✨I’m wanting to try writing longer stories, uploading one chapter at a time. Let me know if you want me to continue, by leaving a like, comment or bookmarking my work. Feedback is always appreciated, and I hope that you enjoy these longer tales.✨

The sky cracks, like a pane of glass, spiderwebs of ethereal light fracturing our reality. Clouds, swirling in raging winds, turn red in warning; the air thickens making it hard to take a breath. Pressure building steadily; a faint buzzing growing louder with every passing moment. Gasping, frantically gaping at the horror surrounding me, watching as the world shatters like a giant mirror, shards pulling away, revealing something else. Twisting around in my panic, I prepare to run, to flee from the madness that binds my feet to the ground. The sky opens wide as if to swallow me whole. “They are coming!” The voice tears out of my throat, my eyes flying open wide. I gasp for breath, the cool air rushing in to quench my burning lungs. Sweat soaked sheets tether me in place, becoming only tighter with my panicked movements. The vision of the shattered world fading into dreams, my bedroom transposing itself over the top, becoming solid and real.

My bedroom was small, the light blue walls making it feel slightly colder than it actually was. The gauzy curtains fluttered in the slight breeze from the open window. Dancing; casting sinister shadows on the walls. The glow of the half moon, illuminated the room, my dresser mirror reflecting the glare into the corners. Calming my breath I look around, my dresser, nightstand, wardrobe, everything was familiar and calm. Breathing a sigh of relief, I slouch on my bed. The fear ebbing away to puzzlement. Reaching out blindly, I grab the glass of water on my bedside table, draining it greedily.

It had been unseasonably hot over the last couple of days, the temperatures rising to almost thirty degrees Celsius, that’s eighty-six degrees Fahrenheit, for those of you across the pond.  For the middle of winter, high up in the hills of Scotland, this heat was unheard of. Meteorologists and social media were screaming about global climate change, and how we are all going to burn to death. News anchors casting aspersions on the general public for not recycling, and businesses for cutting corners. The world had descended into chaos, as the rising temperature sparks a crime-wave across the country.

Disentangling myself from my thin, white cotton bedsheet, I pondered the dream. Replaying the events in my mind; they were so clear, more like a memory than a mere figment of my imagination. Reaching into the drawer of my bedside table, I retrieved my little black, mohair note book. The dream journal that I have kept ever since the dreams began, when I was a child. At the age of twelve was when I had first dreamed like this. Dreamed of death and destruction. My parents driving down a dark road, bright headlights glaring through their windshield, a deafening crunch and smash of broken glass. My childhood gone in an instant of pain. Tears flooding down my face, I told my parents of the dream. Only to have them comfort me, telling me that dreams were nothing but a troubled mind. That was one week before they were killed by a drunk driver, swerving onto the wrong side of the road. I still regretted  letting him drive after that night. Perhaps I could have saved them somehow, but it was too late now.

Guilt tore at my heart, shredding my soul. One night I broke, weeping on my grandmother’s shoulder. My pain flowing from me in a toxic river. She listened sympathetically, cradling me to her chest, soothing my aching spirit. She called them ‘Portents’, visions of things to come. Assuring me that changing fate, was akin to changing what you had for breakfast last week. Impossible. But how could this dream come to pass? How could the whole world shatter like a dropped mirror? My mind spinning with questions; the answers elusive.

Writing down every detail of the traumatising dream, in my journal, I made a list of questions at the bottom of the page. Ending with the rather sinister ‘who are they?’ The words ‘they are coming!’ echoing in my head. Rubbing at my tired eyes, and getting to my feet, I decide that a cold shower would chase away the cobwebs lodged in my brain. I needed to think, to figure out the meaning of the dream before it was too late.

My grandmother had called me psychic, insisting that I had a gift. I strongly disagree with her absurd assumption. The dreams were creepy, don’t get me wrong. If I dreamed about something, it would come to pass, just as she said. But psychic was a stretch. I was always losing my keys; couldn’t find anything, for that matter, even if the item was under my nose. My naivety was well known, so much so, that people thought I was a little dim. My conclusion was that the dreams were messages, from who? I had no idea. In my mind this was further proof that I wasn’t a psychic.

The cold water rushed over my body, shocking my senses, and leaving a trail of goose flesh, burning down my skin. The lavender scented shower gel soothed my jangled nerves. The loofa working out the kinks from my, less than restful, sleep. It felt wonderful to be under the chilling spray, reminding me of standing under a raging waterfall, and swimming in the crystal clear loch, only a short walk from my home. It was, in fact, the same water. The old copper pipes carrying the water from the loch, up the hill, to my little cottage.

Once out of the shower; I was still no closer to deciphering my vision. I grasped a towel off the rail by the radiator, drying myself vigorously, trying to shake some sense into myself. I thought back to all my other dreams, they had been local, mainly family related events. A death here, or a birth there. Nothing on this scale. This was global, something was coming and it would change the entire world forever. ‘Maybe it’s aliens?’ I mused, that would explain a few things. Regardless, there was nothing I could do, no one to warn, who would even believe me?

Leaving the small cottage, I look up to the dark sky overhead. The fluffy clouds skate by, wispy and grey, in the light of the moon. No cracking, no spectral lights floating across the stars. It was still early, only gone six am; Scotland was always dark at this time of year, the sun barely peaking over the horizon for a few hours before sinking once again. With the record breaking heatwave, it was easy to forget that it was, in fact, still winter. Heading down the path, I let nature envelope me, as I walk down to the loch. The birds were still sleeping soundly, safe in their nests and roosts for the night, but the rabbits were awake, and not too happy with my intrusive company. Trees stood, silent sentinel in the still air, still cloaked in green. The pines and conifers dotted about the mountainous landscape. Large boulders gave the hills a rocky and inhospitable appearance. The land looked desolate and unliveable from afar, but on closer inspection, there was signs of life everywhere. Heather intermingled with tall grass and moss, lent its colour to the environment, catching the eye. The Scottish highlands were a spectacle to behold at any time of year.

Taking a deep breath, I reached into my pocket for my mobile phone. Hoping that my signal would hold, as I called up my grandmother. I needed her advice and her insight into the dream that had me so worried. With a clenched gut and shaking fingers, I hit the call button, and reluctantly, lift the phone to my ear.

After ten rings, I was ready to hang up and try again later. When the call was answered. “Chris? What’s wrong?” My grandmother’s voice was full of worry, and a hint of suspicion.

“Sorry for calling so early gran. But I had a dream, it’s bad.” I hesitated, reluctant to bother her, now that I had her on the phone.

“How bad? Is someone going to die?” Her voice cracked a little.

I paused, the dream didn’t indicate death, not that I saw anyway, I hadn’t thought of that before, maybe it was just a dream after all. Yet the scene did have all the indications that it could potentially cause great harm and strife to thousands. “I’m not sure, it seems impossible. Like it could never happen in real life, but it _felt_ real. I don’t know what to do.” Sitting on a large boulder by the loch, I kept my eyes on the horizon as I spoke.

“Okay Chris, take a deep breath and tell me everything that you remember.” Her voice turned soft in understanding and patience.

Spilling everything to my grandmother felt cathartic, my chest loosened without the burden of the vision, my shoulders relaxed. Even my heart rate decreased, returning to its normal resting rate. “So you see, it can’t possibly be real. It’s just too big.” I had myself believing that I had over reacted at this point. My mind rebelling against the idea that something that devastating could actually happen. Watching the moonlight glint off the dark waters of the loch, I wait for my grandmother to agree with me.

“I know you don’t like hearing this Christina, but you have a gift. You can predict life and death, and this vision appears to be both.” She paused to sigh, or maybe to build suspense for her words. “This sounds like the death of our world’s old life and the beginning of a new one. We need to prepare ourselves, bring the family together. Maybe we can weather the coming storm together.” Her voice had taken on a distracted edge, like her mind was already planning the next steps.

“You really think it’s that serious?” My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. Snakes writhed in my gut. The overwhelming feeling of anxiety was climbing by the minute.

“You will need to pack a bag and meet me at the Manor House. I’ll call the family. If this does come to pass, then we will feel better knowing where everyone is and that they are safe with us. Do you understand?” There was no question to her voice, this was an order.

“Yes ma’am,” I saluted the loch, the water winking at me in return.