Unreal, chapter one of 'A New Beginning'

Red blinded me and covered my sight; it came from every direction, every angle, and every degree. The heat grew, grew to impossible intensity. It surrounded me. Caged me in a fiery pit of hell, gagged me and held me back. My heart thumped louder, faster than I could ever imagine possible. It raced, wanting to escape, to be free and struggled to stay within the confines of my body. Although the deafening sound of my accelerated heart rang in my ears and of the place I called home of sixteen years creaked and moaned as it fell around me in clouds of dust and debry, there was still a shriek piercing wail that was audible. It cut right through me, which was like taking a rusted, ragged knife and slicing my chest open, puncturing my delicate heart. I struggled to escape from the barriers the cage forced upon me, trying to break free of it, to find a way around the raging walls of red -which grew taller, wider, as I approached them- , and to follow the direction of where the wail had come from, my mother. The thick, heavy fog burned within my body, choking me. I gasped in quick, shallow breaths of panic and fear.

Using all my remaining energy, I kept an endless stream of shrieking pleas and instructions flowing towards my mother’s direction as she howled in agony. She was buried within the toxic clouds of smoke and flames, I couldn’t see her but I could however hear the gut wrenching noises she made. I heard the pain in her voice. She was being tortured, burned alive, and had no way of escape. Tears overfilled my eyes-trickling and spilling over the corners of my wide, chocolate brown eyes- and blurred the redness which filled my vision.
“Mum!” I screamed. “Mum, don’t leave me! Don’t go! Climb out the window! Do something, anything!”
The only responses were that of my mother’s choked off, gargling screams of agony. In the same moment, I saw her face, her expression. Her thin, crimson red lips formed a circular shape of horror. Her once gleaming, sparkly, emerald green eyes were clouded and were staring past me, locked on something that I couldn’t see, which wasn’t there. The magnitude of agony which lay there in the depths of her eyes was beyond my knowledge; there was no way I could have sympathised with what she was going through.
“I love you!” I screeched.
In the very next second after I said those three words, she let out a low moan, her eyes rolled back in to her skull, her head tilted back and her body went suddenly limp and lifeless. 

I shot my eyes open and gasped- at the sudden change of the scene- , staring at the dim lit ceiling of my bedroom. The same tears from the different scene rolled down my cheeks, some settled upon the set of my full, rose lips and others landed on my white, feather pillow, leaving gray spots.  Warily, I glanced around me- still gasping- struggling to locate the chaos I had just witnessed, only a few moments ago. The walls which surrounded me were still a pale lilac, scattered with posters of various sizes, the small, portable television which sat upon a small, wooden, pale desk was where it should be- not a pile of ash and rubble beside my exposed, bare feet. My large, bulky oak desk was neatly pressed up against a wall beside the radiator; it held an assortment of pencils, pens, notebooks, sketchbooks and a 700 paged book of mine- that I recently had been reading- that was placed on the very edge. It all looked as it should be, normal, familiar.  How could that be though? Hadn’t I just experienced hell, something surely no one should ever go through? Had I imagined it all? Was it just a dream, a nightmare? Though I was aware of the imagination, made up scenario, I felt a hunger from deep within that persuaded me of the trueness which linked towards the nightmare. I understood that it could be true. But how? It was just a dream after all. It was something I hadn’t experienced in real life-yet-, but it did seem real. As I pondered the whirlpool of thoughts-which flooded my mind- my shallow, gasps of panic gradually returned back to their natural, even pattern. The same however, could not be said for the tears- which continued to flow effortlessly.

I stared blankly at the shade of the skin that was exposed from the blanket, I’d noticed that the pale grey which had once been present earlier, had turned into the colour that should’ve been, olive. ‘I suppose the sun would make an appearance today then’, I thought. I glanced up the source of the light, the window, and saw a blinding beam of white in the form of a circle shine through the lilac curtains. Ugh. I’d never been much of a fan of sun filled days. Bring on the rain and wind I’ve always said.

“Jess!” a familiar voice echoed.
I gasped, and wondered whether it was wise to respond.
“Do you want to be late?” it accused. “You’re always bothering me on how I’m getting up late!” “Looks like I’m not the only one around here that’s lazy, huh”, she giggled.
I let out a deep huff of a sigh and loosened the hold of my stiff arms which were wrapped around my legs, breaking free of the ball I’d created.
“I’m coming in,” the voice said from behind the pale, wooden door.
“No,” I protested. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen, downstairs,” I croaked.
My voice sounded strange, but I doubted that she could’ve noticed.
“Are you ok darling? You don’t sound too good,” mum stated.
A cool waft blew in as she opened the door-which creaked ever so slightly in the process. She gazed down at the heap under the blanket-my body- and sighed.

She slowly bent her knees and knelt down beside my bed; she reached out and gently pressed the back of her cold hand against my forehead. I shivered slightly at the touch.
“You’ve got a temperature”, she muttered to herself. “I think, it would be best if-”
“No! No, I’m fine. Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’ll go to school”, I interrupted in a hoarse moan.
Her lips curved down slightly-seeming unhappy by my judgement-, concern creased her face, pulling her perfectly shaped thin eyebrows down.
“I’m keeping you here, at home. No more arguing! That’s final! ,” she said sternly.
Usually I would take any opportunity given to me which would result in missing school-sometimes even faking illnesses, but mum could always tell when I lied to her-today however was completely different. I wanted, needed to leave the horrifying dream behind me and to never cross paths with it ever again. I found that if I dwelled on certain, unexplainable incidents which occurred, then it would only play on my nerves. I’d never quite had a dream like that, which was so, so clear. Only once I had a brief dream of something unimportant, such as weather e.g. snow, but to have to see the dream to become a reality a week later or a month later even, was just not right. It was like déjà vu, reliving it. I’d always seen myself as weird, an outsider that was different from others. They’d never understood me.  Without a doubt, I knew there was only one thing I could possibly do. It meant burying the dream deep within the back of my mind, to avoid any similarities which related to it in any form-well apart from avoiding my mother, which seemed an almost impossible thing for me to do considering I shared a house with her.

Only a few seconds had passed during the time I got lost within the depths of my own thoughts. I lifted my head up from my pillow and looked at her face. I shifted my gaze to her button, emerald eyes-which were intently locked on my face, a hint of a smile was playing on her lips, pulling them up at the slightest degree-and bored my suddenly intense eyes into hers, holding them there.
“Please,” I pleaded in a calm-hoarse free-voice.
I held our eyes locked on each other’s for a few brief moments and looked away.
“O-okay?” she stuttered confused.
Another thing I couldn’t quite explain. I could do that to any person, and it would strangely have the same effect as it did with my mother. I would simply have to look them in the eyes-which would somehow stay secure, lost in mine, unable to break the hold, all the while a blank, mindless expression would play on their face-, and state what I desired to them in a clear, calm voice and they would become mouldable clay that I could shape and form to my liking. There were however, some flaws to the process. It only worked for roughly a minute and then they would become aware of reality, breaking the hold my eyes had upon theirs; they became disorientated and confused as to what had passed. So that meant I had to keep the pleas short in order for them to work. They also needed to be in my line of sight, and able to see my eyes. It didn’t really work with younger children, I understood that they tend to become distracted quite easily and can never keep still long enough. And well I never really bothered testing it out with animals as I doubted that they’d ever be able to understand what it was exactly I was saying. I rarely used my strange ability, as there was nothing I really needed so desperately as to go to such lengths to get it. I was content on pretty much everything I had. Surely if it was something I did regularly someone would notice something, they would notice how odd I was and I didn’t need that kind of attention pointed at me. I already knew I was a freak; I didn’t need some other person to clarify that.  I couldn’t understand how and why it worked so effectively.

Once again, lost in the hurricane of my thoughts, I was only vaguely aware of my mother’s mumbling questions which were directed at me.
“wh-what. Wh. Why. What just happened? Everything just went black.”
I simply just shrugged, unable to give an answer.
“Huh, well I guess I could’ve imagined it then. Huh. That was weird”, she muttered to herself in a barely audible whisper.
She didn’t like that then. I won’t do it again, if it meant her being frightened. “See you in the kitchen”, she mumbled as she got up and backed out of my room, closing the door behind her.

I listened to my mother’s fading footsteps- and low mumbles- as she descended down the winding, creaky stairs- it helped to calm myself, it prevented the inevitable panic attack. I closed my eyes- still under the blanket on top of my single bed- and took three long, calming deep breaths to steady myself. As I reopened my eyes, I glanced at the large circular clock- that was pinned up against the wall opposite my bed-and registered the time-8:20am. I shot out of bed and frantically searched around my tiny room to find my school satchel bag-which I’d packed the night previous.
“Oh great!” I mumbled sarcastically.
School started at 8:30am and I had yet to have a shower and get dressed.
“No, there’s no time for a shower,” I told myself, glancing at the clock once more.
My brain was still in a muddled mess from earlier and I had yet to recover. Not bothered about creating a mess, I flung the doors of my wardrobe open, pulled every draw out and searched for my white blouse, short green tie, black fitted jumper and black trousers-which resembled my school uniform. Unable to find my trousers, I sprinted down the stairs, along the corridor-tripping over a few times-and headed towards the living room. There I found a large, navy basket filled to the rim with folded, dark clothes.
As I threw the clothes out on the carpeted, green floor, mum came in the room and complained, “Jess! Don’t make such a mess! I folded them yesterday! You’ll crease them!”
“I haven’t got time to tidy up mum! I’m late! I’ll sort it out when I get home from school.”
She shook her head and walked out. Trousers in hand, I raced back through the corridor and up the stairs. I yanked them on and picked up a pair of socks which lay on the floor beside the dismantled drawers of my wardrobe. I pulled the drawer of my desk open, rummaged around and found the item I desired. I forced the hairbrush through my brittle, dark brown hair-cursing under my breath when encountering a particularly stubborn knot. Approaching the long, thin mirror- attached to the door of my wardrobe- I glanced quickly at my reflection, checking my eyes in particular. I sighed in relief when I noticed that my eyes had returned back to normal, well almost. The strange intensity from earlier had almost entirely disappeared, there was however an unmistakable, deep sadness locked within them.

I shook my head slowly-as if to shake the thoughts away. I shifted my eyes away from the mirror and shuffled-in my accident prone, untidy room-towards where my bag lay on the floor under a pile of clothes.
“Hurry up,” my mum called from the bottom of the stairs.
I picked up my bag-almost tripping over a drawer which still lay on the floor-jerked the door open and sprang downstairs-forgetting to close the door behind me.
Mum was waiting in the corridor dangling a pair of black dolly shoes on the tip of her fingers, “Don’t forget these”, she reminded me.
“Right,” I said as I took them off her.
Still standing, I balanced on one leg to shove one of the shoes on-I swayed, grabbed my mum’s arm for support, only to take her down with me. During the time I descended-with mum linked to my arm-, I managed to clash with the radiator, hitting my head in the procedure.  We landed with a heavy thud and became a tangled muddle.
“Ouch,” my mum and I muttered at the same time.
“Oops!” I said.
Ugh, why did I have to be so clumsy all the time? It was such a nuisance. We untangled our legs; I sprang to my feet and offered my hand for assistance. She took my hand willingly and I heaved as she gradually and stiffly rose-all the while giggling. I rolled my eyes at her giddiness-wasn’t that something I was supposed to do?  When she was finally at her feet, she took her hands away-I however was not aware of the help she no longer needed and continued to lean backwards-I once again fell. Luckily I managed to land with my hands reached out behind me instinctively, preventing me from falling flat on my back.
“Ugh”, I moaned.
It was then her turn to reach out her hand. I was okay though, so I shook my head at her. “I’ll wait in the car,” she’d told me as she strolled towards the kitchen door-that led to where the car was parked, directly opposite our house. I rose quickly to my feet, picked my bag up from the floor and almost jogged to the kitchen. I heard the sound of a car starting not far away in the background. I opened the kitchen door and hesitated with one foot outside-house keys in hand, ready to lock the door behind me- and whipped my head around to look up at the silver, chunky clock which was hung up on one of the pale yellow coloured walls. The time read 8:35am. I turned my head back around, jumped out of the door and shut it behind me. Silver key in my right hand, I placed it in the lock, giving a sharp twist of my wrist.

I glanced over to where the red Renault car was with mum in it waving and beeping the horn impatiently.  I sighed and rolled my eyes. I hurdled myself down the steep narrow drive which led up to the car-with the bag thumping against my right side. As I approached the car, the engine revved-which very much reminded me of a drag race. I flung the passenger door open and climbed in, closing it after me.
“Have you got your books?”
“Yes,” I said as I glared out the windscreen window-which was covered in the remains of dead, splattered bugs.
“Do you have your umbrella?”
“I don’t need one. Haven’t you noticed the heat?” I said, pointing at the radio on the dashboard-in the corner of the screen of the radio there was a display reading 19’C.
“Okay, Okay. No need for the attitude. Just saying that you never know when there may be a shower.”
“Uhuh.” 

I then glanced at the face of my mother. Suddenly a flash of the dream came back to me, hitting me with full force. I saw the face from the nightmare return. Her mouth hung open; her eyes were wide and rolling with pain. I gasped at the reminder. Quickly, I took my eyes away from her, turned on the radio and looked out the window trying to force back the tears which were beginning to form. In the corner of my eye I saw my mother look at me briefly, worry creasing her face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Unable to look at her again and unable to trust my voice, I shook my head and turned the volume of the radio up-not wanting to meet anymore of her probing questions-trying to make it look like my favourite song had appeared. I heard her sigh and she shook her head slightly-as if to shake away unwanted thoughts. That meant that I had to avoid looking at her now. I would try to be subtle about it, but she could still probably notice.

Trying to get rid of the thoughts, I continued to stare out the window thinking only of nice things, things to look forward to. Mark, my 25 year old brother was due for a visit soon with his wife; Lucy. She had blonde dyed hair in the style of a bob. She had large green eyes, thin golden eyebrows and a lovely smile. She was of a slight build; I liked her a lot, as she was always a cheerful, happy person to be around with. Mark had dark brown, shoulder length, wavy hair, apparently his appearance matched to that of a pirate-which always made me laugh. His eyes were the same chocolate brown as mine were, he was of a slight build and he was always joking around with others. During the time I grew up with him, he always used to trick me into believing things that were obviously not true. Such as the time when he’d told me the vacuumed cleaner would eat me, and the time he told that if you pressed the button on the handbrake, then the car would explode. It all terrified me when I was younger, and it took a lot of persuasion from my mum telling me that it was all not true. I held a grudge against him for that for about three weeks, but I couldn’t keep it up, I admired him too much. I missed him a great deal when he wasn’t around, the house felt empty, especially since the three house members- Stephen, my father, Thomas my other brother and Mark- I had grown up with had departed.

Me and my brother were very close to each other, I had another brother, Thomas, but I felt I understood Mark more. Thomas wasn’t always easy to understand. He had short, dark brown hair, small chocolate brown eyes, and a wide mouth of a grin. He was a medium build. Stephen, my father had moved out when I was a young age as him and my mother felt they had to go their separate ways. I still visited him every now and again though.  So when I was roughly around the age of five or six, my parents split up-I wasn’t really fully aware of it at the time, all I knew was that my dad was around a lot less than he used to be and I got more treats from my father than I had previously. I always felt that my dad was unlike any other fathers. He was a cool dad in my eyes. He loved rock music-even when he turned fifty years of age. His eyes were chocolate brown-which meant me, Thomas and Mark had inherited our eye colour from him. He had a long nose, thick black eyebrows and grey hair-which touched the tops of his ears. He had a small, thick, metallic loop earring which dangled from his left ear and had plenty of tattoos which spiralled up both arms-there was a tarantula, a scorpion and a snake. He’d often told me stories involving the tattoos, making them into characters. He was quite slim and always wore clothes that were slightly oversized for him-most of the time he would wear a pair of jeans, a top of some sort and a denim or leather jacket.
“We’re here,” my mum told me, interrupting the flow of my thoughts.