I've only got a few minutes more to hang out online, so I thought I'd post the first part of a story I'm writing. It's kind of a mess, I think. I'm not sure about the tense and...ugh. Well, you'll see. This is a sort of prologue to the story. It does go somewhere, I promise! LOL.
*very nervous to share this, by the way*
I’m a child in the dream. In the dream I realize that at only three feet high, life is ridiculously impossible. At five years old, it feels like I am too young to do anything but the desire is there. On the plus side, there are plenty of fabulous hiding spots for someone so small. And I plan on taking advantage of all of them.
The counter juts out about a foot from its base. Not a hiding spot really, but it serves as a roof over my head. Hardly anyone can notice if I’m there in the shadow. There’s a small seat, comfortable for my size, with a cartoon dog face on it. The dog’s tongue is sticking out in a goofy smile that, at this point in time, just feels like it’s mocking me. I feel like grumbling, “What the hell are you smiling at?” and if I had the vocabulary, I just might. “Get your damn dog tongue back in your mouth. Don’t you realize I’m five and I’m having a crisis?” The sobs and cries come out loud as everyone ignores me. A drama queen at five years old. Head in my hands, tears rolling down my cheeks leaving salty white tracks. My family walks by, attending to life as normal.
It isn’t anything an adult could possibly understand. I don’t expect them to. So the tears that leave a bad taste in my mouth are mine alone. My limited vocabulary allows me to scream out, “I’ll never be six! My birthday will never come. I just know it. I’ll never get to be six!”
A child’s world moves at a slower pace than an adult’s. One day feels like one week. So yes, this is a reasonable complaint. For me, it seems that my birthday (which is a whole week away) might not come.
A pair of knees stands in front of me. I know those knees. The pants that cover them have a crisp crease down the center. They appear to be freshly ironed. The knees are worn just enough to know that they belong to a man that has spent a significant amount of time crawling around after his children. One very small rip- as one so short, knees are my horizon so I am able to notice it. It serves as an indication of a rather rough horsey ride. An even smaller grass stain right below the shin marks where your sister kicked a soccer ball. Seconds later, it was kicked back right into her nose. You know those knees belong to a man that cried that night- the night he learned about the fragility of a seven-year-old nose.
The knees begin to bend and a pair of glasses over brown eyes appears in front of you. The nineteen seventies mustache dances as the words, “What exactly is the matter?” flow from the mouth below it. It’s funny how a mustache can dance. Suddenly, I can’t remember why I was so upset to begin with. Strong arms reach out and lift you up.
I wipe the drip from my nose onto my long sleeve. It leaves a sticky trail. The dream jumps to later in the evening, when it hardens and scratches me as I lay my head on my arms as my eyes grow heavy with exhaustion. The scratch will remind me of how I was upset and scared that my birthday might not come. It’s been a rough day. Just as I decide to go to bed without argument, I wake up in my own adult bed, alone, shaking and sweating. My pulse races, and I’m left awake to lie in bed and contemplate how images of a happy childhood can leave me so afraid at 3 AM.
That's a huge compliment. Thank you so very much!!!!!! 
Tense problems here. Are you keeping it to present, or switching to future? AS i lay my head on my arms AS my eyes grow heavy with exhaustion, repetitive, rearrange sentence
) I can never seem to keep it consistent *shakes head.*
