A Day in the Life of a Dream

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
After a horrible day at school, a teenage boy goes home to find his mother dead. Is this all real? Or is it just a dream.

This is a collaborative story that my friends and I wrote during creative writing. Therefore, you may see it up to four other times on this website.

Submitted: February 20, 2008

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Submitted: February 20, 2008



Sweat began to run down my neck as I started on my fifth lap around the football field. Coach Lewis was making the whole gym class run ten laps since one boy had acted out while we had had a substitute teacher the week before.
“Coach! Can I walk a lap?!” I screamed across the field as I felt my legs start to soften into jelly and my lungs begin to burn like I was standing in the middle of a house fire. Mr. Lewis was usually a nice guy, but for some reason I just couldn't stand him today.
“NO!” he yelled back at me.
I don't know what happened to me. I just flipped out at him and began cussing him out. I immediately began jogging to the office as soon as his face turned beet red and he opened his mouth to tell me to go to the office to see the vice-principal.
Mr. Johnson called Mr. Wallace down to the office to come escort me to his classroom, otherwise known as the ISS room. I was assigned three days of time in the 'dungeon'. It was on my second day that Magan, my girlfriend of two months, was sentenced to the same torture that I was.
School had started two hours before the fight broke out. The young goth girl that shared the lonely room with us had pinned Magan against the brick-wall for something that either Magan or one of her friends had said about her in the past. She reared back her arm and punched my girlfriend square in the nose before throwing her down onto the ground. Blood poured out from behind Magan's ear. Mr. Wallace walked into the classroom and immediately ran back out to call the nurse.
Time flew by. The next thing I knew, I was on my way home. I kept thinking about the argument that I had had with my mother that morning before I stormed out of the house on my way to school. She had overreacted when I told her that I didn't think that my dad would enjoy just getting a pie for his birthday.
I glanced down the road to the lake and remembered the private dock that my grandfather had purchased a few years back. I yelled in through his window that I was going to go for a quick dip in the ice cold water. Papa had probably been in his house for almost a year now. He had turned into a hermit shortly after my grandma had passed on.
I quickly cooled off and began slipping my shirt on over my head as I turned to walk home. My mother was supposed to be baking a pie for my father's birthday. I walked in the door and froze as i smelt burning backed goods. I took the pie out of the over and began yelling in the direction of the living room. I walked up to the recliner and slowly turned it around.
I fell to my knees and began begging God to give my mother a second chance. I didn't mean what I had told her that morning. None of it was true. How could the last thing I said to my mother be that I hated her with all my being and that I never wanted to talk to her again? How could my mom possibly kill herself all because we had fought over what to give my father for his birthday?
It was a few hours later when I sat up in the comfortable hospital bed. The nurse rushed over to me and began checking my vitals. I began to laugh and cry at the same time as I looked to my left and seen my mother asleep in the chair next to my bed. I suddenly started to remember the gruesome car crash that I had been in with my dad a few weeks back. It had all been a dream. Nobody was dead, and the dream was over.

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