After that strange Sunday, the rest of the week seemed boring and dull in comparison.
My mother didn't allow me to see friends during the summer. As she put it, this was my time for 'rest' and 'relaxation'. I knew the truth, however. It didn't matter anyway - I didn't have any friends in the first place.
There was a storm on Friday. The wind outside howled like a wounded animal. The tree in front of my bedroom window shook violently, it's branches scratching at the window.
I was sitting on my bed, knees tucked up into my chest. The voices told me that there was no hope. I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering into the night, "Go away,"
But it didn't. It burst from me like an angry demon.
My screaming was punctuated by the lightning which illuminated the sky, the flash of a nuclear bomb dropping.
I sat straight up, my cries never ceasing, my spine forcing my back into a rigid line. There was danger everywhere.
The door flew open, Mom and Dad running in to find me curled in the fetal position upon my bed. My fingers were knotted in my hair as I slammed the side of my face repeatedly into my pillow.
Then, as quickly as the life-like visions had come, they faded. My father was throwing a fit, clearly angry at the disturbance of his sleep. Mom stroked my hair and whispered soothing words into my ear.
"It's over," I told her, my voice dry and hoarse from screaming.
It was over.