I gazed out the window of my beautiful mansion, watching those on the streets who very casually walked by as their days -and mine- were coming to a close as the sun set. I turned to face my brother, who was lost in the supposed world of dreams that I had never actually experienced.
I paced towards my bed, carefully tucking myself in and rolling onto my side. Several thoughts danced across my mind. Why should I go to sleep if I don’t experience the wonder of different dreams like others? Now, don’t get me wrong. Not having nightmares is wonderful. Apparently, nightmares can actually stunt your mental stage.
But dreams would be nice… I thought to myself as I drifted off into the empty abyss of recharging your brain.
Waking up, I see that my family is already busy and awake. Well, all I could see was my brother’s empty and messy bed. I should say that I hear them. Loud television made me hastily shove my earbuds in as I walked down two flights of stairs to smell a haven of breakfast, and a hell of burnt-fast.
As I walked into the kitchen, there my parents were, having a bake-off for breakfast. It’s my mother’s dream to open a family restaurant, but until dad learns to cook, she can’t pursue her dream. Although it’s getting good, his sausage sizzle is not the best example.
I yawned and stretched as I sat at the bar, two plates of overcooked and perfectly cooked food passed over to my side. My brother quickly sat as they were, hungrily nibbling dad’s food, and devouring mom’s. I felt bad for my dad. When he was about my age, he was a talented baker. He made all kind’s of delicious sweets with my grandfather. But he wasn’t made for it apparently, as he quit baking around high-school because he was being made fun of.
I shook my head as I ate, lost in my thoughts. I would have cherished him! I was interrupted by my brother pulling out my earbuds, and running off with them. I rolled my eyes, and paced up one flight of stairs, walking down a long hallway and stopping at the fourth door.
Inside was a huge bathroom. I prepped, then stepped inside, turning it on. My long shower was overdue, and I only got out when I heard a knock. “Honey, you need to get out, you’re gonna be late for your bus if you stay in any longer!” Hearing my father’s request, I got dressed and blow dried my hair. Putting it in a cutesy ponytail, I stepped down the stairs, to the front door.
I grabbed my messenger bag, not feeling the need to wait for my brother as I walked to our bus. Long story short, NOTHING HAPPENED AT SCHOOL. It wasn’t exciting at all. I came home and mainly watched TV. My tiny sister, hardly old enough for school, forced me to play dollies.
Looking at the clock, the hour hand on 9, I simply declined and yawned forcefully while walking up the stairs to my room. Climbing in bed, I rolled my eyes. Another boring day, filled with nothing. Another boring sleep, filled with nothing.
Except tonight I had a dream.
I was being ridiculed by my family, and we didn’t live in a mansion. We were at the homeless shelter. I suddenly felt depressed and angry.
“You’re always asleep! The doctor thought you were in a coma, and we had to pay a lot of money to have you WAKE UP?! NOW, BECAUSE OF YOU, WE HAVE TO LIVE HERE!” I pinched myself. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t wake up. Did I fall asleep for so long this happened?
My little sister spoke up. “The doctor said you were dreaming about having another life, a false life. She said that you thought it was your real life. Sissy, this is your real life.”
And those were the last words I heard before my disease struck.