The Dreamcatcher
SETTINGS
the bedroom
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the realm of monsters
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the lake
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others
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CHARACTERS
main character: nikolai trevolin
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description: nikolai trevino has always been a child. though he'd physically grown up, perhaps earlier than needed, with heavy, dark bags under always half-closed eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, his mentality and morals regarding all of life had remained the same, for better and worse as the world around him changed. nikolai had never grown from the black-and-white view of good and bad, the us against them mindset. Even when those around him, those closest to him (though that is admittedly a low bar) do not fit at all, he forces himself to stuff them into the boxes of virtuous and evil, pushing those who prove themselves a waste of time away, despite their best efforts. though on the outside, the behavior is clearly self-destructive, he barely feels any guilt, justifying it for the martyr syndrome of the greatest heroes to grace the yellowing pages and badly rendered television screens. the only time he'd ever felt anything for it was when it was his own brother, for reasons still unclear to both.
nikolai trevino has a complicated relationship with said brother, though it is more clear cut when it comes to the rest of his family. his first memory of his mother was her knocking away his tower of wooden blocks, replacing it with a sheet of paper and forcing him to learn cursive at age two. his first memory of his father was the man grabbing a long, wooden rod and leaving him with bright pink scars still left unhealed. his first memory of his brother was the older boy staring him down as the younger cried and writhed in pain, either unwilling to help him, or perhaps, not being able to.
nikolai trevino has always liked collecting toys. perhaps because he is a toy himself. his most prized possession is a rabbit named tatters, with faded pink cloth appearing deflated, with barely any fluff left inside. though most students avoided him, because after all, who would want to be friends with a boy who still brought around a stuffed toy as a toddler would, and most teachers avoided him, because who would want to teach a child who clearly hadn't grown at all, he was content. content enough, by reassuring himself that the time would come for him to be a hero.
nikolai trevino's talents always laid in his fundamental ability to see things that others said were simply not there. he doesn't like listening to others, most of the time. though his hate for his parents runs deeper in his veins than their own blood, he had adopted the philosophy of being self-sufficient from them. after all, a hero must not rely on others to save the world, and instead do it themselves. but what good is a person to save the world, he thinks sometimes, if they cannot save their own?
nikolai trevino doesn't like thinking very much. he is an artist, one of music, and music is supposed to flow. it's supposed to harmonize and mix together perfectly, soothing the mind. thinking makes all the notes in his head jumble together, shaking in discordance as he goes deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of thoughts. and there is one, one that keeps on returning, despite his many attempts at turning it away. one that lies dormant and awakens every few days or so to loom over him, a shadow on his perfectly lighted world. or rather, what he tries to convince himself is a perfectly lighted world.
nikolai trevino needs to sleep with a nightlight on. it is one of the three things he is ashamed of, even if nobody has an inkling about his life, or wants to know about it. the dark has always been too suffocating for him. he thrives in the bright lights of the cities he's been to, running from towering skyscrapers to flickering streetlights to the open streets. the noise makes him feel alive, as though he is not alone, as does the light.
nikolai trevino does not know that soon, he will learn to fear the light. fear it more than he does the rod in his father's rough palms, seeing every splinter that will soon be left in his body as a bleeding mark. fear it more than seeing bright blue eyes in the window, looking at the truth, at the circus of a family he had behind the silk, crimson curtains. fear it more than falling, and never hitting the ground, as he is sure to do. fearing he will never be the hero, not even of his own story.
nikolai trevino has found himself on a cliff, yet again. he's always on some sort of cliff. on some sort of edge. looking down, seeing infinite darkness between all the faintly heard promises of life and love and everything he's not sure he wants or needs or both. he desperately wants to walk away, to run away to a place where he may never grow old, where the bonds of pressure could be untied, and he could be set free. the only escape, the only relief he has is temporary, in the dead of night when no-one else is awake. books sneaked under pillows of a tattered couch, music tapes hidden in unwashed pants. his greatest hero is one he'd heard of long ago, one he had not forgotten despite the years: the pied piper. the very epitome of a childish spirit, bravery and humor and kindness and just a hint of utter stupidity. running away to an endless escape of adults and responsibilities.
nikolai trevino will soon learn that it is truly unachievable to get to that paradise. that he will need to accept responsibilities in order to save something he is not sure he even wants to save, anymore. that he will need to give up his painted throne, his pride and all to save someone he is not sure he even wants to save, anymore. and that he will need help, from much more than a faded bunny toy.
nikolai trevino has a complicated relationship with said brother, though it is more clear cut when it comes to the rest of his family. his first memory of his mother was her knocking away his tower of wooden blocks, replacing it with a sheet of paper and forcing him to learn cursive at age two. his first memory of his father was the man grabbing a long, wooden rod and leaving him with bright pink scars still left unhealed. his first memory of his brother was the older boy staring him down as the younger cried and writhed in pain, either unwilling to help him, or perhaps, not being able to.
nikolai trevino has always liked collecting toys. perhaps because he is a toy himself. his most prized possession is a rabbit named tatters, with faded pink cloth appearing deflated, with barely any fluff left inside. though most students avoided him, because after all, who would want to be friends with a boy who still brought around a stuffed toy as a toddler would, and most teachers avoided him, because who would want to teach a child who clearly hadn't grown at all, he was content. content enough, by reassuring himself that the time would come for him to be a hero.
nikolai trevino's talents always laid in his fundamental ability to see things that others said were simply not there. he doesn't like listening to others, most of the time. though his hate for his parents runs deeper in his veins than their own blood, he had adopted the philosophy of being self-sufficient from them. after all, a hero must not rely on others to save the world, and instead do it themselves. but what good is a person to save the world, he thinks sometimes, if they cannot save their own?
nikolai trevino doesn't like thinking very much. he is an artist, one of music, and music is supposed to flow. it's supposed to harmonize and mix together perfectly, soothing the mind. thinking makes all the notes in his head jumble together, shaking in discordance as he goes deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of thoughts. and there is one, one that keeps on returning, despite his many attempts at turning it away. one that lies dormant and awakens every few days or so to loom over him, a shadow on his perfectly lighted world. or rather, what he tries to convince himself is a perfectly lighted world.
nikolai trevino needs to sleep with a nightlight on. it is one of the three things he is ashamed of, even if nobody has an inkling about his life, or wants to know about it. the dark has always been too suffocating for him. he thrives in the bright lights of the cities he's been to, running from towering skyscrapers to flickering streetlights to the open streets. the noise makes him feel alive, as though he is not alone, as does the light.
nikolai trevino does not know that soon, he will learn to fear the light. fear it more than he does the rod in his father's rough palms, seeing every splinter that will soon be left in his body as a bleeding mark. fear it more than seeing bright blue eyes in the window, looking at the truth, at the circus of a family he had behind the silk, crimson curtains. fear it more than falling, and never hitting the ground, as he is sure to do. fearing he will never be the hero, not even of his own story.
nikolai trevino has found himself on a cliff, yet again. he's always on some sort of cliff. on some sort of edge. looking down, seeing infinite darkness between all the faintly heard promises of life and love and everything he's not sure he wants or needs or both. he desperately wants to walk away, to run away to a place where he may never grow old, where the bonds of pressure could be untied, and he could be set free. the only escape, the only relief he has is temporary, in the dead of night when no-one else is awake. books sneaked under pillows of a tattered couch, music tapes hidden in unwashed pants. his greatest hero is one he'd heard of long ago, one he had not forgotten despite the years: the pied piper. the very epitome of a childish spirit, bravery and humor and kindness and just a hint of utter stupidity. running away to an endless escape of adults and responsibilities.
nikolai trevino will soon learn that it is truly unachievable to get to that paradise. that he will need to accept responsibilities in order to save something he is not sure he even wants to save, anymore. that he will need to give up his painted throne, his pride and all to save someone he is not sure he even wants to save, anymore. and that he will need help, from much more than a faded bunny toy.
WORD COUNT: 1,005
side characters:
keaton crowe
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description:
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meghan seanter
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billy cliffheld
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dante trevolin
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description:
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PLOT
summary
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after his brother's disappearance, a boy learns that the monsters under the bed and in the closet are real, and that an extremely off-his-rocker middle school teacher is planning to bring everyone's inner demons to life, starting with the small town they both live in. with the help of the resident deliquent, a very confused (in all senses of the word) exchange student, and an estranged friend with an interest in musicals, an accountant with three eyes and a crimson slime thing, he sets to rebuild the theatre program and defeat said teacher.
main storyline
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subplots
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much to the detriment of leonard oaksworth’s mental health...