Killing someone is harder than it looks. I should have used a gun. My old bow and arrow worked, but it was messy.
See, a few years ago, an old witch cursed me. She cackled when she did it too. She claimed my dreams would come true, and I naively thought that was a good thing. Dad’s new girlfriend moved in yesterday. I dreamt about that affair a year ago. Mom and Tony, her tennis instructor, are somewhere in Mexico on vacation. That one was just last month. And if last week’s dream is any indication, Richie is about to piss off some very important mobsters.
The worst thing happened two nights ago. I dreamt I was murdered. And no one cared. I’m not sure which upsets me more actually.
I went and tried to reason with the old woman, but she blames me for Natasha’s death. We were best friends. She’d been drinking that night, but so had I. I should have called a cab, I should have called someone, but I didn’t. I walked away with a broken wrist, her granddaughter didn’t walk away at all.
So, trying to talk to her didn’t go well. In fact, she spit on my feet, yelled at me in Russian or something, and closed the door in my face. I knew that I had to act fast.
I wrote down everything I could remember from my dream. I saw a middle-aged man. Brown hair, mustache, shabby ill-fitting suit. I had no idea what his beef was with me exactly, and I had no time to figure that out. We were in an alleyway that looked very familiar.
Figuring out the where was crucial. I racked my brain until it finally came to me – right behind the high school. I graduated this past May so there was no reason for me to be there, but that was the alleyway, make no mistake.
I grabbed the bow and arrows and ran to the school. Half way there I worried that I was walking into a trap – would it be better to avoid the school all together? Or would that cause events to shift, cause this man to kill me somewhere else? No, I kept going.
Nighttime came fast. I didn’t have to wait too long for the man of my dreams to arrive. Honestly, I don’t remember firing off the arrow. I saw his gun and I shot. Years of archery paid off, he clutched his chest and fell over. Actually, strike what I wrote earlier, killing someone isn’t that hard at all. I just wish the detective had believed me when I went in to confess, but I guess pretty blonde girls can get away with anything in this town. I wonder what I’ll dream about tonight? I wonder why that guy wanted to kill me? I wonder if that cute detective is single?
P.S. – I should really tell Richie to lay off the ponies.