Younger Dreams นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Older men with underaged girls, older women with young boys, men on men, women on women, anything, and everything. The new upcoming faces for the limelight like himself were lured into the mix with all kinds of bait. Fame and money are the invisible yet most powerful bait of them all. He managed to stay away from all that when he was dancing at The Silver Tongue, but this was a whole different circle in a whole different level.

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I tried to understand what he was saying. “Tell me what you know.” “Ask me what you want to know,” he instead said. “What did you see about the future?” “Way back on my fifth birthday, I had a dream. It was my mom, my dad, my brother, and everyone from my pack was lying on the ground bathed with their blood. None of them were breathing.” I did not see it coming. “Why?”

If I remember correctly, the dream had started the usual way, with me seeing my younger self in my childhood home talking and laughing with my much looking young mother when my equally much looking young Dad came in and I ran to him exuberantly for a raise up. Opening his arms to me in happiness, he had of course picked me up for a warm embrace before tossing me to the air, all the way up and I squealed happily. My Mum had given a soft gasp at how high he had tossed me but not me; I was happy and trusting, knowing he would not hurt me in any way. I was their life and even though I was very young even then, I knew it. It was obvious in every way they treated me, I was their pride. The dream c

“It’s five in the morning. I came in to wake you up and give you your meds for right now. It’s not real, baby. Your nightmare… it’s not real. You know that, right?” “I know, but it seemed so real in my dream…” I protested, tears flowing down my cheeks. It was my Itay Fritz hurting and forever hurting as he tried to come back to his little three-year-old baby. I knew it wasn’t true, of course. But when I was young, I believed it. And until now, whenever I dream about him in his coffin under the earth, it was as terrifying and heartbreaking as it was when I first had it at five years old.

Her Granny found it interesting, she called it a blessing because it had helped the family in so many ways. Juana herself didn't think it was a blessing, she found it really strange and scary. She'd rather not know the future than know and not be able to stop it from happening, the bad parts that is. She remembered having a dream when she was seven. It was a very strange one. She saw nothing, literally nothing. She was walking on nothing and staring at a ball of nothing. There was no air, no trees, no buildings. Everything was blank. She herself felt invisible. She screamed right out of sleep that morning. And it was the morning of her seventh birthday. When Baron and Dawn asked her about it

Were they just dreams, or was there something more to it? It felt awfully real. The feeling of a bad premonition in her heart on the other hand kept increasing. It was almost as though there was something that was being planned, way bigger than she had ever known. Babe, there is something I need to tell you. I have been having the same recurrent dream for some time. It’s a dream of a younger me. Tonight, it was different. And with it came an extreme sense of fear. Like something bad is about to happen. I know it sounds weird. I do not even understand this myself.”

It felt like I was watching a movie, the prelude to a porno. Towards the wee hours of the morning, I finally dozed off but even then I had a very vivid dream about Elijah and all I have to say was that the man was dead gorgeous when he was wearing nothing. I dragged myself out of bed, did my routine, and went downstairs to make breakfast for Becca and I since Elijah would have left for work by now.

Vincent looked at Melanie's pale face and sighed in resignation. "Stay here, please. I'm begging you." Melanie felt her heart skip a beat. She wanted to tell him that it was fine because she was used to being alone anyway. She wanted to tell him it wouldn't be appropriate because she didn't want to cause him any trouble. However, as the words surfaced in her throat, she suddenly thought of the time when she was 15 years old and had just learned that Vincent was going to be leaving her for abroad, and ended up crying inconsolably in her room for hours.

“That’s dangerous.” “For me or for you?” “Both.” For a few moments, the only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint thrum of the city below. Dream’s eyes softened, not the cold, controlled kind of soft, but the kind that comes when someone’s guard slips without meaning to. “When I was younger,” he said quietly, “I used to think peace meant winning. Outworking everyone, outlasting them, proving myself to people who never really cared. But it’s not peace. It’s just noise.”

I wanted to feel sorry for her, for being in such an unworthy life at such a young age, but all I could feel was a blind hatred, which seemed alive inside me. I continued immersed in my thoughts, mulling over hatred and pain, until I fell asleep. In my nightmare, I was a boy again, running barefoot everywhere and I was back on the Ouro Verde farm, where I was born. I had just finished gorging myself on the canjica (cornmeal) made by my mother, the Brandão family's cook, and I ran to the stables to help the cowboy take care of the horses. I liked helping him take care of the animals, I even liked the smell of the stables. When I grew up, I wanted to be the cowboy and take care of everything t