4

      There was silence between the two of us. Jack’s smile fell. “Everything alright?”

      “Yeah, just – I’m not really supposed to talk to strangers.” Oh, now the truth comes out. Great job, Sam.

      Jack leaned back on the bench with a wry half-smile on his lips. “How old are you, Sam? Twelve? Thirteen?”

      “Fourteen.”

      “Aha. So, wouldn’t you say that you’re, I dunno… old enough to be talkin’ to strangers?” When I didn’t respond, Jack squinted his eyes. “Never crossed your mind, did it?”

      It hadn’t, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I looked down, crossing my arms. “I better go.” I turned back down the path, but before I’d taken a few steps I stopped in my tracks as if something were in my way. I turned back to look at Jack; he still had a smile on his face, but the way he was looking at me… it reminded me of a kid named Lenny in my science class. It wasn’t a secret that he found chemistry fascinating, but he was just so eager to learn that he always had this curious and amazed look on his face. That’s how Jack looked to me now – curious and amazed.

      “What?” I asked him. This time, he was the one that didn’t respond aside from shaking his head and whispering to the bird on his shoulder. I took a step towards him, crossing my arms again. “What?” I asked again. This time Jack looked up, right eye twitching.

      “Why are you here, Sam? Something you want? Something I could help you with?”

      Weird question. “No.”

      Jack laughed and shook his head again. “Right.”

      “I don’t. Want anything, that is.”

      Jack glanced back at me and his grin faded. “Everyone wants something, Sam. Money, for the most part. Power’s also a runner-up. Others want to find love… others simply want to act out on hate.” He leaned forward, an unreadable expression on his face. “I ask you again, Sam – is there something I can help you with?”

      I bit my lip. “No.”

      A confused look crossed Jack’s face for a split second and then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. I thought maybe I’d imagined it. Jack smiled at me, raising an eyebrow. “Interesting… That’s very interesting.”

3.5

      “Pretty sight, no?”

      I jumped at the question and spun around. There sat a man, legs crossed and reading an old, leather-bound book. He hadn’t looked up from it, but I could tell from the way his body seemed pointed at me that his full attention was on me. No doubt he was expecting me to answer, but my mother’s words echoed in my head: Never talk to strangers. There are bad people out there, Sam, people that want to hurt you, but you’ll be safe if you don’t talk to them. I was old enough to know that sometimes that wasn’t true, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

      After a moment, the man’s eyes slid up from the book and rested on me. He snapped the book shut and set it next to him, then leaned forward as if he were examining me. I hadn’t noticed it before, but I now saw a bird resting on his left shoulder, which also seemed to be staring at me. I felt uncomfortable and awkward, but I also felt… curious. For one, the man didn’t seem very threatening; he wore clothes that reminded me of a play my school had put on a year ago, where it’d been set in the ‘20s and the poor men had worn corduroy pants with suspenders and grimy cotton shirts, though this man had an immaculate quality to his clothing.

      The man tipped his hat to me and smiled. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

      My tongue caught in my throat. I knew I should say something, but nothing was coming out. I must look like an idiot!

      The man tilted his head as if he were curious. “Everything okay, kid?”

      “I – I…” If I kept on blabbering like that, then I would look like an idiot. I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m fine. I was just surprised by… by your bird.” Great excuse, moron.

      The man – well, on closer examination I couldn’t really call him a man; he must have been closer to his twenties now that I thought about it – looked at the bird perched on his shoulder and frowned. “Oh, this guy? Eh, he’s not mine. He just likes following me around s’all.” He looked back to me and smiled. “Got a name, or should I keep calling you kid?”

      Normally, I would have hesitated and cooked up some other name, but I felt a sort of pull at my heart. Something… compelled me to tell the truth. “I’m Sam. Or – or Samuel, if you like.”

      The young man’s smile grew. “Sam… Pleasure to meet you, Sam. My name’s Jack.”

3

      Now the only question was where I was going. I had no intention on going to Robbie’s – I couldn’t even remember where his house was, even though his stop was right before mine. I didn’t have anyone else I could go to, and when I thought about it, all of the places I wanted to go to were too far away from my house or would take too much time to get to that, by the time I’d gotten there, I’d have to walk back.

      Could go to the park, I thought. It was a place I’d become familiar with in the past year; whenever I had a good excuse, I’d go there and explore. Granted, it wasn’t a big park, but it was just big enough that it had its odd little nooks and crannies. One time, I’d found an old shed tucked away in a corner of the park with all sorts of things in it; balls, little plastic army men, dolls, you name it. I’d even found a brand new baseball bat and considered taking it home, but that would have had my mom asking where I’d gotten it. I hadn’t been able to keep it, but whenever I got the chance I’d used it to ‘refine my hitting skills’, or so I told myself.

      But one day I’d come to the park and the shed simply wasn’t there anymore, with everything inside it gone. I found the small plot of land it’d stood on as it was mostly just dirt with some trash scattered about, but other than that there’d been no trace of the shed. I figured someone else had found it and decided it should be destroyed, though I couldn’t fathom why. Since then, though, I’d been too discouraged to return to the park.

      Well, now was as good a time as any to go back.

      Thankfully, it was a short walk as the park was pretty close to my house. I’d have to keep track of how long I was in there, though, since Mom wanted me back after a little while – and I really didn’t want her calling Robbie’s place and finding out I hadn’t been there. I didn’t know if she had the number, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

      I strode through the front gate and started whistling, feeling like I was in some movie or something. The path I was on would take me close to the playground and then would loop around the lake and meet at an old memorial. I wasn’t interested in the playground too much, but my mind compelled me to start towards the lake.

      A feeling in the pit of my stomach urged me on, and as I came around a small bend the lake jumped into my view. A sense of dread came over me as my eyes lay upon it, and I had the good sense as to why. The lake was frozen over, and my gut told me that this was where I kept drowning in my dream.

      As long as I don’t walk out on the ice, I’ll be fine. But for some reason I found myself doubting that.

2.5

      She merely nodded, giving me a reason to walk away. As soon as I had, though, she stopped me again. “Sam – that boy, Robbie. He’s a good kid, right?”

      I thought about it for a moment. “I guess. He’s – he’s alright. I don’t hang out with him much.” Truth was, I didn’t have much of a problem with Robbie. He just did things that irritated me, like the thing with Jamie. Sometimes I surprised myself at how much I could be angry at someone one moment and then not care about them the next.

      “He said if you wanted to play you could go over to his house. Maybe it’d do you some good to get out of the house for a little while.”

      I could have laughed at the not-so-subtle way Mom was saying I should get out of the house so I could be someone else’s problem for an hour or two. I bit my lip instead, saying “Actually, I was just going to read for a little while.”

      “Oh. Okay.” That was all. No “Have fun!” or “What are you reading?” Whatever.

      I practically sprinted back to my room before she could say something else. I dumped my backpack on top of some clothes that were strewn around my bed. I then plopped down on my blanket and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. I had some stuff I had to read for school, that was true, but I could always read them tomorrow or Sunday. For now, I just wanted to rest.

      It seemed like I was tired a lot of the time, but it wasn’t the sleepy-kind of tired. Most days were just pure exhaustion, where I just wanted to lay down because of some invisible weight on my shoulders. At night was the worst part, though; not only could I not sleep – my mind would race, digging up everything it could to make me feel embarrassed. And lately, when my eyes had finally managed to shut, my mind would continue to haunt me through visions of drowning.

      Every moment of my life is designed to torment me.

      I sat up and leaned against the wall, my eyes resting on the clock on my desk. I felt a fleeting feeling of – Irritation? Gloom? Both? – as I realized that the ‘hours’ I’d spent laying down had been, in reality, only twenty minutes.
 

      It took me a moment, but I finally found the motivation to drag myself out of bed. I looked out the window to find a winter wonderland outside; snow was coming down softly, and it was already covering the ground. My kind of weather.

      I hadn’t noticed I hadn’t taken anything off when I walked in. Convenient for me, I suppose. I walked out and was headed towards the front door. My hand was on the handle when I froze, remembering Mom was still in the kitchen. “Hey,” I called, “I think I’ll go to Robbie’s after all. I’ll be home in a while.”

      No answer for a moment. Then (was that a sigh of relief I heard?), “Okay. Remember to pack for your Dad’s tonight. He has you this weekend.”

      Crap. I’d forgotten about that. “Okay. I’ll be home a little earlier, then!”

      When I was satisfied that she’d returned to her apathetic mood, I opened the door and trudged out into the front yard. One reason I liked this time of year was the quiet atmosphere; during every other season, I could hear the neighbors and whatever they were up to, and usually it was stupid stuff like fights, partying, and annoying dogs that barked at every little thing. In winter, though, all of that was covered up. The quiet lay claim to everything in winter.

2

      Mom was in the kitchen when I walked in. When she wasn’t at work, she would usually be in there or crying in her bedroom. She probably thought I couldn’t hear her, but since the house was silent nowadays, a single gasp or shudder of breath clued me in on her mood. Right now, she was slumped in a chair with dull eyes focused on numerous papers spread over the dining table. She was sniffling when I’d opened the door, but any sign of her crying must have been wiped away when I’d walked through the door. I think she knew I didn’t like to see her like that – truth be told, I would have done something to make her feel better, but nothing ever came to mind.

      She looked up as I came in and she smiled, but it was one that never met her eyes. “How was your day, honey?” she asked me in a bland tone. This was our routine each day – I’d walk in, she’d ask me how my day was, we’d make some small talk, and then she’d leave me alone. That was fine with me; I liked being alone. Best to play my part in things.

      “Fine,” I replied.

      “Just fine?” Mom asked, but her gaze had dropped back to the papers.

      “Yeah.” I could have said anything and I doubt she would have responded. It wasn’t like her nowadays. Then again, I led an exceptionally boring life, so I never had anything to talk about anyway.

      I was in the living room when I heard her call me back in. My hands clenched and my chest tightened for a moment as I wanted to snap back with “What is it?” but I kept my cool. I poked my head in and looked at her back. “What?”

      “Your friend came over a little while ago, asking about you.”

      I don’t have any friends. After a moment I grimaced. “Robbie?” I already knew the answer before she nodded her head. I bit my lip. “What’d he want?”

      “He asked if you were home yet. He told me you didn’t take the bus today.” She turned in her chair to look at me. “Did something happen at school?”

      “No.”

      “Then why didn’t you take the bus home?”

      “I just wanted some fresh air.” Uh-oh. I’d tried to hide my annoyance with her, but a little of it had slipped through. Her eyes hardened and she turned the rest of her body to face me.

      “Don’t talk to me like that, Samuel. I’m your mother and I deserve a little respect!”

      “Fine, okay. Sorry, Mom,” I mumbled, hoping that’d be enough to quell her temper. And I was right – her gaze softened and she looked away. I think she’d even started to tear up, but I couldn’t tell from where I was standing.

      “I just – I worry about you. About something happening to you, honey. If a stranger were to pick you up or something, I…” she trailed off, but I knew what she meant. She’d given me this kind of speech before, had used it on multiple occasions as a justification as to why I couldn’t go to some places around town.

      “Nothing’ll happen to me, Mom. Promise.”

1.5

     I wasn’t even five seconds out the door when I heard the dreaded calling of my name. I spun around to face him, trying to think of a neutral reply to whatever Robbie was about to say. As always, he had a shit-eating grin on his face and fiddling with a loose string from his orange toboggan.

     “So? What’d you write about, eh?”

     I shook my head. “Nothing, Robbie. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

     Robbie’s grin widened. “Bet you dream about Jamie, yeah?” When I blushed, he took that as a yes and started hooting. “I’ll hook you up, don’t worry,” he promised. Before I could stop him, Robbie had already pressed on ahead. I looked around me to make sure nobody had witnessed that little exchange. A group of people to my left started to laugh and my heart skipped a beat as I thought they must have heard what Robbie had said and found it just so hilarious, but they continued to walk down the hallway without casting a glance in my direction.

     I kept my eyes on the ground as I walked forward. My mind started to trail off as I thought about my recurring dream. I’d gone to the school’s library and checked out a few books about interpreting dreams, but nothing substantial could be gained from them. I’d also gone to the local library, but the books there used a lot of words I didn’t understand and most of the authors couldn’t even agree on what a dream was. Some would say that it was just the mind trying to make sense of the day’s activities, while others would say how it was relative to the mind’s current state and that more alarming ones were the cause of stress and damage to the mind. Then there were the oddballs who thought dreams came from alternate dimensions, or magic, or were prophecies from God – stuff I had never really believed in, anyway.

     After finding nothing solid on the subject, I just arrived at the conclusion that nobody could really understand dreams and left it at that. That didn’t solve my dilemma of why I kept dying under the ice, though.

     I was pulled from my thoughts when I noticed Robbie standing next to Jamie, a pretty blond girl with a pink ribbon holding her hair back in a ponytail. They both turned in my direction and Robbie waved. My cheeks felt like they were on fire as I dipped into another hallway. Going this way would make me late for the buses, but fortunately I lived only a few blocks from here. I’d rather be late than have to face those two on the bus.

     At least it was Friday.

1

     I’d had dreams of dying for the past week.

     It was always the same dream: I was trapped underneath the ice, frantically searching for a way out. I’d grow desperate and bang on the ice, but to no avail – by the end of the dream, I would be swallowed up by the murky depths.

     I looked at my English teacher’s writing prompt again.

     Write about a dream you’ve had in the past week.

     Something told me that relating that dream might cause a few heads to turn, especially for someone my age. Robbie had told me that the school had very little tolerance for any ‘unstable’ kids. “People with a few screws loose, y’know? They send ‘em to the, ah, ‘special’ classes.”

     That was one reason why I kept most of my problems to myself. Even though Robbie was notorious for making up stories, there was a semblance of truth to most of what he said. I’d heard of another kid who’d gone to the school’s guidance department and supposedly told them he’d planned on killing himself. The story was that the guidance counselors had called the police and made a big deal, and they’d had the kids parents called in and everything. But that had happened way before I’d arrived at Fulmer Middle School, and the kids who’d told me the story hadn’t even been around then.

     Still, it wasn’t worth the risk. I already knew what my parents would say in that kind of situation.

     I glanced up at the clock. Five minutes left before the end of the day, and I still hadn’t written anything yet. I found it was becoming harder and harder to concentrate; maybe it was Christmas Break looming just a few days away. Everyone else seemed to give off that kind of relaxed, easy-going vibe that was always felt towards the end of a semester. I thought it was a little unfair that every other teacher let us watch a movie while Ms. McCreary had us doing busy work like writing prompts.

     I looked up at the clock again. One minute.

     Well, I’ve got to put something. Come on, Sam, think.

     But nothing came to me. There was no story I could make up, nothing that came to mind that’d be considerably dream-like. I’d feel guilty about lying, anyway. I couldn’t tell the truth, though – if any of my classmates saw it, especially Robbie, I’d never hear the end of it.

     I scrawled in three words as the bell started to ring: I don’t dream. It was still a lie, but it was better than turning in a blank page. Most people had already turned their paper in and were headed out the door as I placed mine on Ms. McCreary’s desk. I hurriedly scurried out the door before she could take a look at it and keep me after to talk about ‘poor performance’ or something like that.