Dreamland [editing]

seventeen

I got up Saturday morning in a rather good mood.

My window blew cold air onto my face, waking me up at 6:30 and for some reason it didn't make me mad.

I jumped out of bed and changed into my workout clothes. I washed my face and put in my earplugs. After wearing my shoes I walked out of my room, and began my run. 5 miles in 40 minutes oof! that was going to be hard.

I was finally feeling like I was not just trying to be put together anymore, but was kind of actually a starting to be put together. I'd go running every morning, I was doing okay in school and I was able to paint pretty often. Apart from the mess that happened at the stag few weeks ago, everything else was perfect.

My legs started to strain as the cold morning wind hit my face. I pushed myself probably just a little more than I should've, but not to the point that it actually had consequences.

I painted after my amazing shower, and thought of driving home. It was Saturday, maybe I could come back on Monday.

I headed for a quick breakfast, and Aiden was already there so I decided to eat with him.

"You look happy," he said, as I took a sip of coffee. The food was not nice at all. I was extremely hungry cause of my workout, but figured that I'd go home and make something nicer for myself.

I smiled,

"You're going somewhere?" He asked, probably noticing my bag, and jeans, which was not very common for saturday morning.

"Just home, I thought I'd spent the weekend there," I said.

"What about you, what are your weekend plans?"

"Nothing yet, I'm having lunch with my dad today,"

"Oh thats fun,"

"Not really," he said,

I then remembered that my mom never unpacked a lot of my father's art supplies and paintings, and I needed some paints. I waited till he finished, and eagerly walked to my car

The drive was pretty fast, and the second I reached, I headed straight to the attic at home.

I entered the dusty old room and saw a bunch of boxes stacked on top of each other. I blew the dust off a box and looked at messy bold letters written in my mother's handwriting, which spelled out my father's name.

'ALEXZANDER' his name was actually 'Alexzandero ' because his mom is Mexican, but he went by Alexzander.

I opened the box and peered into it. I found old paintings that felt like my childhood. I couldn't really place them in my head, but one look at them and my brain took me back to my summers of when I was young.

I sat on the dirty floor with a stupid smile on my face as I flipped through my dad's old art. I opened up boxes after boxes which sprouted a super warm feeling inside of me.

I then saw another box with his name on it but it was sealed shut with a couple rolls of tape.

I got a little curious as began ripping the tape off eagerly.

I pulled the cover off the top of the box and peered inside. I don't know what I expected to find, but it was not bunch of documents. I narrowed my eyes and pulled a bunch of papers out, exposing a few bottles of pills.

What?

I looked closely at the papers with a growing discomfort at the pit of my stomach.

Patient is showing minimal signs of recovery.
History of addiction, has contemplated suicide.