Shifters ch. 1 re-done

ONE
It was a mild spring afternoon; hardly a cloud in the sky and a cool breeze was gently blowing in from the bay.
I was running. Running as fast as my legs would carry me. Past neighbors and houses and shops. My lungs were burning and my legs were aching, but I kept running, my school shoes rhythmically smacking against the ground beneath my feet and my pigtails billowing behind me. I ran and I ran until I had reached the beach. Several boats were bobbing out on the waves, but I was alone on the shore. There was a man's clothes scattered on the sand, and when I looked toward the edge of the tide I saw a shirtless, dark haired man sitting with his back to me, staring out at the ocean. He had what looked like some sort of leather or animal hide wrapped around his waist. He grabbed the leather and pulled it up over his head. In moments there was a large male seal sitting where he had been. The seal then began moving towards the water. I called out to him and he turned his head to look at me, a sort of distant sadness in his large dark eyes that were so similar to my own. It lasted for only a moment or two, and then he disappeared into the waves.
Without thinking, I rushed into the water after him. I was a good swimmer, despite my young age and thought I could find him. But I became caught in a riptide and the waves pulled me under. I was spun around until I couldn't tell up from down. I opened my mouth to scream, but bitter saltwater rushed into my mouth and down my throat.
I tried to kick in a direction I thought was up, but my lungs and legs were already worn out from running. I felt myself moving slower, and I thought my lungs were going to burst. Within moments, my vision began to go black….

I sat straight up, gasping for air and covered in sweat. Looking around, I saw that I was in my own bedroom and let out a sigh of relief. It was just a dream. I flopped backwards onto my back, hearing the familiar creak of my bedsprings. I flung my arm over my eyes and tried to regulate my breathing.
Wow. I hadn't had that dream in a while.
I used to have it all the time when I was little. It started a few months before I came to America, and it continued every night for more than a year. Eventually I had it less and less, until it got to the point where I had gone almost a year without having it.
Well, so much for that.
Removing my arm from my face, I let it drop to the blanket and absentmindedly looked about my room. Right across from the end of my bed was a large window through which I could see the almost-full moon lighting up my bedroom.
I had read somewhere that sleeping in moonlight will turn you into a lunatic. Maybe that was why I started having that dream again. Maybe I was going mad….
A sun catcher made of driftwood, fishing line and sea glass hung just in front of the window, the light from the moon bouncing off it and casting bright, almost glowing spots onto my walls.
When I was about twelve, I begged Mama to let me move my room up to the attic. She was reluctant at first, but she knew that I was getting older and would need my own space. And a teenage girl shouldn't have to share a room with her little brother.
We painted the walls a pale blue, while the door and window frames were painted a deep indigo. I had wanted my bedroom to remind me of the ocean, even though I could see it from my window.
Over the years, various paintings and drawings I made had been tacked to the walls, and it's gotten to the point where only random bare patches of blue wall are visible. While there are several pictures of friends and family, most of what I draw is about the ocean. It's a safe bet that I have a mild obsession with it. I just can't help it, it's it my blood. When Mama and I lived in Ireland, the small town we lived in was practically in the bay. Even where we live now, it's just a short walk from my house. I'm almost always on the beach or in the water in my free time. My attachment to the ocean is the reason several people started calling me names like "flipper" or "fish girl."
Well, one of the reasons.
Looking down at my hand, I spread my fingers wide, staring at the thin webbing of skin between the digits. My toes were the same. The webbing was so thin that I could just barely see the pattern of my quilt beneath my fingers.
When I was born, the doctors and nurses were very surprised to see a baby with webbed fingers and toes. Other than the extra skin I was healthy, so there was nothing to worry about. The doctor told Mama that it would probably fall off as I grew older.
Obviously, the doctor was wrong.
I don't mind it, really. Sure it's earned me a few rude nicknames and even more odd stares. And it's impossible for me to wear things like gloves or rings. But it isn't so bad. Oma makes me a special pair of mittens every winter, and I never really liked rings anyway.
Craning my neck, I moved to look at the old fashioned alarm clock that was steadily ticking away the seconds. The thin hands on the clocks face indicated that it was well after midnight.
Stretching, I sat up and swung my pale legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet touched the cold hardwood, sending a slight chill through my body.
I shuffled tiredly to the opposite end of my room and made my way down the attic stairs to my bedroom door. It opened with a slight creak, not nearly loud enough to wake anybody.
Thankfully the bathroom was right near my bedroom door and I didn't have to walk all the way down the hall. Flicking on the light, I closed the door quietly as I could and walked to stand in front of the sink. Seeing myself in the mirror, I grimaced and made a face at my reflection. I looked terrible. My skin was paler than normal, almost white, making my freckles stand out in stark contrast. There were bags under my dark eyes like purplish bruises and my wavy, strawberry-blonde hair was messy and frizzed. I was not going to have fun brushing it out in the morning.
Washing my face with cold water, I rubbed my eyes with a towel and flicked off the light. I walked farther down the hall and descended the stairs, trying my hardest to be quiet and not wake anyone up. About halfway down the stairs I caught the smell of hot coco and cinnamon toast. Smiling, I continued into the kitchen to see Mama sitting at the table with a mug of coco and a piece of toast in front of her. Across the table was a solitary steaming mug of coco sitting next to a small plate containing a piece of toast. She smiled that Mom Smile when I entered the kitchen and sat across from her.
"How is it that you always know when I'll wake up in the middle of the night?"
She sipped her coco, and then said "I'm your Mother. It's my job."
I chuckled and took a drink, letting the coco warm my body. I could already feel myself relaxing.
"So," She said around a mouthful of toast. "What brings my baby down here so late?"
I rolled my eyes. I was already sixteen-years-old and she still called me her baby. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I sighed and stared into my coco. I didn't want to say anything because she would probably worry.
"Sweetheart?" She asked.
"Uh….Nothing, really. I just woke up and wanted something to drink, so I…" I looked up at Mama and saw she was giving me The Look. She knew I was lying. I swear, my Mother is a walking lie detector…
Sighing again, I confessed. "I had the dream again." I saw the worry creep into her eyes. Leaving her coco and toast, she moved to sit beside me and began stroking my hair. "Oh, sweetheart. You had gone so long without having it."
"I know. I don't even know why I still have it." I said, munching on my toast.
"Well, it was a pretty traumatic experience in your life. You would have died if Mr. Shaunessy hadn't seen you in the water. It's hard for your brain to let go of something like that."
"But it's been almost a year since the last time. I thought I was done having that stupid dream…"
Mama wrapped her arm around me and a leaned against her, my head resting in the crook of her neck. Her hand returned to my hair and she kissed the top of my head.
"I wish I could make it go away, honey."
"It doesn't scare me as bad as it did when I was little, and I'm not afraid of the ocean or anything…"
I felt her chuckle. "That's for sure."
I couldn't help but smile. "I just can't think of any reason why I would have it."
"Neither can I. You've had it less and less over the years, so maybe it will eventually go away."
"I hope so. It's been ten years already."
Mamma rubbed my shoulder and I sat up straight. "There's no use worrying about it, sweetheart. Just finish your coco and try to go back to sleep. If you sleep in too late, Ian will push you out of bet when he comes over." I laughed. My best friend, Ian, came over almost every day, especially now that it was summer vacation. I always tried to be awake before he came over because he was fond of…enthusiastically getting me out of bed. But I suppose it was mostly my fault. I wasn't exactly what you would call a 'morning person'.
"I know, Mama." Giving her a tight hug, I grabbed my mug of coco and made my way out of the kitchen. "Sleep well." She called after me.
"Night, Mama." I replied and made my way back to my attic room.
Once there I sat back on my bed and downed the rest of my hot coco, already feeling tired. Hot coco always made me sleepy, even when it was summer. Standing back up, I made my way across my room and opened my window, letting the cool night breeze in. I could hear the rhythmic movement of the ocean, acting as a lullaby.
Yawning, I flopped down onto my bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Thankfully, my sleep was deep and dreamless.