Her dreams began early; Avery consistently saw visions of meteors colliding with the atmosphere at alarming rates, and her arguing with a man - who she did not know yet but seemed to be close to - in a control room of some sort with a panic button, among other scenes. She recorded them in a journal she kept in a drawer in her desk, and writing them down was the first thing she did after waking, while they were still fresh in her mind. Today before writing, she grabbed a mug from the hook on the wall, prepped coffee grounds into a filter, and after installing the basket, carried her notebook and pen outside. A white antique rocking chair and matching tea table sat beside the front door on a porch made of oak wood. Avery wanted to ponder the meaning of her dreams, not just record to record, which she had done for years. She kept seeing the same man: tall, but only a few inches taller than her, with blonde hair and well-built. In her dreams, he was in the military, but she had seen him in other situations before. After setting her materials down, coffee’s sweet caress drew her to the kitchen, where she poured her mug and added the misproportionate-to-the-label amount of creamer she liked.
Avery settled into her rocking chair, putting her feet up and her knees against her chest, her notebook supported in her lap. She took a sip of her coffee and then placed the mug on the tea table beside her…(come back next week to keep reading, ugh i work too much)