Understood?"

For some reason, I feel sick to my stomach.

RJ suggests we get ahead on homework, which shocks Kloe into silence, but he can't fool me; I know he's hoping she'll tutor him. He's such a child. I would've rolled my eyes had I not felt on the verge of throwing up. 

I try to focus on my homework, but my mind keeps drifting. Something keeps nagging at me, but it's just beyond reach -- is it my dream? No, it feels more like a gut feeling... but toward what?

I don't realize how much time passes until Mr. Poiser calls the class to attention. Kloe taps my shoulder, and I turn to face her concerned eyes, my shoulders hunching as I glimpse RJ's finished math worksheet.

"You look pale," Kloe whispers over Mr. Poiser's bellowing ("I expect you all to walk in a respectable manner, in two single-file lines! Can you handle that? Or do I need to hold your hand?").

I shrug. My hands feel clammy. "I'm fine."

Kloe doesn't look convinced, but RJ claps me on the back. "That's a relief!" he exclaims. 

Kloe shoots him a dirty look, to which he falters.

"What?" he presses. "If she says she's fine, then she's fine! Right?"

I blink, dumbfounded, and Kloe crosses her arms. "You're hopeless."

She turns on her heel, leading me into one of the two single-file lines, and RJ scrambles after us, ginger hair reminding me of a traffic cone in the cluster of students.

We follow Mr. Poiser down the freshman hallway, down the stairs, through the cafeteria, and into the auditorium. With each step we take, the deja vu strengthens, and a sense of dread seeps over me. I'd always been nervous about big crowds, but never to this extent.

We pass through the doors, and Mr. Poiser leads us to the far left side, where the freshman stand in rows. We settle into the center, and the remaining freshman file in behind us, the sophomores filling the column to our right. 

Once all the students have gathered, Principal Gourdon steps onto the stage and starts to speak into a microphone. After she says the first few words, I stop listening.

Her words, the assembly, Kloe's hand on my shoulder as she stands beside me, the sound of the auditorium doors locking... All of these things stir the memory of my dream.

Except it's not a dream; it's a nightmare.

My heart palpitates. I feel like I'm about to be sick. 

"Kloe, will you come to the bathroom with me?" I ask, and the panicked note to my voice startles Kloe. 

"Let's go," she says urgently, and I make my way down the row of my classmates, accidentally trodding on a few toes in my frantic movements.

When I reach the aisle, my eyes lift to the exit, and I freeze. 

A student is standing in front of the doors. Their hood is pulled up, their backpack at their feet. Their arms are raised, cradling a long object, pressing the butt of it into the crook of their shoulder as they take aim at Principal Gourdon.

A sound like the crack of a firework echoes through the auditorium. Principal Gourdon crumples. Another shot sounds as Mr. Poiser steps into the aisle. He tips backward onto the floor, and the auditorium erupts in screams.

I watch as my nightmare unfolds.