The Dome

Chapter 1: The Dream

Melissa wakes up in a cold sweat.

It’s the same nightmare. Every night.

The cold floor beneath her feet helps shake off the last bit of fear. Routine grounds her - so does the strong black coffee. After a simple breakfast, she brushes her teeth, then pauses at the mirror. She studies her reflection, rubbing her temples, tugging lightly at her earlobes. Opening her mouth wide, she tries to pop her ears, to release the pressure that’s been there for weeks. Nothing. With a quiet sigh, she turns away, grabs her bag and keys, and heads for the bus stop.

The university is only a few blocks away, but she always takes the bus to be on time. Recurring nightmares can do strange things to a person - steal their sleep, their sense of calm, even their mornings.

A cloud of exhaust swallows her where she stands on the pavement, looking up at the university.

This was her choice. To leave it all behind. To chase her dream.

Mom understood. Dad didn’t care enough to leave the bottle and stay alive to be here. And Jason… Jason was her first love. And is probably still wrapped in the arms of the girl who used to be her best friend, Delilah. They deserved each other. She deserved better. That’s why she was here - to build a future away from betrayal, away from people who never really saw her.

She crosses the busy street - horns blaring, students scattering in every direction. A quick smile at the guard as he scans her student card.

Gabby is standing with a group of freshmen, chatting animatedly. When she sees Melissa, she waves and falls in step beside her. Together, they make their way to Professor Adams’ class.

They take their usual seats in the front row. Paper planes soar lazily overhead. Giggles ripple from the back of the room. Professor Adams begins the lesson as if none of it exists. He looks a bit like Einstein with that wild tuft of white hair and half-moon glasses. The students adore him - he’s patient, funny, and completely oblivious to his nickname: Adams Apple, thanks to the oversized lump in his throat that bobs whenever he talks.

Melissa opens her notebook and starts taking notes.

Today’s lecture is interesting enough to hold her attention - until Gabby nudges her in the ribs.

“Did you see that?” she whispers.

Melissa glances over, frowning. “See what?”

Gabby gestures vaguely toward her own throat.

Melissa blinks. “What are you -?”

Gabby sighs and scribbles something on a piece of paper, sliding it across the desk.

HE IS NOT BOPPING!!

Melissa frowns deeper, leans forward slightly. Professor Adams is still talking - no, rambling on - but his Adam’s apple isn’t moving. Not even a twitch.

Her pen stills. The words coming out of his mouth sound perfectly normal, but his throat is utterly still.

She can’t look away.

The longer she watches, the more wrong it feels. Like watching a film where the sound and picture have slipped out of sync. She can’t even focus on what he’s saying anymore. All she sees is that unmoving throat, all she feels is the dull, pulsing pressure in her ears.

The rest of the lecture blurs.

After class, Melissa stops at the chemist on the corner near campus. Maybe she needs something to help her sleep - anything to quiet her mind. Exams are coming up, and she can’t afford to unravel now.

Gabby invites her to hang out with a few girls in the dorm that evening, but as always, Melissa declines. She’s not in the mood for laughter and loud music. Not tonight.

Instead, she settles on the couch with a cup of cocoa and Netflix humming quietly in the background. The faint ringing in her ears makes it hard to focus, and after a while, she gives up. The tablets she bought are already working, drowsiness creeps in like a heavy tide.

For once, she doesn’t dream.

When she wakes the next morning, she feels groggy but rested. The sun hasn’t risen yet. The quiet feels heavy, almost unnatural.

She remembers the ranch back home - how the chirping of birds always woke her before dawn. Funny, she thinks. She hasn’t heard birds once since moving here.

Maybe a walk will help clear her head.

The hallway outside her apartment is eerily still as she locks up and steps out. She rarely bumps into her neighbours. She hears them sometimes - soft footsteps, muffled voices through the walls - but she’s never actually seen them. It doesn’t bother her. She prefers the solitude.

The air outside is crisp, and when she exhales, pale clouds of breath bloom into the air.

This is her third and final year at university, and she can’t wait to be done. The city feels sterile, too polished. Like a perfect photograph that’s been edited too smooth.

She reaches the park. Only a few figures are scattered along the path. Melissa sits on a bench, pulling her coat tighter, staring at nothing in particular. Maybe she’s just homesick. She always feels better after speaking to her mom. Every Saturday evening, they talk for an hour - without fail.

Mom is lonely too. Things changed after the accident. Melissa can see it in her mother’s eyes when they video call, can hear it in her voice when she says she’s fine. The sun doesn’t shine the same way anymore.

Her phone buzzes. Gabby.

Photo after photo of last night’s dorm party flood her screen. Melissa smiles faintly - though it doesn’t reach her eyes - and types back: “You’re telling me I missed out on all THAT?”

Gabby replies instantly: “Next time I’m not taking no for an answer. Kabe was looking forward to seeing you 😉.”

A grin tugs at Melissa’s lips despite herself. Kabe is cute, in that reckless, loud way that exhausts her. She’s not an emo or anything, just not in the mood for chaos. Maybe after exams, she’ll let herself live again. Dad would’ve wanted that.

The walk back to her apartment is quiet. Leaves carpet the pavement. The wind doesn’t move them. Back home, a gust would’ve swept them away by now.

Inside, she opens her laptop and gets to work. She actually looks forward to Professor Adams’ tests - he makes things feel real, always weaving something clever into his exams.

She doesn’t realize how dark it’s gotten until the phone rings, breaking the silence.

Mom.

Melissa answers, smiling before she even says a word. “Hey, Mom.”

Her mother’s voice floods the room with warmth. Relief softens Melissa’s shoulders. They talk about everything and nothing - Ginger the cat’s latest disappearance, old Mrs. Holloway buying herself a casket “just to be prepared.” Melissa laughs. Mrs. Holloway has always been dramatic. Ever since her husband passed and her kids stopped visiting, she’s been convinced she’s next.

Mom mentions a new rusk recipe she wants to send. They talk about Melissa coming home soon. Just two more months, she says. Better to wait than come home for Thanksgiving - it’ll only make leaving again harder.

Before hanging up, Melissa mentions her ears. How they’ve been blocked for weeks.

Her mom’s voice tightens with concern. “Promise me you’ll make a doctor’s appointment,” she says. “And promise to tell me what they say.”

Melissa promises. She always does.

When the call ends, the apartment falls quiet again.

Too quiet.

She sits there for a moment, staring into the stillness, until the ringing in her ears begins to hum again - soft, low, almost mechanical.

And for the briefest second, she swears she hears something beneath it.