Everything was white. Too white. It would be pitch black soon. How was this happening? I ran through the past couple of weeks in my head. Up until then, I lived a normal life. Normal home, normal school, normal well...everything. Besides the fact that my mom was a single mother, my life was pretty normal. But all that changed about a week ago when I turned 14. That’s when the dreams started. At first they were just flashes of meaningless things, like the school lunch menu, or perhaps a glimpse of the weather; a sun, cloud, rain, etc., so I paid them no particular attention. But then, about a week later, I had a longer dream. This one showed a horrible car crash, surrounded in a blanket of bright white snow. Finally, a flash of a clock.


The next morning, I woke up to discover it had snowed. This was highly unusual, seeing as it was the middle of spring in Texas. I decided to walk downstairs and grab some breakfast. I was really happy to stay home from school and take advantage of a snow day. But then I remembered my dream. I dreamt of snow. And a horrific crash. A red and a blue car locked together in a deadly embrace, blood on the windshield. Something about a clock? I remember that it read 8:01 A.M. I looked at the kitchen clock. 8:00 A.M. “If I’m right, then…” My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of squealing tires and a clashing of metal on metal. No, this was impossible. I ran through the foyer and looked out the front door of my house. Sure enough, the exact same crash I saw in my sleep not 5 minutes was right in front of me. My mom flew down the stairs and ran past me, already dressed. I did not understand. How was this possible? My dream was right. Realizing what had happened, I did what anybody would do.... I passed out.


The cold hard floor of the foyer brought me a happier dream. This one was about a puppy. Small, brown, cute, perhaps a bulldog? But it was over in a flash. I woke up. Apparently, it had been a few hours since I passed out. I quickly told my mom about all the dreams; the insignificant ones, the one about the crash, and the puppy. She just looked at me strangely, shaking her head. She thought I was crazy. Under the circumstances, I didnt blame her. I was beginning to think the same thing. I got up, got dressed, and tried to orient myself when I heard a scratching at the door. My mom looked at me questioningly. I slowly walked to the door, and looked down. Sure enough, there was a little brown bulldog looking up at me from the doorstep. I turned to see mom shaking her head and covering her mouth. I named him Fluffy.


The next week was a mess. My mom was clearly worried...she locked herself in the study to make phone calls, and then pulled me out of school. The dreams continued, slowly but surely progressing to more serious things. Some told me of death, others of hate, all of which mom forced me to tell her as she wrote in a notebook. I became afraid of sleep. But every once in a while, I would have a good dream. Perhaps about a long and happy marriage, or the birth of someone great. Looking back, I realize that those dreams helped me stay sane. But not for long.


In the following weeks, I had the same kind of dreams. I monitored the news on TV and online. Sure enough, my dreams foretold of many events; both good and bad. I started to think I might not be crazy after all...maybe I was just unique. But my mom was still looking at me strangely, seemingly trying to avoid my gaze. She looked away when I tried to look at her, and she wasnt really speaking to me. I wanted to grab her and force her to tell me what was going on, but I didn't. One night, I had another dream. This one was really unusual. It showed large, black buildings, with 3 large red letters on the side. They were C, I, and A. I had no idea what it meant. Then, the following day I heard our front door bust in, and I knew.


There was no effort to resist on my part, for I knew what they could do to me. As I was being taken away, I saw my mom now standing in the hallway, looking into a briefcase filled with money. Greed knows no boundaries, only the victims it consumes. The ride to headquarters was short. When we arrived, the first thing they did was force me take a lie detector test. They asked me stupid questions, followed by questions about my family, and finally, my dreams. I spotted the notebook that mom had been writing my dreams in. It was clear that, like my mother, they did not believe that my ability was a gift. They were simply afraid of me. In any case, my difference made me an abomination.

Everyone I knew was told I went crazy. No one dared to question the authorities. Why would they? I am now in an asylum for the “mentally disturbed”. Since being here, I have discovered that this place is full of people who are just like me. They are all incredibly unique. (I met a man who could see human body systems when he concentrated. He was caught when he used his power to save an agent on break.) But instead of utilizing our talents for good, the world has confined us to a lifetime of isolation as outcasts. Now, as I lay awake at night, scared to dream, there is one question on my mind: Why are the gifted feared like monsters… and treated like madmen?