The house was silent except for the quiet slumbers of her mother downstairs and the smooth rhythmic sounds of music flowing through her speakers. She lay there trying to fall asleep, a challenging task these past few days. Her fan beats air on her side as the heat of night creeps into the room that she had claimed for eight years, the longest time she had spent in one place.

She felt herself slip into an eerie scene that had grown so familiar to her. This scene of the death of her closest friends and the fall of her family. She often dreamt that she would fight for her life in the coming years with only two of her closest friends. Both of which had known her since the third grade or so.

She dreamt of a war like scene, most of the time it was at school or in a desert, in which she would fight a man with no face and she would always lose no matter what she did. Most people say that dreams are yours to control and most of the time this was true, except for this dream, where she died every night.

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