Short Story

Disaster Day

They started five days ago. The dreams I mean. And they stopped me on my tracks and made me think... Believe me, they’re awful. Shadowy sullen faces, shapes colliding in crowded corridors, bells clanging like my alarm clock trying to shake the spider of it, only worse. Some members of my family think I should see a therapist, but of course I keep my nightmares to myself. I can just imagine the scene in his office and it isn’t attractive.
‘Well, Elena...’ the therapist would say in his pastiest, whitest, I am only here to help voice, ‘what seems to be the problem? How can I assist you?’
At this point, if I don’t puke, which unfortunately happens when I’m mega stressed, I might say something like this:
‘Ummm I’ve been having bad dreams...nightmares actually...about going back to school this year. You know...starting at a new school...with new students...I just keep having these dreams...’
Here I would give my sickly sweet ‘I am really not an insane hypochondriac’ smile and look trustingly into his eyes. I can already see the notes on his script pad.
Yeah...right! Like am going to let that happen! As if I’m going to spill my fluctuating stomach contents onto some therapist’s couch so his ‘perfectly ‘ perfect daughter (who naturally attends my school) can find out and turn me into a freak with the other kids! That would be a great way to start a new school year. Not!!!
So I’m on my own with this one. That’s okay though. Every year it’s pretty much the same and that’s the annoying part. Of course, I don’t change schools every year. But the way my life has been lately a new school seems to sneak insidiously into the Christmas plans every three years or so. It would be easier if I had some control over these decisions, but I am just a pawn...a small player in the game of people much wise and older than me. (I tell myself this as a comfort, to increase or even gain some self-confidence, but I truthfully I think the whole thing stinks.)
The beginning...