I am barely awake now. Five hours of shut eye ended moments ago.Poetic Discretion, Indiscretion and a nameless mountain top are part of a soaring range that make up a university affectionately known as "The Heights."
Locked myself in the bathroom where I am frantically chasing fragments of a dream I had. Like all dreams it was big and bold and full of color. An amazing and incredible story that I fear to let go.
So here in the bathroom I am trying to gather my thoughts together before they shatter during the morning light.
Already consciousness begins to pound and pummel the place that holds the images I saw. Slowly but surely the tide brought in by morning light is washing away the remnants of my memory.
It makes me a little sad and frustrated to lose the grip I had on this story.
Soon we will learn if the quick scribbling of notes translates into a semblance of story or gibberish.
Somehow I have been transported back through time. I am not lost but placed in a spot where I will eventually come to know three students who would become famous. There fame was not for their accomplishments in life, but for their tragic early death there in "The Heights."
I couldn't tell you how I got there. I am not exactly sure why. I just know that it has something to do with helping to write or share the backstory of the three souls who lost their lives that day.