Chapter Two - Part six #1
Christopher's P.O.V2
"The dream was always running ahead of me, to catch up, to live for a moment in union with it, that was the miracle" Anais Nin3
I woke up yet again, tangled in my sheets, sick to death of this dream. It was like the moment I closed my eyes, the Forrest took my soul, placing me in a unfamiliar and uncomfortable place, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not change my fate. I could not for the life of me extend that pathway, and deepen the journey into the forbidden Forrest. I say forbidden, because there must have been something hidden behind it, stopping me. Some secret that the Forrest did not want me to know. So I remained isolated in these images, my heart racing in panic, every time that I awoke, when the whispers from the Forrest ceased. Trying to make light of the path.4
I rolled over, taking it upon myself to check out the meaning again, for the fourteenth time this month. I had to make sure that nothing had changed, feeling as though maybe the words would disappear and a new meaning would come and replace the old. Somehow making this whole thing seem somewhat different.5
Opening my draws, I pulled my notebook out, underneath my dream dictionary lay, awaiting my eyes to browse its contents, like I had for the past fortnight, it was almost routine, the way these dream caused me to change my sleeping pattens. I was no nerd, nor was I some sort of spiritualist, but I had bought the book a while back, around the same time I began having nightmares about the apocalypse. The dreams had increased, and I needed some sort of reassurance in this small world, that my isolation in this world was not being reflected upon my dreams, that these dreams of pathway, and the end, meant something more than the end of my world as I knew it. It had to mean something more than what I made it out to be.6
Spreading the notebook open on my bed, I thumbed through it's rough pages, trying to find th definition that I was after. "Path Chris, Path." I reminded myself, flicking through the index tabs that I had inserted to make my job of finding my dreams definitions a hell of a lot easier, and since it was in my compulsion to reassure myself of the meaning everyday.7
I found what I was looking for, Path. I ran my finger down the page, taking a breath in. "To see a block or a windy path denotes that you need to give some serious attention to the direction you are heading into, in your personal life." I nodded, wondering to myself where this actually fitted into my life. 8
Turning the notebook over, I suddenly had a spark of thought, The end, and ending, the finish, why had I not thought of this before ?, about the possibility of another meaning to either out rule or compliment the paths definition. I was so pre-occupied with the path conclusion, that's why.9
I picked up my dictionary, turning to the index and searched up "The end", there it was on page 89, the end.10
"To dream of the end, means you are being given a chance, it also symbolizes the beginning of something new," I read aloud. The beginning of something new, paying attention to the direction I was taking in my life, I thought to myself. What direction was that ?, was it the fact that I had to keep myself acting sane enough, so the Grandma Jean would not get suspicious so that she wouldn't get any crazy ideas about my mind set, and so that I would not get institutionalized, I knew that if she thought I was insane, she would surely put me back in rehab. I didn't want to be institutionalized, but that face was that I would and could never tell Grandma Jean about these dreams. I would have to learn to keep it to myself, there meanings as well. Not that I could even understand them myself, which was my greatest downfall.11
If thats what my dreams meant by choice, then that was one choice that I had already made my mind up about. I would never admit to her that it was the real reason that I was so dead, dog tired during the day. I did'nt think I could make it if I had to go back to that hell hole of a place. I would threaten her with suicide if she even tried.12
I closed the dictionary, getting frustrated with everything around me. I held it tightly in my hands, above my head, I was so sick of these dreams, I wish that they would just leave me alone, let me be. I wouldn't mind so much if he knew what they were really trying to tell me. 13
Feeling myself heat up, boiling up inside, like the anger that I had always bottle up, and that remained instilled painfully inside of me. I turned to face my bedroom door, Lifting my hand behind me, and threw the book violently at the wall, watching it fall to the ground. "FUCK THE END," I cried, pulling the sheets up over my blood stiffened legs, laying back in the comfort of my small bed.14
I was done with sleeping, I had, had enough, about as much as I could possibly take. My chest hurt, it must have been the cold outside, either that or it hurt from my hearts racing. Though more or less it must have been cold outside, as the wind drifted under my window seal, and I was after all only wearing my black hoddie and slacks, what I always wore to bed. 15
I ran my hands through my short black hair. It was not even light out, the moon was still shining brightly through my sun roof. I loved the night, I loved the darkness, and I was sure it would not be that difficult to get equated with the midnight skies, this time on a regular basis. I could easily work my non-existent school schedule around it, though Grandma Jean was sure to disapprove, she hated it enough that I stayed up past midnight on the weekends. So I was not sure how she would react to me being awake all night, constantly, seven days a week. Especially when her home school teaching kit would be arriving any day soon.16
I lay my hands by my side, resting them against my hips. My body was warm and inviting, through my frustration, there was an even larger urge at work, tempting me to relieve my tension, and I imagined that if I hadn't been so tired, and irritable, would have probably made the time to explore my warmness deeper, but the fact was that my anger was on the edge. I could feel the anger building up inside me, hitting the core, right to were my dark side lay .17
It was painful enough, resisting the urges to punch my fist through the wall, or to pick up the Stanley knife that lay under my pillow and carve my wrist apart, pulling at each vein, hoping that if I somehow strung them back together, this whole situation would just disappear.18
Was that insane thinking at it's best?. I didn't care, I would do it, if it meant I could have the slightest bit of reasoning behind these pathetically pointless dreams.
Author notes
hay I hope this didnt make chris look like a sissy girl.. I worked my ass of for this..so be harsh if u have to
Blair
In a list
Honest OPINIONS
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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Your descriptions in the first paragraph are very good, I love the way he is considering his dream in his mind, how he is interpreting it.
Going through the beginning of this story, your writing seems much more poetic, which make sit lovely to read. It seems much more put together, which is great.
Chris seems like an interesting new character, who is having internal struggles with trying to remain sane on the outside, but in conflict with herself over these 'dreams' inside.
This seems like the plot is really getting deeper, and no, you definately didn't make Chris look like a sissy girl.
Mirry *hug
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Interesting continuation
This is an interesting move into a fascinating topic: dreams. The train of thought here is well represented by your use of words. I myself keep record of dreams sometimes. I have very vivid ones, but never read an analysis of them in a dictionary. By the way, I lived in the suburb of Forrest here in Canberra with a guy with one leg. True.
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This was...AWESOME!
Is Chris going to attempt suicide and then fail and then be institutionalized?!
I don't know.
I'll just let the story unfold
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Perhaps some of your best writing...
...in this chapter...it seems more connected, more concise, more to the point, less rambling and I think you did a bang up job with the male pov and your effort shows, good on you!
trying to guess ahead as to how you bring these two very diverse but similar characters together and how they both transcend, if they do, their current circumstances with rehab, mother and grandmother, can imagine all sorts of scenario's and curious as to how you write it...
appreciating your story...
thank you...
Amicus...
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Chris is far from a cissy in my eyes. He's trying to get to the bottom of dreams that have been haunting him. In a way you do feel sorry for him because of what has happened to him. Although there is the alarming part at the end where he would say he would slit his wrists without so much as a second thought. That is Scary!
Well Written and well done
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Chris is easily my favorite character now.. He reminds me a lot of my cousin/best friend.. Loves the night and is absolutly crazy (In a good way) 
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Chris doesn't seem like a sissy girl, lol, he's more like "insane" "frantic" "searching." Any of those words. The way you described him looking through the book had me on edge. I really love how you're writing this.
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My favorite character is now Chris. I love how you describe the way he is. Although i admit the way you write things is baffling and mind boggling but I think somehow thats the point right? Anywho I loved the insanity of the storyline.
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My favorite character is now Chris. I love how you describe the way he is. Although i admit the way you write things is baffling and mind boggling but I think somehow thats the point right? Anywho I loved the insanity of the storyline.
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I think this was one of my favorite chapters. I liked the way Christopher looks in the dream book in a desperated attempt to understand hid dream. I also liked the way her was so scared of people thinkin he was crazy. I could really identify with those feelings. It was also in interesting contrast to Reidy's character who doesn't seem to really care at all about what other people think
One of my favorite lines in this section was the one where Christopher says that he wants to, "carve my wrist apart, pulling at each vein, hoping that if I strung them back togehter, this whole situation would just dissapear."
That's such an interesting way of looking at things, of thingking about cutting, I thought it was great.
Please keep writing this story. -
Bringing the frustration to the next level...
Well done once again! You've perfectly captured the struggling image of Chris and kept us in the again. Plainly putting us in the view point of how he can't get away from the situation that he is currently in. I somewhat felt what Chris felt when he was having the dream. That was very a very good thriller and suspense.Will be waiting enthusiastically for the next one!Keep up your good work^^!
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This was frustration at its best
Yeah, had those dreams as well... some that never leave you alone unless you understanding the meaning behind them... going great, you sure have all of us waiting for the next one...
DarkOne -
Why would he seem like a sissy girl? From the dream dictionary? Many men I am sure read them, evryone like s alittl insight into their dreams sometimes, even if they aren't as twisted as Christophers.
Guys cut their wrists the same as chicks, so that wouldn't make him sissy. Punching the wall would be more manly though.
This was good, much longer then the other. Gives a little more about Christopher. Why does he live with his Grandmother?
Keep it up Blair.
~Lady Madeline.
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