know has been outside of the City before. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember this is just a Vision. Or maybe it’s a dream? I can’t tell the difference until I wake up, and I can’t wake up because he’s still calling me through the darkness.
“Beatrice.”
For some reason, I feel the need to run. I need to get to where he is. An urgency surges through my body, and my fingertips pulse with the sudden rush of energy. We learned in one of our classes that the human body has two reactions: to fight or to run. I wonder why my body is choosing to do the latter. There is nobody to fight here, so what am I running from?
I race through the shadowy brush, my feet sometimes snagging on what feel like vines or the raised roots of trees. Except there aren’t any trees. It’s just flat, open land with a rolling mist that covers everything like a fluffy blanket. A faint light filters through the fog, but I can’t see where the glow is coming from. The sky is too dark and cloudy, so it certainly isn’t the moon.
I continue to run, and when I don’t think I can run anymore, that’s when I see him.
A young man, around my age, with stark blond hair, the fairest skin, and startling blue eyes. He wears plain robes of white with long sleeves that hide his arms and hands, and the trim is red, maybe satin. He’s watching me, and I stop walking.
“Beatrice.” His voice sounds so much softer, so much less demanding, but it’s still alluring. Entrancing.
“Who are you?” I can’t take my eyes off of him. Inside my chest, my heart beats too quickly. I’m afraid he can hear it just as clearly as I hear him now.
He smiles. It’s a handsome smile, one that makes me hesitate. In one of our preparedness classes, our instructor told us that the things we should not trust are the things we want to trust the most. For example, the most poisonous of flowers tend to be the most beautiful. The deadliest of animals tend to be the ones who are most interesting.
“My name is Echo.”
“Why do you keep calling me?”
“I must save you, and you must save me.”
“Save us from what?”
His smile fades, replaced by a sorrow and seriousness that doesn’t meld with his features. He looks at the ground. “From each other.”
“I don’t understand.”
Echo looks up, his eyes seeing through me. “You will. The invasion is coming, Beatrice. The plague has begun, and the Dreamcatchers need Citizens.” He reaches to touch me, but he must think better of it, because he immediately withdraws his hand. “I need to protect you. The invasion is coming…the plague has started…”
…
The piercing, electronic beeping of my alarm jars me out of my sleep. The first thing I do is grab the small mirror from my nightstand and peer into it. My eyes are not glowing. I did not have a Vision.
Echo was just a dream.
Still, the dream was so clear—like my Visions—that I’m left in a state of confusion. Do I report this, or not? Do I tell someone, or keep it to myself? Then I remember what the Widow told me, about dreams that are like Visions and Visions that are like dreams. I’ve been caught by a Dreamcatcher—there is no other explanation—but how is he getting to me?
I decide to keep the dream to myself. It’s easy enough to do when every time I close my eyes, I see Echo staring at me, telling me that we have to save ourselves from each other. What did I look like when I stared back at him, dumbfounded and lost? Why did he place his hope of being saved in me, anyway? Why did anyone?
I will drive myself crazy if I stay here, thinking of all the whys and what ifs , so I swing my legs over the side of my bunk and stretch my arms up over my head. Today is the first day of the new Training Games, and there’s a lot more that should be on my mind, like the fact that I could die. And for what? To take part in this stupid game that is supposed to prepare us for a fight against a people who somehow pop into our dreams without
“Beatrice.”
For some reason, I feel the need to run. I need to get to where he is. An urgency surges through my body, and my fingertips pulse with the sudden rush of energy. We learned in one of our classes that the human body has two reactions: to fight or to run. I wonder why my body is choosing to do the latter. There is nobody to fight here, so what am I running from?
I race through the shadowy brush, my feet sometimes snagging on what feel like vines or the raised roots of trees. Except there aren’t any trees. It’s just flat, open land with a rolling mist that covers everything like a fluffy blanket. A faint light filters through the fog, but I can’t see where the glow is coming from. The sky is too dark and cloudy, so it certainly isn’t the moon.
I continue to run, and when I don’t think I can run anymore, that’s when I see him.
A young man, around my age, with stark blond hair, the fairest skin, and startling blue eyes. He wears plain robes of white with long sleeves that hide his arms and hands, and the trim is red, maybe satin. He’s watching me, and I stop walking.
“Beatrice.” His voice sounds so much softer, so much less demanding, but it’s still alluring. Entrancing.
“Who are you?” I can’t take my eyes off of him. Inside my chest, my heart beats too quickly. I’m afraid he can hear it just as clearly as I hear him now.
He smiles. It’s a handsome smile, one that makes me hesitate. In one of our preparedness classes, our instructor told us that the things we should not trust are the things we want to trust the most. For example, the most poisonous of flowers tend to be the most beautiful. The deadliest of animals tend to be the ones who are most interesting.
“My name is Echo.”
“Why do you keep calling me?”
“I must save you, and you must save me.”
“Save us from what?”
His smile fades, replaced by a sorrow and seriousness that doesn’t meld with his features. He looks at the ground. “From each other.”
“I don’t understand.”
Echo looks up, his eyes seeing through me. “You will. The invasion is coming, Beatrice. The plague has begun, and the Dreamcatchers need Citizens.” He reaches to touch me, but he must think better of it, because he immediately withdraws his hand. “I need to protect you. The invasion is coming…the plague has started…”
…
The piercing, electronic beeping of my alarm jars me out of my sleep. The first thing I do is grab the small mirror from my nightstand and peer into it. My eyes are not glowing. I did not have a Vision.
Echo was just a dream.
Still, the dream was so clear—like my Visions—that I’m left in a state of confusion. Do I report this, or not? Do I tell someone, or keep it to myself? Then I remember what the Widow told me, about dreams that are like Visions and Visions that are like dreams. I’ve been caught by a Dreamcatcher—there is no other explanation—but how is he getting to me?
I decide to keep the dream to myself. It’s easy enough to do when every time I close my eyes, I see Echo staring at me, telling me that we have to save ourselves from each other. What did I look like when I stared back at him, dumbfounded and lost? Why did he place his hope of being saved in me, anyway? Why did anyone?
I will drive myself crazy if I stay here, thinking of all the whys and what ifs , so I swing my legs over the side of my bunk and stretch my arms up over my head. Today is the first day of the new Training Games, and there’s a lot more that should be on my mind, like the fact that I could die. And for what? To take part in this stupid game that is supposed to prepare us for a fight against a people who somehow pop into our dreams without
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