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Lockers. That's all she could see. Just a maze of lockers. It didn't make sense. There were doors somewhere around there right? There had to be. What good was storage space without any way to bring stuff in? But there were no doors. There was no escape.

She could hear the footsteps. They were coming for her. She kept running but there was nowhere to go. The footsteps were growing louder, surrounding her auditory field. Were they coming from in front of her now? She couldn't tell. Everything was confusing. This was school, right? What was happening?

Her shoes betrayed her, coming loose and sending her sprawling to the tile. Her hands try to catch her but they splay out, leaving her unable to spring up quickly. The footsteps are loud and ringing in her ears. She closes her eyes to shut them out before they stop. She opens them and sees two pairs of feet standing in front of her. She looks up. She can't see their faces, but they look familiar? Why? Why are they familiar? Why are they holding guns? No! No not here! Not he-

Before the bang comes, a loud knock on the door interrupts. The redhead who was certain it was her time to go bolts up in her bed, looking around in a haze.

[color=sienna]"Jilly! If you want breakfast, you're going to have to show yourself and get it!"[/color]

That voice confirms that Jillian O'Brien's mother was the one to save her youngest child from another dream ending in death. Jillian grumbled and fell back down onto her bed. [color=FD9100]"...Whatever. I don't need any more hash browns."[/color] The grumble in her stomach contradicted that sentiment, however. Maybe some food was necessary.

It could wait though. Phone first. Phone was the primary method of communication, at least with those Jillian still wanted to communicate with. Granted it had shrunk by a wide margin since the days when she got that Samsung A51 just before senior year. She was due for an upgrade, but she knew nothing about getting phones, and then there was going to the mall and that was not where she wanted to be right now. Instead, she relied on her aging device to dash off a quick text to the one remaining person from the squad she maintained contact with.

[color=FD9100][b][i]"Hey, Miss Midnight. You awake? Dreams are assholes and I want to forget they keep happening. Could use a partner if I'm dancing this early."[/i][/b][/color]