Mark’s eyes shot open, sweat poring from his head. He shivered as a swift breeze seemed to engulf his uncovered body. Getting up from his bed, he made his way to the dresser, thoughts of the newest vision he saw in his sleep running through his mind. He thought of the copious details; the environment being more complete than in his nightly dream. The desert was no longer a desert, instead being occupied by a modern town; innocent humans running throughout the streets.

Surrounding the humans, as if watching them scurry were entertaining, were five demonic looking beings, all tall enough to see through the top window of a three story house. Laughs echoed from the beasts as more of the scene unfolded.

His mind now thought of how the entirety of the humans in his dream weren’t running. They were fighting. Slowly in his dreaming state, his mind formed more of the beings that fought each other in his nighttime dream. It seemed like a three-way war, each race fighting with one another. Demons, as those with the torn wings seemed to be, swung their blades down on angels, whom returned fired upon the humans. It began to seem like some war between heaven, hell, and humanity.

He did his best to push the dream to the back of his mind while making himself believe it is just a dream. Nothing more could come or will come from the dream, for that is all it was. A dream.

Though still disturbed by these sudden visionary wars, he dressed quickly and made for the phone, hoping to find someone that could help him.

After the brief phone conversation with his friend, Mark pocketed his house keys and a couple of dollars and went outside to begin his hour walk to the school. The weather was rather cool, leaving him no choice but to grab his so called “lucky” suede jacket. He always wore the jacket on impulse on a day as gloomy as today, but for some reason today was different; the only thing bringing him to wearing it being the weather. He was changing. To anybody else it wouldn’t seem like it, but to himself his old habits were dying down, as if he thought they were no longer necessary.

Justine, otherwise nicknamed “This Justin” due to his ability to be the first to hear about any local news, always had a knack for dream interpretations. The moment he got off the phone with Mark, he was rushed to get dressed for his basketball practice which started in mere minutes. In his hurry, he rushed out directions to Mark to meet him at the school at twelve o’clock p.m.

As he rushed to put on his uniform he thought briefly about the details Mark had told him. The beastly figures; the angelic beings; the fighting humans. Nothing seemed to match up at all. Usually dreams had some sort of pattern or storyline behind them, but this one literally developed as the seconds passed. He hadn’t the time to think of it all now; if he was late to practice, he would be off the team.

Mark watched the practice linger on, keeping himself nearly hidden underneath the gym’s bleachers. His eyes seemed to stay focused on the practice, but his mind wandered to the dreams, and then to the cuts that vanished from his back. He couldn’t focus on one thing. The moment he would try to bring himself back to reality, the picture of war flashed back into his mind and he would be gone.

By the time he re-dreamt his dreams several times, the practice was over and the team had gone into the locker room to wash up and get dressed. Feeling desperate for an answer, Mark grew impatient and followed the team and searched for Justine’s locker. Leaning up against the thin metal door, he waited for Justine to return from washing off.

“I’d hate to say it Mark… but this seems pretty gay.” Justine walked up to Mark, a towel being his only clothing.

“I’m desperate…” Mark said softly.

Justine’s eyes widened and his eyebrows quirked. Seeing the expression he was being given, Mark continued. “For an answer, dick-wad! You’re good at this shit, so help me!”

“Keep your voice down, jackass. Do you want everyone to know you’re insane?”

Growing beyond angry, Mark wrapped his fingers around the teen’s neck and slammed him into the nearest locker, Justine’s feet leaving the ground an inch. The locker he was slammed into seemed to dent inward as Mark pushed hard, his fingers tightening.
Justin flailed his arms and legs, kicking Mark but doing no noticeable good. From his point of view, Mark’s eyes seemed to glow red, blood red.

His thrashing died down a bit and soon, he felt, he would grow completely limp. The color in his face started to change from a rosy red to a slight purple.

Noticing the change in his victims color, Mark released his grip entirely, Justine falling near lifeless to the floor. Mark stepped back and closed his eyes tight. “I’m… not… insane.” He spoke in breaks, his voice no longer soft, but rather rough and scratchy.

As Justine gasped for air, Mark slid down the wall of lockers and sat upon the floor, his hands holding his head up. This was the first time in forever where he assaulted anyone. “What’s happening to me?” He asked the ailing teenager on the floor.

“You… your answer… may lie in your… your dreams.” Justine spoke slowly, still trying to regain his strength and oxygen intake.

“Maybe it’s best we do this in the company of others.” Mark suggested.

“If… if it weren’t for the red in your eyes just then, I wouldn’t even consider helping. But there is something inside you that isn’t… you.” Justine stood and extended his hand towards Mark.

Without taking the offer, Mark stood. “How is it that nobody heard the commotion?”

“Its hard to hear something that didn’t happen…” Justine froze in his place, his eyes staring down Mark.

“What do you mean by ‘didn’t happen’?” Mark blinked, and the next thing he saw was a flash of light, which seemd to change Justin into one of those demons from his dream. The demon drew a sword from thin air and struck it down upon Mark, the blade digging into the base of his neck.