Chapter 1: Nightmare Session

The night runs cool while a brisk breeze runs through a cracked window. Clouds hang in the black sky. There is no moonlight to guide the weary dreamer. In bed, a teenage boy with short black hair closes his piercing blue eyes. He tosses and turns with discomfort. Despite the cool breeze, sweat pours down the teen's face.

***

Frantic hearts beat as lights flash by. A man drives recklessly while taking his wife to the hospital. She sits in the back seat with heavy breaths.

"I don't think we're going to make it!" she panics.

"It’s okay honey," the husband replies with an effort to remain calm. "Everything will be fine."

The man's words provide no solace. The pain of labor overwhelms the new mother. She studies the light posts outside. At first, they appear to move steadily as the car accelerates according to the speed limit. On the other hand, as time progresses, so does the speed. Soon the woman is unable to distinguish the light poles.

"You're driving too fast!" she calls out in a panic.

"No, no," the other remarks without raising his voice. "Look, it's an emergency."

The woman stares at the road ahead. Her blood pumps faster and faster. A vehicle emerges out of nowhere. The young mother screams as the car fails to brake in time.

CRASH!!

***

The teenage boy wakes up from his nightmare. His heart beats unsteadily while his eyes flicker. He stumbles out of bed and darts to the restroom. Cold water splashes away the salt. The boy struggles to regain composure. His loud breathing brings unwanted attention.

"Crash honey," a sweet voice resounds. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…I'm fine," the boy lies while stuttering his words. "I just…got too warm."

Blue eyes glance to and from those of his worried guardian. Of course, Mama knows whether or not he has told the truth. She is able to discern when one spins a web of fabrication. Regardless, she sighs without pressing the matter forward.

"Try to get some rest," Mama states with a consoling hand on his shoulder. "You have an appointment tomorrow."

Crash is slow to respond. His gaze turns from Mama's own to the running water. He turns off the faucet. With a nod, he slides behind her and exits into the hallway. Crash pauses at his bedroom door. He turns to face Mama with a weak grin.

"I'm good now," he says with a weary voice. "You can go back to sleep."

"Okay," Mama's response is short. "Rest well dear."

As the teenager walks into his room, he can hear a sigh. Mama expresses her concern. Yet, Crash prefers not to cause his guardian worry. 'I hate being a bother,' he thinks while flopping down onto the bed. His heartbeat finds regularity as his eyes flicker with the wish to close. Crash combats the urgency of fatigue. He tilts his head towards the left wall and stares at a Blutengel poster of the album "The Oxidizing Angel" The teenager inhales deeply. After a thirty second pause, he releases his breath.

"I'm sorry," Crash whispers. "But a world without fear would be perfect."

After another hour of unrest, the teenager is able to return to sleep.

***

Sunlight peeks through the window. A knock at the door wakes the poor sleeper. Crash shoots upward in the bed. He dazedly glances at the sound.

"You need to get ready!" Mama calls from the hallway.

"Coming!" Crash replies anxiously.

He scrambles towards the dresser. Quickly, he dresses himself then proceeds to wash up in the bathroom. 'My medicine,' Crash's mind issues the thought like clockwork.

The teenager rushes downstairs to the kitchen. His feet dart towards the necessary drawer. He pulls onto the handle to reveal his medication storage container inside. The frantic teenager removes his dose of antidepressants and anxiety pills from the "Wednesday Morning" section. Crash grabs a glass of water and downs the medicine.

Mama approaches him with a plate of breakfast—a cinnamon and raisin bagel with cream cheese. Rather than sitting down at the small table, Crash decides to take his meal on the run.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to drive you?" Mama asks as he reaches the front door.

"I'll be fine," the teenager replies mid-chew. "Besides, the day is great for a bike ride."

"Alright," Mama says as she leans against the kitchen's doorframe. "Just be careful."

Crash smiles and bids a quick 'goodbye.' He grabs his bicycle from the foyer. With a hand on the bike and a bagel in the other, Crash walks outside to the street. Against his better judgment, he rapidly consumes the bagel. 'I should've brought a drink.' Once the bagel is gone, Crash is able to ride freely.

Lotusville is a quiet town. Trees adorn every sidewalk. People stroll out of their homes without a care. The sunshine must be to blame for the cheery atmosphere. Yet, despite the pleasant weather, Crash feels dread slowly creeping like an unsavory insect crawling on one in their sleep. His heartbeat races when coming upon Brook Road. No, the cause is not due to exertion. In truth, today is one of Crash's therapy sessions.

He parks his bike outside of a large brick building. 'To tell or not to tell,' the teenager contemplates. He reaches the receptionist and signs into the office. Crash does not greet her, but keeps his head low. When seated, he fidgets about with his fingers tapping the chair. The wait is not long. An older woman with auburn hair and pink glasses opens the waiting room door. She smiles while making eye contact with her client.

"Come on in, Mr. Wake." The therapist welcomes him with a wave of her hand.

Crash sighs and obliges to the greeting. He takes a seat on the leather sofa set across from large bookshelves. He hears the door click shut. While glancing around the familiar room, Crash feels unhinged. 'I'll…have to tell her,' his mind concludes.

"I can see that you were in a hurry today," his therapist observes.

"How do you know that Dr. Augusta?" The teenager darts his gaze towards the window.

"You forgot your makeup," she replies while opening up her notebook to scrawl down notes. "You're not wearing your eyeliner or lipstick like you usually do."

"Well…" Crash looks at her with a twisted corner of his lips. "I don't have to dress for you."

"That is true," Dr. Augusta replies. "Yet, everyone should be able to express themselves in what they wear. Not doing so exhibits a lack of self-care and esteem."

Without a verbal response, Crash shrugs his shoulders. Dr. Augusta takes notice of his fidgeting fingers. She catches his gaze with a stern look.

"Please tell me what's wrong Crash." Her motherly voice is more successful in retrieving answers.

"I…I can't stop dreaming about it," the teenager responds with a raised heartbeat. "I feel so sick watching my parents die, night after night! Isn't it strange to dream of people that you've never met?"

Crash places his head into both hands. As he mentions the dream, the scene appears in mind. Tears slowly fall down his flushed cheeks. Steadily, he rocks back and forth while trying to stop envisioning the nightmare at the point of collision. Once a hand touches his shoulder, Crash returns to the present. Dr. Augusta provides him with a tissue.

"The extent of trauma is vast," she states. "Although your case is unheard of in the past, who am I to disregard the accident's impact?"

"Well," Crash steadies himself. "Why would this happen to me?"

"Perhaps a near-death experience poses psychological implications even on the youngest of minds," Dr. Augusta replies while sitting back in her chair. "Despite your future body in the womb, your essence must have been able to understand that its chance at life was at risk."

"What do I do?" The teenager only cares about solutions rather than hypotheses.

"Distract yourself." She raises her pen to halt any disruptions. "If you busy yourself enough during the day, then you will have a greater chance of not having a nightmare. Can you think about anything interesting happening in your life now?"

Crash stares at the ceiling. His thoughts circle around her suggestion. Further, he wonders if her suggestion holds any truth. 'Can't hurt to try…right?' he thinks to himself.

"There is one thing." Crash pauses and glances at his therapist. "I start Freshman Year tomorrow."

A timer buzzes. The sound of a finished session brings a sense of relief. The teenager hides a grin with his hand.

"That's a wrap," Dr. Augusta smiles. "I'm sure high school will be a great distraction. After all, it is about time that you meet new people and have new experiences. By having more positive interactions, we are able to place the bad ones aside. Even if they rear their ugly heads later, then we are better suited to push them away."

"So…that means." Crash rises from the sofa and stretches his back. "You think I need to live in the moment."

"I want you to get out of your head." Her serious tone shocks the teenager.

He smiles weakly. Crash walks to the door only to remain standing in silence. Within another moment, he turns around.

"I will try harder." His demeanor is half-hearted.

Yet, by stating those words, Crash implants a new thought. In fact, the first step in healing is making an effort to attempt new things. Dr. Augusta nods her head in agreement. She watches as the door closes shut. Crash leaves the office with a smile on his face. 'Maybe this year I can finally stop those nightmares.' With determination, he prepares himself for the new journey ahead.