Well…. This is what happens when reality fragments.
I loved Elyse’s character. She was always trying to figure herself out,
“I had just wasted three hours on a blustery fall day sitting on a cold, hard, metal bench watching twenty-two boys beat each other up for the sake of a stupid ball. Run around for a couple of seconds. Stop. Wait half a minute and repeat. It sounded like those inane philosophies my mom got out of her favorite book, Wisdom on the Head of a Pin. I didn’t like philosophy, so I wasn’t a thinker. I didn’t like football, so I wasn’t a tomboy. And I didn’t like dresses, so I wasn’t a proper lady. What did that make me?”
I loved the message this book sent,
“Worry about yourself. I’m the past, but as sure as I’m standing here before you, you’re the future.”
I loved the fact that this book kept me guessing with every word. What is reality?
“Is this a dream?”I asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“How do I wake up?”
“You wake up when we decide to wake you up. Not before.”
I tried to shift my weight, but that just made it harder to breathe. So I pushed down with my arms against whatever was underneath me. It felt like wood, and splinters dug into my skin. The thing I’d seen before hadn’t been made out of wood. Maybe I’d been dreaming then, and this was real. Or maybe it was the other way around. I felt myself cough, exhaling. I tried to draw another breath, but the air was foul inside here, and I got the feeling there wasn’t much of it available for breathing. “
What if I decide?”
“You’re not even supposed to know you’re dreaming,”the voice said.
“I told you, I’m conscious of everything.”
“You also said you didn’t dream. It looks like you were wrong about that.”
“Maybe.”
“I wouldn’t talk too much if I were you. There isn’t much air left for you. If you use it all up, you’ll die. And you know what they say about people who die in their dreams.”
My one criticism is Stephen, I hate “Twilight”, but you spelled Stephenie Myer’s name wrong! I know. Weird thing to nit pick.