2015

Larissa Jones has dreams of a boy, a boy she's never met. Every night would be a new fantasy in this perfect relationship. Dates to restaurants; watching the sunset or drives into the middle of nowhere. It was perfect and he was perfect too. Dark brown ringlets framed his face and bottomless green eyes that she could stare into forever.

But when Larissa goes to see a fortune teller for fun with her friend and the fortune teller magically recites everything in her dreams-that she’s going to meet a boy in a couple of years, with brown curls and green eyes and will go on wonderful and romantic dates with, she starts to unravel that maybe these aren’t just dreams, but visions into the future, her whole world changes.

How will she meet this boy? She finally stops delving into her dreamland of books long enough to make the connection that this boy isn’t just some recurring perfection, he’s Harry Styles and with millions of fans worldwide (after doing some research), how will she meet

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1. Background of the Dreams.

I laughed at the boy sitting next to me in the car. I watched as he purposefully stuck his head out of the car window and sung really loud and off key. I watched as the sun glistened softly onto his face; made visible by the open window. I watched as he bent forward and shook out his curls and brushed them back whist singlehandedly trying to keep us alive and maintain the car in a straight line and not swerve off the road and crash. Suddenly he whipped his head round to face me. He smirked when he caught me staring. I blushed.

‘What are you staring at? My handsomely good looks?’ he teased.

‘You wish!’ I laughed and playfully punched his arm on the shoulder.

We were driving down to the north, just aimless driving. Not really knowing where we’re going, just letting the road take us wherever it wishes us to go.

It was a hobby both of us possessed. We’d set of early in the morning, sixish perhaps, and pack enough clothes for a day or two and pick a random route and just drive. We’d sometimes get to a junction and he would ask me whether or not I wanted to turn this way or that way, or I’d close my eyes and point to any random direction. I’d open them again and see him laughing at me as I’d accidentally pointed to a duck pond or a bush. He didn’t mind the driving and I didn’t mind the sitting-down-for-a-long-amount-of-time thing.

It would be fun as he would plug in his phone or put a CD in and blast out some of his old rock ‘n’ roll favourites and we’d shout the lyrics at the top of our voices. We’d get funny looks of passers by but we don’t care.

We wouldn’t stay in one place for too long, only a day or two. Not long enough to do some serious exploring in my opinion and as I would have liked but at only 20, and him being 21, we both had work commitments. I didn’t care though, I loved… I lov… I l…



I woke with a start and then started to smile, the dreams were so vivid, and so…real. If only my real life was like that-it would be perfect. I don’t mind the dreams to be honest, sometimes it can be a bit annoying when you wake up sweaty and flustered but they are my escape. If I ever had a bad day at college or fell out with someone then I know I can come home and have a hot chocolate, a hot bath and then go to bed early and know that they are always going to be there.

And they were as well, not a night goes past where I don’t get another day, another night, another date or another fantasy in what seems to be the most perfect relationship I have ever ‘experienced’.

Good Lord I sound like a psychopath! They are just dreams Larissa! Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing them on a different perspective to me and him, I’ll watch what I’m saying and my body actions but I’m not in control of it.

Other times it can be completely different and everything I see and hear or smell or taste or touch seems so real that it’s impossible that it’s a dream. Maybe I’m living my life the wrong way round to everyone else. Maybe the dreams are my reality and this boring one I’m living right now is my dreamland.

I describe the boy in my dreams as ‘him’ or ‘he’ because I literally don’t know who he is. In the dreams I never once say his name or hear anyone else say it. He says mine repeatedly and I find it really annoying and unfair. I really want to know who he is!

The dreams have been going on for about a year now and I’m seventeen years old! I’ve never once told anybody about them, as I really don’t want to be humiliated, looked at funny or have my sanity questioned (it already is now!). So when I get asked why I overslept, or why I sometimes become scarily antisocial and don’t want to attend some parties anymore, I have to make up lies after excuses after lies after excuses.

The boy in my dreams surely was a figment of my imagination; something my brain created, right? I never expected to meet him surely!

My names Larissa Jones, I’m eighteen years old, and this is my story.
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