I trudged from my closet to the bathroom, dragging my hand along the lavender paint covering the walls. Once I was by the shower, I turned the knob to hot and waited until steam started rising over the curtain before stepping in. Warm drops pelted my neck, easing the tension away. As I soaked my hair, I replayed the execution again. The overwhelming sense of despair permeated my soul, tainting every thought in my head. I wanted to know the prisoner, wanted to know why he was being killed. His blood was on my hands. The king wanted me to suffer, and the man’s death was my punishment. No matter how many times I had this dream, there was always one thing that stood out in my mind: how utterly real it felt.

But it wasn’t real, I reminded myself. Maybe I had an overactive imagination, or maybe I was mentally insane. Regardless, there had to be a logical explanation for my nightmares. I wanted answers, I wanted to know why I saw such things, but at the same time there was a sort of beauty in the unknown. If I found out I was crazy, how could I ever recover from that? I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. Making it through my last year of high school was more important. I needed to focus on that before I could even start thinking about anything else. Except, I did need to put some energy into dating. Caroline was always nagging me to give some of the guys at school a chance. I was definitely overdue for some kind of distraction.

Once my hair was dry and curled to perfection, I started on my makeup. As I finished getting ready, I began to feel more relaxed. Today was the first day of my senior year, and I couldn't let one nightmare ruin it. I was determined to stay optimistic. I threw on my clothes, ran my fingers through my tousled curls, and headed down the hall for a quick bite to eat.

My feet made the regular route past the living room, curving around the corner into the kitchen. I walked over to my mother and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Morning.”

“Good morning! How does it feel to officially be a senior?” She turned from the kitchen counter to pull me into a quick hug.

“Same as last year,” I shrugged. I stuck my head into the dining room and saw my dad sitting at the antique mahogany table reading the newspaper with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Morning, Daddy,” I said, sitting in the chair beside him. His dark brown eyes looked at me over the square rims of his reading glasses. His black hair and beard were peppered with gray, while soft lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. My mom brought me a bowl of cereal and a piping cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” he said and smiled.

“What’s going on in the news today?” My father read our town’s newspaper religiously, though Estill Springs didn’t register as more than a speck on a map of Tennessee. Even the dictionary made for a more fascinating read than the Springs Sentinel.  

“A couple of kids spray painted some stuff at the city park, but that’s about it,” he said with a shrug.

“Why do you even bother reading that? It's not like anything ever happens here.” I grabbed some sugar and poured a teaspoon into my coffee mug.

“And I like it that way,” he replied, smiling over his drink.

“Oh, Guy, can you believe it? After this year she’ll be graduating and then she'll be leaving us to go to college.” My mother had her light brown hair pinned on the top of her head, and I could see the gold locket hanging around her neck. It had been a gift from my father when they first started dating. I knew it was her favorite piece of jewelry because she never took it off.  Her light green eyes sparkled, and I could just make out the faint lingering of tears in them.

“It just doesn’t seem right. It seems like yesterday I was carrying you around on my shoulders.”

“Both of you act as if I just grew up overnight,” I said, shaking my head at them.

“Well, for us it feels that way,” she answered.

“The schools I'm looking at are still within driving distance; it's not like I'll be moving across the country after I graduate.”

“Wouldn't you rather go to Murfreesboro?” she asked.

“Yeah,” my father added. “You can stay here and go to school.”

“If I didn't know any better I'd think the two of you were plotting against me.” I laughed. I loved my parents. They'd always been there for me and always would be. I knew a lot of people at school who either hated or barely talked to their parents, but that wasn't the way it was in my family. That thought made me ponder Caroline's suggestion from a few weeks ago. Lately, she’d been encouraging me to talk to my parents about my dreams. At first I didn’t want to involve them in my drama-filled nightmares, but Caroline and I were at a loss for what was happening to me, and they may have more insight as to why I thought of such horrible things. And didn’t they deserve to know if something was wrong with me?

I could feel my confession forming with each breath I took, but as soon as I felt the courage to tell them, I stopped myself. What if they blamed themselves for my condition? I could handle nightmares of executions and people being tortured, but I couldn’t bear the thought of causing my parents pain. “We wouldn't dream of it,” he replied with a wink. “Are you working after school today?”

“Yeah, Caroline and I have our regular school shift at Pat's. I should be back by ten though.”

“Is Caroline going to join us for breakfast this morning?” my mother asked.

“Not today,” I replied. “We have an assembly this morning so she wants to get there early.”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to miss that.”

I smiled at her, unable to rid myself of the thought that missing the assembly would be a blessing. “Not at all.” Breakfasts like this were what I needed. A few minutes ago I’d been so close to confessing everything to my parents, I’d almost forgotten the promise I’d made to myself. I was determined to have a carefree senior year and if ignoring my dreams would help me attain my goal, and then that’s exactly what I’d do.