Birds! Birds!

Lori was dreaming.

It was a dream that could be called a nightmare to others, but she did a good job of coping with it. It was never the same, but it was always similar. There were birds. Lots of birds. This was a part of her dream that was usually different. The birds changed. Sometimes they were majestic ravens or crows, cawing incessantly; sometimes they were colorful birds, like Toucans, Parrots, and Macaws; but in the rarer of her dreams, and the more nightmarish of them, the birds were Cardinals screaming the farewells that were never said. Dreaming of the Cardinals, Lori would always wake herself screaming with sweat rolling down her face soaking her pillow.

After gathering her bearings with the familiarity of her room, the desk where her lamp and computer were, the posters on her wall, the window that the early midnight morning moonlight might be shining through, and the closet door that her play basketball hoop was attached, she would calm herself down enough were she would fall back to sleep just as quickly as she awoke. She would not be scared of anything in the dark, she was too old and logical to believe in boogiemen and other supernatural oddities, but rather she would be more fearful of what her dreams could mean or why she was even having them.

Lori was dreaming again.

She never remembers the dream after "The" dream.

After Lori wakes, she generally follows the same routine; brushes her teeth, washes her face, then sits at her desk to write in her dream journal. After learning that she has similar dreams every night, she started writing them down so she would not forget them. She tries to be as detailed as possible so maybe she can learn the hows and whys that she has been searching for for years now. She draws pictures of the birds, she describes patterns of feathers, colors, numbers of birds, what kinds of birds, and more importantly...what they say. Most of the time they seem to be just random cawing and tweet tweeting, but sometimes she knows the birds are saying "help me".

Lori sat daydreaming.

Thinking, pondering...analyzing. She knows birds are excellent mimickers. She has seen videos of birds speaking nearly impeccable language, even reciting heavy metal lyrics, but this "help me" was troubling. The only birds that seem to say this were blackbirds, not crows, they just want to trade, or ravens, because the really only say "nevermore" anymore.

Lori snapped into realization that she zoned out.

She was tired. Tired of this dream. Tired of simply not knowing why. She gets an idea. After breakfast she would start researching. She would buy bird books. She would finally do something other than just writing and sketching. She would find out why.

Breakfast was good, it always was. First the bacon, then the eggs in the bacon grease, a glass of whole milk, and two pieces of toast covered in grape jelly. This may not be the healthiest of breakfasts but it definitely was her favorite. Eggs from her family's chickens, milk from her neighbor's cows, bread that her mom made fresh weekly. She liked the way this breakfast felt. It was good. It was peaceful. It was home. It was NOT a dream.

After enjoying her breakfast and finishing her morning routine, Lori would finally head off to ending her dream, the dream. While outside, she takes time to enjoy the scenery. It was pretty. She looked at the maple trees lining her driveway, the rose bushes outside the living room windows, the herb garden her mom would neglect most of the season and then complain about the lack of production from it, and the freshly cut grass of her 2-and-a-half-acre plot. It looked and smelled perfect here.

Before she gets into her car, she notices down the road, she has new neighbors moving into the old Robinson farmhouse.