The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves by Richard Heredia Page A

his
briefs, then tugging nervously at the hem of his shirt.
    “ It was just a nightmare,”
explained the boy, clutching at his head as a headache began to
rise.
    “ Well, it sounded like you
were getting crushed by an airplane engine like that Donny Dimwit
kid.” His father glanced toward the bedroom door, as Anthony’s
mother appeared in the doorway, in her robe. Elena wasn’t far
behind in her old - worn out at the knees - Strawberry Shortcake
Pajama’s.
    “ Darko, Dad,” corrected
Anthony. “The kids name was Donny Darko. He was the one who got
-.”
    “ What?” said his father,
interrupting him, though he wasn’t actually paying any attention to
him. He wanted silence, so he could think.
    “ Is everything ok?” asked
his mother tentatively, still unsure what was going on.
    “ Donny Dimwit here had a
nightmare,” replied his father, still sort of breathing
heavily.
    Anthony and Elena both
chuckled at his error.
    “ Oh,” his mother inhaled
abruptly. “It must have been a bad one, then, huh?” she asked
coming into his room, but didn’t walk near his bed, as had his
father.
    “ I’m okay, mom. I just
have a headache that’s all,” explained Anthony, already getting
uncomfortable at having so many people in his room, at one
time.
    “ Alright, I’ll get you
some Tylenol for the pain, so we can all go back to bed,” stated
his mother, already putting the incident behind her. She left for
the bathroom.
    “ Where’s Mikalah?” asked
his father, turning, speaking to Elena now.
    She merely shrugged and
said, “Still asleep.”
    “ Typical,” was all their father said, heading for the door.
“Try not to have another nightmare, okay son? I don’t think I can
take another scare like that in the same night and not have a heart
attack.” He’d turned back toward Anthony, eyebrows arched,
imploring him.
    “ I’ll try,
Dad.”
    Anthony’s mom returned
with the Tylenol and a water bottle, while his father gathered up
Elena intent on putting her back to bed. Anthony took the pills and
chugged them along with a healthy gulp of water.
    “ Now try and get some
sleep, mijo. It’s late,” uttered his mother as she stood up,
leaving the water bottle on the nightstand, next to his digital
clock and made for the light switch.
    “ I
will,” mumbled Anthony, as his room returned to darkness. The door
closed quietly. He lay there, silently thinking about the dream,
feeling the rapid-release of the medicine reduce the pressure
inside his head. That was some trippy
dream, he thought and turned on side right
side. Outside, he could hear the wind blow through the trees
surrounding their house. Maybe, there was a storm
coming.
    Maybe there was more than
one…
    It was an errant thought,
but it stuck with him, having come from somewhere deep
within . As if to
reply in kind, he felt a silent “pop”, in the hallow fo his chest
and within the very core of his brain. He felt them together, as if
they’d occurred in the same place. It was a vibration more than
anything else, a quick quivering, there one instant, gone the next.
It was followed, immediately, by… nothing. It was as if something
sprung open and loosed itself upon the world, but there was no
after effect.
    He waited anxiously to see
what would happen next, but nothing more followed – absolutely
nothing.
    What the heck? he thought…
     
    *****
     
    … At the same moment,
within the very same heartbeat, over the ridge, separating Highland
Park from Eagle Rock, Joaquin’s eyes popped open. So suddenly, he
wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. He glanced around uncertain.
Should he be scared? Should he be looking for the huge Samoan dude
he’s been dreaming of wrestling, in the sand, at Santa Monica
Beach, seconds earlier?
    Then, he realized, he was
back in his room. He was in his queen-sized bed, though his head
was pounding, hurting, for no reason. It was intense. He could only
ascertain it was painful and no more.
    It was no longer than