over me, and everything began to make sense. I patted the hardwood floor
underneath me before I laughed out loud.
I was not in the forest. Reaching up for the switch, I flipped on the overhead
light and looked around my closet. I let out a sigh of relief that I was home.
Trembling as the adrenaline of my night terror began to wear off, I quickly
exited the closet. The sounds of the busy kitchen below comforted me. I
breathed in the sweet cinnamon pancakes and freshly brewed coffee. My home
grounded me.
“It was just a dream,” I told myself.
Pushing away the unsettling dream, I looked around my bedroom.
Unsurprisingly, my little sister's bed was empty. The nine-year-old seemed to have a surplus of energy that, even though I was only seventeen years old, I couldn't keep up some days. Meg was full of ideas and dreams that I had
forgotten many years ago.
Sizzling sounds of bacon and the clatter of dishes being laid on the table jolted me into action. In Gram’s world, there was no sleeping in. Not wanting to
worry her, I quickly dressed.
I glared at the wavy curls that plagued me, and I pulled my long raven hair
into a ponytail. I should just cut it all off. I shuddered at my thought as I remembered the short haircut I gave myself when I was ten. I vowed to never play with scissors again after that day.
My image in the mirror would not please my grandmother. Gram would be
concerned by the dark circles around my eyes, which only enhanced by my pale
white skin. I didn't want to tell her the nightmares – that had been gone for so long – had suddenly returned. However, a full night's sleep seemed like a distant
dream, and it was starting to show.
Quickly dusting my face with powder and lining my hazel eyes with dark
purple, I looked at my reflection again. “Add some dark red lipstick, and you can
look like a vampire from those old books Gram loves,” I said aloud. With a long
sigh, I glossed my lips with cherry lip gloss and then practiced a fake smile.
It was time to join my family.
As I climbed down the ladder of the loft bedroom, I stopped to inspect each
rung. The ladder was aged, and each step had a different name carved on it. On
the sixth rung, I ran my fingers over the letters. Slowly tracing the letters, I tried to remember her. How can I barely recall this person – my mother?
“Today isn't the day to think of the past,” I scolded myself. Feeling frustrated
for even thinking about her, I finished the descent down into the warmth of the
kitchen and my family.
My grandmother's home – my home – was a large spacious house. When you
entered it, you immediately felt a warm, inviting feeling. The colors of the house
were bright and cheery, but not overwhelming.
A half-wall divided the spacious kitchen, where Gram could usually be
found, from the living room. The white walls of the large room contrasted with
its comfortable furniture. The variety of bright colors welcomed you to sit and relax. You could sit on either the purple or lime green overstuffed couches. Both
would wrap you in a big fluffy embrace as you settled into them. If you wanted
to be alone, you could pick one of the overstuffed chairs. Depending on my mood, I could choose to snuggle up on either a yellow, an aqua, or a red one.
The loft bedroom I shared with my sister was nestled above the cozy kitchen
