Laydon was running through the dark forest, only the full moon to light his path. His past was chasing after him,literally. His mother's voice ringing in his ears that he kept from the old records he had from her singing years. His father was the one yelling at him to run. His footsteps were closing in on him, making sure he ran. And his deceased for three years grandfather as well. His cooking aroma, that usually made Laydon come was pushing him away.
"It's not real, It's not real," Laydon kept telling himself as he ran deeper and deeper into the forest. But deeper in Laydon's mind he wondered what would happen if he stopped and turned around, to meet the familiarity of his lost family. Would he wake up? Would he get to talk to them? Would he die and therefore wake up? He didn't know all he knew was to just keep running.
And then he smelt something new. He tasted something new on the tip of his tongue. And then he heard his name being called ahead of him. "Laydon! Percival Laydon!" he recognized the withered but strong voice of his grandmother...It was coming from in front of him not behind. He had to get to her, to warn her. He had to lead her to safety. He had to get to her and the mystic smell of pancakes.
Pancakes? He stopped running. And woke up. He hadn't had that dream since before he was six.
He rolled out of bed and stood up. He went into hiss bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He was a mess. His blonde-white, bleached looking although it wasn't, hair stuck up in all directions, which, he supposed, was the only thing really a mess. His toned chestnut body, that contrasted greatly with his hair was normal. There. He turned on the shower and stripped out of his boxers.
When he got out he raked a comb through his hair and wrapped the towel around himself as he ran into his room. He pulled out a clean but wrinkled shirt and a pair of probably dirty jeans, but put them on anyways. He grabbed his book bag and went down stairs.
"Morning, Grams," he said kissing her cheek and grabbing a plate out of the cupboard.
"You're late," she replied. "I've been calling you, and calling you. You're going to miss first period altogether." Never the less she piled pancakes onto his plate.
"You'll write a note." Laydon drowned his pancakes with butter and syrup.
"I will not," she said hitting him on the head with the spatula.
"I'll forge one then," Laydon smiled at her.
She just shook her head and sat down across from him with a plate of her own.
"I had the dream last night," Laydon spoke casually, as if it wasn't a big deal though it was.
"Which one?" Grams asked, setting her fork down. She knew which one however. "The one you had when you were little."
"Yeah," Laydon said quietly. "Momma and dad were chasing me...Pops was there this time too."
"Are you okay?" She asked, truly concerned.
"Yeah," he answered. "I just don't know why it happened. I mean after all these fucking years."
"Language, Percival," Grams said looking at him over her glasses. "We all don't know what it means. But I don't think we should worry about it. Hurry up and get to school. Here's your note." She picked up a napkin and wrote:
'Please excuse Percival Laydon from his tardiness. He had a bad dream and was still in terror this morning.
Sincerely, Mary A. Docker.'
He took it and read it, laughing. "Thanks Grams. I have work today so I'll be home late." He got up, put his plate in the sink, grabbed his bag and went to the door. "Bye," he said before leaving. He got into his car and pulled out of the driveway, glad that his grandmother didn't actually date or actually time the note
***
-S.
+Happy Jdog?
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