Free Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming by J. E. Chaney Page A

longer have a happy bubble left to burst, so stop trying to pop it.” I exhaled an exasperated groan.
    “Babe! I’m sorry. I was trying to make you laugh. I’ll find someone else to cover tonight. I think you need me more than the department does.”
    “You know, I think I need a night to clear my head. And you...” I said, wanting to punch him. “You have ill intentions!” I pressed the end call button on the steering wheel several times out of frustration.
    Once I arrived home, I thoroughly conducted a web search for this so-called sleeper nonsense. I searched for visionaries and sleepers and found nothing more than profits and pajamas. Still frustrated, I felt my options were slim at this point for any permanent cure of my nightly hell. I also knew undeniably there was incontestable truth to what Chiaki said; I just wasn’t convinced how much truth, nor was I ready to accept it.
    I took my sleeping pill, cleaned up for bed, and then eventually located an online link with a short passage giving vague information from an anonymous writer. To my surprise, it supported Chiaki’s book theory. ‘Sleepers are people of the night with lucid dreams, some reoccurring or slightly varying for a period. These dreams are at times futuristic or prophetic in part, bringing confirmation, direction, and warning, exposing different variables ranging from meaningful events that fulfill one’s innermost desires to calamity and catastrophe.’
    I gave little thought to the article then continued reading. ‘In the 17 th and 18 th century, people admitting to having prophetic dreams or seeing the future through dreams were considered witches and hanged. In the late 1930s, a scientist had a team of researchers conduct studies on people claiming to have such dreams, calling the dreams delusional illness. Persons with such ability were alleged to be insane and had been considered to be delusional or suffered from Schizophrenia. Other studied results were inconclusive. It also had been said that Darwin’s theological claims came from similar insights or visions of the future.’
    After reading the passage, I curled up on my sofa with a throw pillow. I gave consideration to being delusional and schizophrenic. I knew if I didn’t learn to control my dreams, they would eventually control me, and I would end up losing my mind like my mom had. I stared at the bullet hole in the wall, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in; my thoughts drifted to Aimee. I thought about the possibility of the accident happening and began feeling nauseous at the thought of seeing her lifeless body.
    All I could think about was the years spent together and how she was indisputably the most important person in my life. I thought about our past seventeen years of life together. At age seven, we were the only two girls in our small private school with strawberry blonde hair and coincidently in Ms. Scothfield’s class. We shared an instant sisterly connection, which was awesome considering neither of us had a sister. After spending our juvenile years practically conjoined, and premeditating our future endeavors together, we attended the same college, and much like Vegas, what happened in college stayed in college. Thankfully, those years were short lived. Aimee managed to land an internship at local middle school that hired her permanently after grad school, and everything else fell into place. Her coworker had introduced her to Vance, and it was love at first sight. Six months later they married and were inseparable. We became the three amigos until we met Matt, who became a perfect fourth leg.
    My thoughts drifted back to the dream of Aimee in the water, and all happiness disappeared. I questioned the likelihood of that dream having any relation to reality. I wondered if so, if taking the pill would create unwanted ramifications since I couldn’t resolve the mystery of preventing her death or knowing when it would happen.
    My thoughts were distracting and