School went on like a slug through my backyard. I sat in my history class bored out of my mind. I told myself I would get my grades up, but at this point, I gave up that resolution. I scavenged my backpack for my sketchbook, hoping to doodle away the boredom. I was hoping to finish the sketch of the dream from yesterday.
It might’ve been about five minutes of wildly fidgeting my arms inside of my backpack for me to figure out that my sketchbook was gone.
No no no. This can’t happen. Where on Earth is it? Don’t tell me I left it by the lake, I thought to myself. Granted, I did rush straight to school after I dried off this morning; I was already late as it was.
“Mr. Pio!” my history teacher yelled, his voice barely audible over the crumpling of loose paper in my backpack.
“Oh, sorry. I was just—I think I lost something.”
“You can find it after class, Mr. Pio.” Great, nothing like sitting through a history class without anything to distract my boredom.
Bell after bell rang, and I was itching to get out of school. After the final bell sounded, I started towards the lake again, praying my sketchbook was still there.
When I made it to the lake, it was exactly how I left it, and no sketchbook in sight. Don’t tell me someone took it!? I thought. I decided to take a seat and calm down after a fit of anxiety, and laid on the soft, pleasant sand, staring at the clouds above. This was the moment I thought I was going insane, because I thought I saw something in the sky.
I thought it was a bird at first, like a hawk or falcon. I squinted my eyes to get a better glimpse of it. Was I seriously dreaming, because it looked like a girl, flying through the clouds. She had no wings; it was like the wind was carrying her through the atmosphere. I followed her (or it) until I reached the edge of the beach. She was too fast to keep up with, so I gave up. I thought I was going insane, because when I stared back down, I saw something just as strange as the flying girl.
Wine red liquid stained the sand below my feet. Drinking has never been allowed on the lake so I could only assume it was one thing: blood. Dried blood, like it had been there for a while. It wasn’t a large puddle, but more like sporadic drops, like someone had coughed it up.
What the hell is going on in this town? I thought to myself. The sketchbook became the least of my worries, or the part where I was somehow able to breathe underwater this morning. Whatever nightmare I’m in, it’s not funny anymore. There are people flying across the sky, others possibly dying in my Sanctuary, and then there’s me: the Aquaman, the half-guppy, half-teenager who might be going insane.
I ran home absolutely distraught, hoping that everything that happened was just my overactive imagination.