Jim Miller Jim Miller
Recommendations: 29

...she literally work up sweating. woke instead of work?

Paul Day Paul Day
Recommendations: 14

Thanks for that. Missed it completely.

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Paul Day Paul Day
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Enter The Dream: Prologue


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Under the Double Star - Chapter One

This is the prologue for my new YA book I am writing called "Enter The Dream" for which I have just designed the cover. Charlie is just your average teenager. Her life is turned upside down when her mother is killed in a car accident. When she is introduced to Dane, he convinces her to enter shared dreaming on a promise that she may see her mother again. But the world that shared dreaming opens up is frighting.


PROLOGUE


They say when you enter a dream, you enter a world parallel to our own, where everything exists, but only while you are in that dream state. But when you enter someone else’s dream and return again to your own world, you bring something back with you.


Charlie was not the kind of girl who loved life, who lived it to the full. She did not have ambition, worked only because she had to and preferred not to take too many risks. She never slept in too long, nor went to bed too late. She never took drugs, drank too much or even smoked the occasional cigarette. She was, as her friends have suggested on more than one occasion, a real drag.


There was something Charlie did enjoy doing and that was reading. She particularly liked tales about dreams and dark stories from nightmares. Rather than frighten her, she saw the dark as enticing and night time as liberating. When she was younger, her father used to tell her stories when they went out camping, which was pretty much every school holidays. His stories always followed the same path and obeyed the same rules. There had to be a villain, there had to be a problem to overcome, there was often a splash of magic and intrigue and there was always an element of darkness.


She used to love taking her friends camping and watch their reaction to his stories. He was so convincing in the way he told them, that he often had the girls so frightened and worked up that they couldn’t sleep and had to be accompanied to and from the long drop. Charlie used to giggle to herself when she knew her father was pulling the wool over their eyes. It did not seem to matter to her that they were afraid, or squeamish or confused. It was all part of the drama.


As she grew older, she started to have the same sorts of dreams almost every night. One particular night her dream was so vivid, so real, that she literally woke up sweating. She quickly wrote down the dream before it evaporated from her mind. These are her words: 2 comments


I was driving in the car. My father was next to me, telling some joke about a guy he met at the electronics store and my mother was in the back, smiling because she knew where the joke was heading. It was dark and it had been raining. I happened to turn around to see the look on my mother’s face turn from mildly entertained to suddenly distant. I don’t know why, but even though I was driving, I did not seem to care where I was going. Suddenly there was a loud scream that came from outside the car and I swung around to see a flash of white. I had skidded to a complete stop, fearing I had hit something, but when we got out of the car to inspect it, there was nothing there. My father shot me a bemused look and I shrugged my shoulders. But when we returned to the car, my mother was not there. “Where did Mum go?” I asked, rather casually. “Oh,” said my father looking straight ahead at the front of the car, “She’s dead.” I turned my attention to the road and a ghostly figure had appeared, standing as if frozen, her hair partly covering her face. She raised an arm and pointed a long, bony finger straight at the windshield. Suddenly the figure was sprawled out across the car windscreen and I saw her face as clear as I would had I been looking at a photo. “Mum?” I tried to cry but couldn’t. I was in shock. Then, as quickly as that happened, she disappeared and I heard laughter coming from the back seat. It was my mother. “That’s the funniest story I’ve ever heard,” she said.



The very next day, Charlie’s mother died and with her so did the stories and the dreams…


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