Liandra and the Dream Reader Chapter 1

Vomit

    She woke up in the dead of night, her lungs suspiciously out of breath and her forehead covered in sweat. She’d been screaming, she knew. She looked around, hoping that she was in the real world, praying that nothing had followed her from her dreamscape. 

    Her thoughts were erratic, coming way too fast. She knew what was next. She leapt from her bed and rushed down the hall to the bathroom. Her stomach muscles tightened and she heaved up what she felt were the lingering bits of her dream. At this point she couldn’t remember much of it, but could feel all the fear, anxiety, sorrow, hurt, and hatred rising from her throat and into the toilet. With a final flush, she buried all that she loathed, for a night at least.

Mrs. Keyrouz: “Are you okay, dove?”

    Her mother’s voice came through the door, softly and sweetly. She really hated waking her parents with these episodes. She seemed to be doing it more and more lately. The little girl pulled her long black hair from her face and let it fall down her back.

Liandra: “Yes, I’m fine, Mum.”

    She washed her hands, splashed cold water on her face, and dried each in turn. She then walked to the door and opened it. Her parents burst through to embrace their ten year old daughter, who was now old enough to be embarrassed by such affection.

Mr. Keyrouz: “It’s the nightmares, isn’t it?”

    Her father’s gentle brown eyes shone through his spectacles. While she nodded her head, he scratched his, which disheveled his normally neatly trimmed dark brown hair even more.

Mrs. Keyrouz: “My little dove, we have to do something to help you. You’re suffering!”

    Tears were streaming from her mother’s deep blue eyes, down to her chin, to the floor. Her black curly hair only reached her shoulders, but was much more unruly than Liandra’s tonight.

Liandra: “I’m sorry to wake you both, but I’m fine now—really I am. I’m going back to bed now. I’m sure it was something I ate.”

    She offered a weak smile to her parents, but only her father offered one back, the tips of his mustache curving upwards only slightly. She left her parents near the bathroom, clearly unconvinced, and closed her room door behind her.  

     She didn’t want to hear them arguing over which specialist to send her to, so she put on her headphones and played her Loverboy mixtape. Not wanting to chance another dream, she cranked her music up and stayed up reading from her favorite book, The Hero Collection: Tales of the Ancient Do-Gooder.

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