Sometimes I don't know why I dream the things I do...
January 13, 2004, 8:20 p.m.

Wow, I just awoke from an awful nightmare. Isn't that weird? I don't usually have nightmares. Luckily, it wasn't that frightening...

At the showing of Oklahoma, this year's big production at my school, I came with one other person to support my friends onstage, in the "orchestra pit," and backstage. However, Sarah abandoned me and I was forced to wander the auditorium.

After wandering for a while, I found myself peeking in the tech room and I was scolded by Jimmie and Laredis while they looked over my shoulder in case mean-ass Ms. Kidd was coming to give her own reprobation. So I sighed and left, once again meandering about the auditorium.

After a few minutes, I got bored and headed outside to see two males arguing with eachother over something petty, and I went over to greet one of them-- one of my close friends, I suppose, though I don't have any idea who he is in reality. I started making conversation with him while we walked back to the auditorium and he complained audibly that the boy behind him was a stupid jackass.

"And," he said, "he can't play football for shit."

Apparently, both of them were on our football team that actually did really well for once. In my dream, of course, not in reality. The football team really sucks in reality.

The long-haired unknown boy got upset and got up in my friend's face, threating to kick his ass.

I stepped between them, thinking aloud how childish football players were. No one in the band would get that upset over a stupid "you suck" comment, I thought to myself, and those get spread about all the time.

I'd been doing a lousy of breaking things up, when Drew came along.

"Something going on?" he asked.

"Yeah, do you mind helping me?" I said.

He nodded and went to the unknown guy and began to talk him down, when the guy punched him in the face. He fell to the ground, but quickly got on his knees to prevent the blood spurting from his brow to land on his clothes. The blood quickly formed a small puddle in front of him, an d I was terrified.

I shreaked and rushed up to him, abandoning the feud building between the two non-existant people. After examining his face, I stood and looked at my hands, his blood smeared all over them.

The dream then jumped ahead to what seemed to be a party in a banquet hall. It seemed to be a magnet function, because most of my friends were there. I was sitting at a table, trying to get my mind off the recent events, but it was of no use. No matter how much I tried to convince myself, a voice in the back of my head nagged at me, telling me Drew's injuries were my fault.

He came walking in the door a few minutes later-- or rather trying to. There was a bandage over his right eye and he was being supported by crutches to keep himself from putting weight on his casted ankle.

He limped over to me, and I pulled out a chair for him to sit down. "What injuries do you have?" I asked him.

"Other than this," he said, pointing to his eye, "a broken ankle."

I felt a sting against my heart as he spoke this, internally berrating myself for causing him harm. "I'm so sorry--"

"Hey, isn't that the kid that hit Drew?" Jimmie said, pointing to a guy entering the room, his long hair pulled back into a pony tail and holding a cigarette in his right hand.

"No, I don't think so..." I started.

"Are you sure? It looks like him."

"It might be."

"I think it is."

"Ok, Jimmie."

"Hey, kid, come here," the pony tailed boy said, motioning to Drew.

Drew stood and hopped over leaving his crutches resting against the table. "Yeah?" I suppose he was expecting an apology of some sort, but he got something else instead.

"I've got something for you," the boy said softly, barely audible over the rumbling voices at the party. He stuck the cigarette back into his mouth. A moment later I saw Drew arch forward, holding his stomach His knees-- or knee, rather-- gave way and he was left gasping for air on the floor.

I stood angrily and walked over to the boy, ready to start swinging -- though I would have definitely lost --when Jimmie found gasoline and poured all over the guys arms and chest. The boy became furious and grabbed my shoulders, trying to smear the flamable liquid onto me. He accidently let the cigarette fall from his mouth and it landed on him, causing him to burst into flames. He let go of me, trying to put his clothes out before he was seriously damaged. The fire quickly spread to me, however, and I rushed out to find water, eventually locating a bathroom and throwing water on my sleeves.

I looked in the mirror in front of me and started bawling again, when I realized that the ends of my hair, which was also back tied back, were aflame. I quickly stuck my head in the sink, and turned the faucet on to high and let my hair soak for a minute.

A few minutes later I returned to the party, my curly hair hanging down my shoulders, wetting the areas that managed to stay dry. I saw Drew sitting in a chair, his breathing back to normal, when several people rushed up to me and asked me if I was all right, then questioned why my hair was wet.

"Caught fire," was all that I could mumble.

Hours later I pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the van, when a blue-grey minie van pulled up quickly in front of me, nearly knocking me off of my feet. Ms. Hosie stepped out of the van, holding a bin of tattered, burned clothing that I recognized to be the boy's.

She looked at my sister Melode. "I will need to question her," she said, trying to find all information she could.

"No problem.," said my mom.

I cleared my throat. "Um, that won't be necessary." Ms. Hosie stared at me, and I woke up.

My, what an awful dream. I don't want to have one like that again.

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