Dreamland

I awoke panting in a cold sweat as I had for many months now. My sheets were wet, and I knew what that meant. Wetting the bed has been a thing I haven't been able to control, ever. I'm in eighth grade, and I feel like a baby. Apparently, I had screamed, my mom had rushed into my room, ready to calm me down. I told her I was all right, but she had to sit by me for another 20 minutes. Even in the dark I could see the lines and wrinkles on her face showing her age. Wrinkles couldn't usually be seen on her face, because she covered it up with what seems like pounds of makeup, even if she stayed home all day. I was probably the only kid in my school with a mom that's almost 70. It's because of the law made by the Board Of Ethics (BOE) that prohibits having a child after age 45. The only reason I have a mom this old is because she adopted me, which is still technically legal (BOE is looking into stopping adoptions too).

Though I've had the bed-wetting problem all my life, the nightmares just recently came about. I don't know why, they just came. My psychologist, yes, psychologist, said that the night terrors must have been caused by a recent sad or fearful moment. The first and only thing that popped into my head was Alison. Alison was a very, very nice girl who I had been friends with since the first grade. She's the only friend who stayed with me after everyone found out I was adopted. Being adopted has become shunned in society, and my mom says we can thank BOE for that. Whenever she says that, she always says BOE very loudly, almost spitting. Yet Alison didn't care who my parents were. She was very different from everyone else; she wore her hair down to the bottom of her neck, while most girls had about two inches of hair. She also wore a dress. Even in public and formal occasions, most women chose to wear pants. Mom said it wasn't always this way though.

Alison was the most loyal friend I've ever had. We've gone on more camping trips than I can count, and we've always played outside together even if it was hailing, in which case we would put on bike helmets, and catch as much ice as we could. As her moving van pulled away from our street, so did my soul. I wish I would have said goodbye to her, but as she hugged me and said goodbye, I knew that if I let one word out, I would be crying on her shoulder. I didn't want her too see me cry. So I said nothing, and she walked away with her head down. Maybe if I had cried on her shoulder my feelings would have stayed, but only after her van pulled away did the rain falling on the sidewalk mix with my tears as I stayed out in the warm rain, washing away my feelings for hours, until my dad came out and bluntly stated, "crying isn't going to get friends back, or get new ones." And that's why I don't talk to my dad much. He never has anything good to say. He, like mom, was also opposed to BOE, but for different reasons. He was a research scientist in the field of cloning, which is also against the law in any form, thanks to BOE. He says that they just don't understand the advantages to cloning. So he can't do any experiments, which halts his research. When I say I washed my feelings away, I'm serious. At dinner my mom mentioned a new boy my age moving in where Alison lived. It didn't matter. He wouldn't like me. I sat there like a rock on that chair, just to show my parents how upset I was.

That very night I had my first nightmare in a string of nightmares. I hate dreaming. My dreams are so real, that if I pinched myself, I would feel it. If I got shot, a searing pain went through whichever body part I got shot in. And then as quickly as the pain came, it disappeared, and I was dead for the rest of the night. No more dreaming. I wish I could get shot in my nightmares. The other thing that's odd about my nightmares is that most of the time, I sleep through the whole night. It's like a long, drawn out torture. The only reason I wake up in the middle of the night is if I see Alison in my dream, but I know that I'll never see her again. She's on the 11th civilian transport ship, going to Alpha Centauri, wherever that is. She said it takes four years to get there, but it will feel like half a year. She said she might come back, but I know she won't.

The kids at school make fun of me more now that she's gone. Even Joey, an old friend, went up to me and smirked, "Hey shorty! Where's your girlfriend?" I did what my parents and counselor told me to do, and I walked away. I felt my binder fall to the floor as Joey pushed it out of my arm; I turned around and looked into Joey's eyes as I was almost in tears. I was remembering a time when Joey and I would race each other at recess, play baseball, football, and a little soccer. He was always better than me at everything. He was one of my first friends to ditch me when he found out I was adopted. I knew that after first grade, his mom told him to stop hanging out with me, because I was a disgrace to society. His mom was an administrative assistant at BOE headquarters. As I looked back into his eyes, I could tell that he knew that what he did was a little too mean. He knew that all he had become was a bully. Just as I was about to cry he said "Pick up your books and don't cry like a baby." His voice was wavering as he said that, and I knew he wished we could be back in kindergarten, where we could all get along. But that was over, and he had to get to class. I had about half a minute to clean up my mess and get to class, but I just sat there, crying like the baby I was. Eventually a school administrator found me and led me to class. My grades were getting worse, and I had to consider summer school if I didn't pass the benchmarks tests. My life was slowly draining; by the end of the first semester, I was so lifeless, I practically had to be dragged from class to class by school administrators.

My psychologist gave the advice to ease the pain of the sad event in my life by trying to make me forget. He was a quack. How's that going to happen? Well my parents tried pretty hard to do that. First they gave me some weird blue tea brewed by the "indigenous" people of Africa. But there were no people of Africa anymore. Not after the UN gave permission to test new weapons of mass destruction such as the seismic bomb, the sonic bomb, and another bomb that no one can pronounce. Meltocyroriboid something something. We just call it the "big one." The seismic bomb is implanted deep into the crust, and causes something like an 8.5 on the Richter scale. Followed by the land slitting open, and being consumed by molten lava. Southern Africa is now consumed with lava. The sonic bomb realizes a powerful shock wave, followed by enough pressure to crush everything. Rocks, trees, houses, people. The whole time the bomb goes off, you can't hear a thing. The end result is an empty wasteland with an eerie fog. That's what the rest of Africa looks like. The "big one" is different. This one will destroy the whole planet. It shoots up so high; it burns a whole in the atmosphere, causing the ozone layer to disappear. In 200 years, if I were to go outside, I would suffer third degree burns in a few minutes. That's why people are going to Alpha Centauri. People in the Middle East are already fried.

Well, all the blue tea did was made me feel very dizzy and confused in the morning. So confused that I didn't know what was going on when I arrived at school the next day, and there were protestors. In fact I didn't even realize there were protesters until I bumped into one. And then I realized what they were protesting. It was me. I never realized what a big problem adoption was until I saw this. The principal had to lead me into the school so I wouldn't get hurt; but the real danger was inside. That day I got cornered three times in the hall by students whose mom or dad was probably a member of BOE, and pushed down. Luckily, teachers rescued me two of the three times, the other wasn't so pretty. I was found lying down unconscious with a bloody nose. I don't even know what happened. That night at dinner everyone was quiet. Usually my mom would ask, "How was your day?" Or, "How are you feeling?" They knew what had happened. This is what I caught from their conversation.

My mom started out with, "Dear, we- me and your father were thinking..."

"Honey- we agreed that it's too early to get his hopes u-"

"Yes, but I just feel that now is a good time to..."

"There are no buts, we should get the confirmation."

"He needs this."

"If we don't get it, then it will just end up hurting him!"

From then on it was mostly mumbling. I didn't care what they were saying anyway. Nothing could improve my mood. I quickly went upstairs as I could feel my parents watching me like a hawk. Then I could feel my mom's footsteps following me. I crept into bed as my mom sat down beside me, on a steel chair. After 20 minutes of silence, she spoke almost in whisper. "Your father and I- we thought that we should send you to a school to help your... special needs." Special needs? I didn't know what she was talking about. "This school won't discriminate against you at all, but we still need to see if you... qualify." It's like she was trying to tell me something, in code.

When we got the letter in the mail saying that the new school would accept me and my "special needs"' my parents were overjoyed, and then disappointed. I didn't get it. The mood swings, the code? It wasn't until I got off the extremely short bus did I figure it all out. There in big red letters were the words "Lafayette School for the Mentally Disabled." It struck me like a rock to the head. At first I thought this is a mistake! It doesn't make sense! Then I realized how much sense it made.

That day was so boring that I can't remember a thing that happened. I got home, and I didn't even look at my parents. How could they do this to me? Did they think I would be happy there? My mom never came in to comfort me, and since my new school didn't believe in homework, I stayed in my room until morning.

That night I had the worst nightmare yet. It was dark and I could tell I was in my room, I could see the ghostly outline of the meaningless junk such as old baseball mitts, unfinished homework, and clothes. I was huddled in the corner, scared to move. I was scared in that corner for my whole dream. It was like torture. At breakfast I told my mom about my dream, and she looked worried for my health. She told dad, and he had the same reaction- a solemn countenance followed by shaking of the head. I felt like I was studying primates in the wild and their natural actions, yet I couldn't interpret them. My mom went back up to me, and told me that I would get to skip school today to see my psychologist. Whoopee.

The psychologist's office seemed more like a jail cell to me. There were no posters with inspiring quotes, or even windows. Well, there was one window, but it was about eight feet high, and barred. I still wonder why it was barred. My mom told Dr. Franks all about my nightmare, and its amazing how similar his reaction was compared to my mom and dads reactions. Then he grilled me on some questions like,

"How long have you been having nightmares?"

"About three months straight by now."

"What about this nightmare your mother described to me?"

"What about it?"

"How long has it been going on?"

"Just that one time- last night."

"I see."

I wanted to ask him WHAT he saw, but I knew he saw nothing. He was a quack, and I don't know why my parents hired him. After a looong time (he was getting paid by the hour) he came up with the Idea that I should go see a psychotechnologist. He explained that a psychotechnologist was just a psychologist that uses new, experimental, remedies for problems like mine. He gave my dad the number for Doctor Lee and said that if his remedy failed, then more extensive therapy sessions would be needed.

At dinner, my dad expressed his opinion, "Psychotechnologists are very dangerous doctors." He sliced through silence with that phrase. "Doctor Lee will probably use a mind controlling device which only recently have been used on people, with too many side effects to count." I wish that my parents would argue without me in the room. It makes me kind of nervous. Here's where mom starts.

"It's his only chance to..."

"It's not his only chance; he's got plenty of other choices."

"Yes, but..."

"What?"

"They aren't as likely to be a success."

"It doesn't matter how likely it is, it's not worth the risk."

"No. He needs this."

My father always dominated the arguments, but my mom was right. I needed a cure. The next day, my mom called Dr. Lee who said an appointment this Friday was ok. It was on Friday the thirteenth, but I'm not superstitious, so I didn't care.

School was the saddest, most boring six hours I have ever wasted for so many days. I don't belong there. At least I don't think so. Mom was right- there was no discrimination against me. Most students couldn't express their opinion if they tried there hardest.

When I met Dr. Lee, I found that he was what I expected. He was an old, Chinese man with more wrinkles on his face than my mom's. Dad didn't like him from the start. He believed that he was doing society a very bad thing by working with mind control.

The machine that Dr. Lee described he would be using sounded more like a torture device. He described a needle that he would insert into the back of my head, which would pierce my skull, and be stuck in the back of my brain, Where my memory is stored. Following would be a series of electrical shocks, shutting down certain areas of the brain and stimulating other parts. My dad's face seemed to get more serious throughout Dr. Lee's description of the process.

We went home and were ordered by Dr. Lee to discuss whether I was willing to go through this process. After a two-hour argument between my parents, it was decided that I should decide for myself. I weighed the torture of more nightmares against the pain and risk of the procedure, and found that I was willing to do anything to stop the torture. I was now afraid to sleep at night. My dad accepted my decision with no comment, and so did Mom.

When we got to Dr. Lee's office we were told to sign a lot of papers saying that if anything happened to me, my parents wouldn't sue. That wasn't too hard- my parents don't believe in suing. Dr. Lee told me what affect this procedure would have on me. If it were to be successful, then my night terrors would go away, at the cost of a slight loss of long term memory. If it were to fail, it could cause brain damage, coma, or death.

The procedure began with the doctor strapping me down, so I couldn't move a muscle. That was followed by some heavy drugging, putting me to sleep. I didn't have my usual nightmares though; I dreamt of Alison, and what she would be doing right now. And then she faded away, and I felt a sharp pain, the needle. Now I knew why Dr. Lee put the straps on. In my sleep, I could feel myself struggle to get free, as my mom cried out, "Is he ok?" over and over. My nightmares were rapidly fading in and out and I could barely see them. In between nightmares I would see Alison, But I started seeing her for shorter periods of time, and no matter how many times I saw her; I wouldn't wake up. I started to see snapshots of my nightmares for longer time and Alison for less until...

Darkness. The silhouette of my room, fear. I started calling out for Alison but I got no answer. Then I heard voices

"What happened?"

"Is he alright?"

"He's in a coma; or possibly dead."

"My Baby!"

I could hear sobs from my mom, and then from my dad, who didn't cry when he hammered a nail into his finger, but he cried now.

I could hear Dr. Lee escort my parents out of the room. I tried to call to them so they could come back to keep me company, but they couldn't hear me. I called for Alison, but she was gone. I was all alone. I was trapped in a nightmare for eternity. An eternity of torture.

The End