The Dreamwalker

I woke up feeling slightly more tired than usual. My alarm sounded at six, but I couldn't convince myself to crawl out of bed until quarter-after. I pulled off the blankets, cutting them at a forty-five with my bed, as my mild OCD wouldn't allow anything less. The sun had just begin to seep through the cracks in the closed blinds on the window, leaving lines of light running across the room. I pulled the cord, and they slid to the top of the windowsill, letting in the full amount of light. I then crossed over to my wardrobe, and opened the top drawer. I reached my hand in to grab a pair of grey shorts, but a headache make me freeze. This struck me as strange, because I hardly ever got headaches. It was rare for me to get sick, which the doctors attributed to my advanced immune system. I waited for it to pass, thinking I got up too fast, and this was my punishment.

After standing for a full five minutes, I concluded that it wasn't going anywhere. I continued about my morning routine, but slower than usual. I pulled on a pair of clothes that suited the warm summer day, consisting of the grey shorts, a blue t-shirt, and a pair of short black socks. My shoes would be in the downstairs coat closet, meaning I would worry about them once I was done up here.

When I was dressed, and had my teeth brushed, I looked at myself in the mirror. Staring into my own eyes, I noticed something different. While they were normally an icy-blue, today they almost seemed to take on a deeper shade, like a sapphire. I shrugged it off, assuming that I was just seeing things.

My headache had dampened to a dull throb, but I still couldn't understand why I had it to begin with. Needing to find something to blame, I settled on staying up too late the night before, even though I had been up much later on other days, and woken up fine the next day. I wasn't happy with the excuse, but I would roll with it. If I couldn't explain the illogical, I made something up. That's how my mind has always worked, even if it means some of what I believe is fake. I lived on the philosophy of 'there's a reason for everything.'

I crept down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. The parents were still asleep, and I couldn't deal with being blamed for waking them up today. I was already annoyed by my headache as it was, and that would just send me over the edge.

When asked why I have such a problem with my parents, I tell people to look at the walls in my house. When they inevitably ask me what they're supposed to be looking at, I simply reply with 'nothing.' They would then go on to say something along the lines of 'I don't get it,' To which I would respond with 'there's nothing on the wall. My parents don't care enough to hang a family portrait, or put up any photographs of us together. They don't care about me at all.' That conversation has only happened a few times. To most people, I'm just The Quiet Kid With No Friends. The only people that see anything different are side-antagonists of my life story, who view me as The Kid To Make Fun Of. If I were to suddenly disappear, nobody would even notice, and I'm fine with that.

It was Saturday, and I had nothing to do. Why I wake up at six on the weekends, I truly don't know. Maybe it was having the house to myself for a few hours before the others woke up. Maybe it was getting to watch the sunrise. Whatever it was, I didn't question it, nor did I want to.

By the time the sun had fully crested the low hills on the horizon, I was on my bike. I was old enough to drive, and I had just gotten my license, but I preferred to bike. I didn't know where I would go, but it was a way to pass the time. I let my legs carry me down streets and alleys, along a railway, and up a dirt path. When I finally stopped, I must have ridden for three hours. I sat on the summit of one of the tallest hills in the county, and I could see everything for miles. The view would have been breathtaking, had I not already seen it dozens of times.

Everybody has their own personal retreat. A place where they could go when they need to relax, or they're looking for inspiration. For some people it's a quiet spot by a lake. For other's it's in the middle of a meadow. Mine sat on the brink of the cliff in front of me. Sure, it was a long way out, but it was always worth it.

I kicked my bike stand down, and propped it on a flat rock. I then unslung my drawstring bag from the storage compartment I had built under the seat, and tossed it over my shoulder. I walked to the edge of the drop, and sat with my legs hanging over. I pulled a notebook from the bag, with a pencil tucked in the spirals. I folded it open and took the pencil in my hand. I then began drawing the pencil across the page, wherever my hand wanted to take it.

This was my personal journal. Sometimes I would create intricate sketches in it. Other times I would write stories. It all depended on what my mind felt like jotting down. Today, I drew the view in front of me. I slid my hand across the paper, creating the horizon. I drew the big lake in the distance, the abandoned railroad running around the base of the hill, the hundreds of green trees, the far-off city of York (Though it wasn't a very large city), the quarry that had filled with water, the perfect clouds for a sunny summer day, and a sixteen-year-old boy sitting on the edge of a cliff, writing something down in a spiral notebook on his lap. Something about this boy gave off a sense of loneliness. It was the fact that he was the only person in the picture, and that was no coincidence. Every picture I drew was the same way.

I sat for hours, even after I had finished drawing. Sitting on this ledge was just a way to pass the time. I would stare into the distance for hours, thinking about anything. Eventually, I stood to head back, but my headache came back right at that moment. I stumbled, and nearly went over the edge. At the last minute, I threw myself backwards to avoid falling off the cliff. I got a mouthful of dirt and a bump on my wrist from the tumble, but it was better than the alternative of falling forty feet.

When the migraine subsided, I pulled myself back onto my feet. My wrist felt like it was being crushed in a vice grip, and I had probably sprained it. To make matters worse, it was my right hand, which was the dominant one. This would make riding back interesting, but I would push through it.

The sun had already crested, and was now about halfway finished with it's descent, making it around four o'clock. I could have used my phone to check the time, but that would have involved reaching into my bag, which wouldn't be very easy with only one hand. I had tucked the notebook into the bag before I stood up, which wound up being quite helpful.

I mounted the bike, and began my slow trip down the mountain. I wouldn't normally go this slow, but I was steering with one hand. At this rate, I would be home by sundown. I probably wouldn't even bother eating. I would just go straight to bed.

I rolled down the abandoned railroad, pondering what had spiked me headache again. It almost didn't seem natural. It was like somebody held a controller with a large red button, and every time they pressed it, my head pulsed again. Hopefully it would be gone by tomorrow.

When I finally pulled into the driveway of the two-story suburban craftsman I called home, the sun was gone, leaving only an afterglow in it's place. I punched in the four-digit combo to open the garage door, and slid my bike inside. I propped it against the back wall, and side-stepped around the Twenty-twelve black Focus that I had inherited from my parents (one of the few nice things they ever did for me, and only to get me out of the house more), and the red Two-thousand Gen-four Mustang belonging to the parents in order to reach the interior door. As I stepped through, I hit the garage-door-opener, and shut the heavy white door behind me.

"Where were you, Nate?" My mother asked, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea and working on her laptop.

"Do you care?" I retorted.

Instead of giving a verbal answer, she looked back down at the glowing white screen in front of her, giving me all the answer I needed. My dad must have been sleeping on the couch in the other room, as he was nowhere to be seen. He may have also been at his basement workshop, but I didn't hear a racket below me, leading me to believe it was the first option.

I climbed the staircase to the second floor, and went straight to my room. It wasn't much, but it was mine, which was all I cared about. I had a feeling that it would turn into an office for my mom once I moved out, as they probably didn't want me coming back. I kicked off my shoes here, instead of the downstairs closet, simply because I didn't want to spend any more time downstairs than I had to.

I threw my shirt into the hamper, followed by my socks. I left my shorts on, and clambered into bed. It was only nine-ish, and the sun had just recently stopped casting it's rays onto this side of the hills, but I was ready to sleep. Favoring my right arm, I brought the covers over top of me, and rolled onto my back. I rested my right arm across my stomach, not wanting to risk laying it anywhere else.

Not five minutes had passed, and I was out cold. I didn't quite understand why I was so tired, but I didn't question it. I gave into my body's demand for sleep, and that's exactly what I did.

Starlight Glimmer woke up the same way she did every day. She wiggled her way out of bed, and went to her personal bathroom. She brushed her teeth, wrapping the purple toothbrush in her signature teal magic, and levitating it from the holder. When she finished, she used her hooves to splash water on her face.

After this, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, and something struck her as odd. Her usual sapphire-blue eyes had almost appeared to be a lighter shade than usual- perhaps more of an icy-blue. She assumed that there must have been something off with the lighting today, and that was why they appeared different.

When Starlight made her way to the door of the bedroom that Twilight ha given her, she suffered from a strong headache. It took a full fifteen minutes to pass, but even then it left her head throbbing for another hour or so. Though it was rare for her to have headaches, she had been working hard on a new spell the night prior, and attributed that night's work to her current situation.

When the headache subsided, Starlight was finally able to go about her business as if it were a normal day. What she didn't realize, however, was that today would be anything but normal.