A Love, Like Ours, Can Only End in Disaster.

She rose from her bed. All the freedom and comfort sleep gave her drained as quickly as though she had been a sponge that was quickly rang out. Sighing, the girl stood up, and put a cool hand to her heated forehead. It was oddly refreshing, and made her erratic pulse stop fluttering as fast as a hummingbirds wings. Looking into the large mirror that sat atop her dresser, she tilted her head. The usually shoulder-length mahogany hair, often somewhat soft and nicer looking, was in tangles. Twisting, turning, writhing and threshing on the bed could do that to you, she thought, staring at her mirrored reflection, big grey eyes looking back at her. Then, the corners of her lips turned up. That hair of hers, the mahogany tangled mess, looked black in the night, and the moon that filtered down, cast an eerie, yet oddly beautiful incadecence glow about her mess of hair. "It almost looks like a black spiderweb..." she whispered, reaching a hand up to touch it, but decided against it, for fear it might somehow crumple to her shoulders, and look like it always did. Now, her lovely black spiderweb hair made her almost laugh, it was oddly... darkly beautiful, to her. Sleep still reaching to pull her back to her bed, back to her dreams, where she was the girl whom could do anything she pleased, and was always with everyone she loved and wished to talk to, or not talk to, where she was liberated. It was sleep, the lulled soft whisper of promising dreams, that would come, wrapping around her, and making her eyes slip shut, as she wandered a few steps back to her bed. Once there, she wound the covers around her again, and drifted off.

In this dream, one she'd had often, she'd sit alone in a garden, a secret one, one that had walls around it, and an open top to it. Here, there was no spastic mother there that made her laugh with delight, upon merely seeing, no father to hug and tell her, "Good morning, honey." No texts or emails. No friends, nor enemies. In this garden, she sat on a intricately crafted metal bench. It was here she was at peace. For, no words need be said here. This one, this dream was one of her favourites- speech wasn't needed, and it seemed that the flowers themselves could talk in their own lovely worldess language, that only she knew, as well. Although she never had any of the above mentioned in her dream -this specfic dream-, friends, family, technology, she still knew that she'd have it soon again. That it'd be there when she'd waken. But for now, she sat in her garden. Such a peaceful little garden, inhaling the scent of sweetpeas, roses, lilacs, orange blossoms, aquilegia flowers, tulips, dasies, dandelions, and even carnations. It was here, that forget-me-nots began to bloom in the shape of the door. Something new that had never happened, and it cause her to catch her breath. For as soon as they'd formed, the door was opening, and a boy stepped through, and just as the sunglight that obscured the vision of his face faded so she could perhaps make it out, she was opening her eyes wider, instead of squinting and trying to see him, but now, now, all she opened her eyes to was something so familiar, it made her heart lurch. It was her ceiling. The boy who'd suddenly appeared, was now nothing more that mist that had drifted by her pillow, and went around her head, then faded away, and left as quickly as it could appear. Longing made her throat instantly sore, as she rose again, and for some reason she felt her stomach ache. But not with hunger, or pain. It was more of a little prick, a sense that made her feel like she'd tasted something bitter-sweet, and the sweetness had left all to quick.
Shrugging, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, "Get over it, Anabell. That taste... It's probably just because you haven't brushed your teeth yet, ugh." Moving with that slow and soft sleepy movements that all fifteen year old girls did, she drifted to the bathroom, where she promptly took a shower, making sure to scrub, rinse and wash away traces of her dream, and then brushed her teeth.
* * *
After having dried off, her slightly wavy hair did something that only her mother's did, and it made them both laugh. At the end of her bangs,- which also like her mother, she swept a little more than half of to the right side, from her persepective, in the mirror, it showed to be the left, however- they slightly curved up. Blinking and holding her eyes shut once more, she tried to make out the face. But she hadn't seen it; she'd woken before it'd happened, dammit. Brushing her hair through,putting on her bra and underwear, slipping on a little, grey, babydoll type of dress shirt, which tied around the ribcage in a stringlike ribbon, and that came to her mid-thighs, she pulled on black leggings and padded down her carpeted stairs, to get to the kitchen. School started in an hour, and she was slightly excited to see her friends. Summer'd been a bit boresome, because they- her family- went to spend it with her family in another state- Kansas- and there'd been no girls her age there that were relatives. So she read. Oh, she loved to read, and musing on that thought, she walked, almost danced, into the kitchen, with a aweing grace that her mother envied, and oddly enough, found her mother there, eating Lucky Charms.
Well, more like saving all the marshmallows for last, and devouring the others, but in a polite manner. "Hey, mum." Anabel said in a sing-song, and light voice that only added to her air of sweetness and lovablility. "Hello, darling." Her mother replied after eating the remainder of her cereal, and putting the dishes into the sink. "Today's the first day of school, no? Well, Anabell, how do you feel? You're a sophmore right, love?" Just the way her mother said it, like it was only yesterday Anabell was the litte girl, running in their front lawn, spinning in circles, waiting to be taken to the park by her mother, whom was herself still childlike and sweet. There her mother would scoop her up into her arms from behind, and Anabell would squeal in suprised delight.
Tears welled in the young girl's eyes, and her mother, moved towards her in a deft and fluid motion and held the girl in her arms, petting and running her hands through Anabell's hair. "I know, I know, sweetling. It was only a moment ago when you were so little, my little sweetling, and I took you to the park, wasn't it lovey? Oh, Anabell, you're growing up right before me, and into such a beautiful girl. And it's okay, I know you're getting older, darling, littlelovey, but it's okay." Letting out a sigh, she inhaled her mother's specific scent. The smell of sweet peas and honey. Her mother, who knew exactly what she was thinking, eighty-nine percent of the time. "Mom, I love you."
"I know, sweetling, I love you, too. Now, how about I make some pancakes? Then I'll drive you to school, and we'll get Starbucks , m'mkay, lovey?"
"That sounds wonderful, mum, thanks so much." Soon, she'd be at school, with her friends. Whom she loved. Learning, and absorbing knowledge. Leaving her mother,who wouldgo to her job at the orthodontic office she worked at, as a cosmetic dentist. Soon, she would be a sophmore- upon stepping on the school premises. Soon, she'd be laughing, once more. Soon, little did Anabel know, her life was going to change so drastically, yet slowly, that she and no one else would notice until their attention was brought to it.
Soon, something would begin. And it all started with that little, silly dream of hers.
And it'd feel all too soon for her, when it did happen.