|Subject:||Do I reveal too much too soon?|
|Author:||JessaRose (Authenticated as dancingintherain)|
|Date:||October 17, 2012 at 2:09:48 AM|
This is the start of an idea I had... please tell me what you think?
I can hear the sound of gunshots; they are so loud I’m left with a painful ringing in my ear. I’m surrounded by bodies; the metallic smell of their blood so strong that I can almost taste it. Every single muscle in my body was aching from exhaustion; I feel as though haven’t slept or eaten in too long to put a number to. Everything seems so real, but I know the truth.
This isn’t happening to me. The sounds, the smell, the taste, the feeling, the actions; this isn’t me. This never happened to me. I turn to look at the solider next to me.
No. This all happened to somebody else. I open my mouth.
“Charlie,” I don’t know anyone named Charlie. The soldier turns around to look at me. Dirt covered his face; his light brown hair was overgrown.
“Yes, Sam.” My name isn’t Sam. It’s Katie. I open my mouth to respond.
And then I wake up.
I sit right up, I’m sweating from head to two and I’m panting hard. Why does this have to happen to me?
My name is Kathleen but I prefer it if people call me Katie. I’m sixteen years old and ever since I could remember I’ve had this strange ability. I can see dead people. Not all the time; it comes and goes, and so do the spirits. I don’t just see the spirits though; I experience dreams about them, most of the time its memories leading up to death, sometimes it’s just little snippets of their life. I’m not the only one who can do it; it’s a family trait. My grandmother has been seeing spirits all her life and apparently so did my mother. I don’t remember much about my mother; I was very young when she died. She committed suicide when I was two years old.
My grandmother thinks that it all got too much for her, apparently she was very powerful, and it had made her depressed even before she had me. She developed post-natal depression after that; it continued to build up until one day, she snapped. My father came home from work one evening to find me crying in my cot, and my mother lying in bed. She’d overdosed on various pills.
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