“Ken? It’s time, wake up.”... I give out the same groan that I’ve been familiar with for the past 2 years. My arm positions itself onto the mattress, indenting it and attempting to lift me off, as my own body refusing to comprehend. Skip School. That was the first thing that popped into my mind, but a part of me knew that skipping school was not a good idea. Just that little spark. I got myself up and sat down onto the bed. Everything was still a blur, including my memory. As I sat down, I remembered. Today’s the day. The field trip to Clark Beach. I get up and slump over to the sink. At least we get to skip classes, I thought to myself. I dressed up in the same old clothes that I always wear; my worn dark blue jeans with my plain gray and black hoodie, and some random t-shirt under it that I don’t really care about. I head down to the kitchen table, with some milk and cereal set up for me. “Hey Mom.” I mumbled, as I sat down still a little weary. I ate the cereal as I was thinking about what the field trip would be like. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was like all the rest of them. With me just ending up doing everything alone, while the very few of my friends go and play with their other friends and forget I’m even here. Suck it up. That was my motive, to just deal with it and move on. But I never thought of changing anything, I would just go with what’s going on, but I would never think about taking action; trying something new. Getting out of my comfort zone.

I head back up to grab my backpack and to get ready for the school bus. I open the door to feel a nice and easy breeze. I walk for few a minutes to get to my bus stop and wait for what felt like eternity, but was really 2 minutes thinking about the field trip. I hopped on to greet Joe, the bus driver. He nods his back to me (like he does all the time). I step forward to look for a seat. Maybe someone will offer me to sit by them? I keep walking till I reach the end of the bus. Well, I guess I’m sitting back here again. I sat back there staring at the window, which resulted in my eyes to start fading away, drifting to sleep. I wake up from a big jerk, noticing that the bus has stopped. All the kids start standing up and the bus grew loud. I shook my head back and forth telling myself to wake up. I head inside the school, sliding my backpack into the bottom of my locker. One of the teachers tells all of us to head out and into Bus #13. I follow a group of kids to the bus and sit inside, again, alone. After attempting not to fall asleep, I did. I wake up from the voices that grew louder and know that we’ve stopped. I hop out to see a great view, and think that this might not be as bad as I thought. I follow our group into the beach and I rush to the line for the Mens’ bathroom to change into my bathing suit. I walk out to see Fin, one of my closest friends. I walk up to say hi, but instead I’m ignored. Apparently he’s too busy talking and laughing with his other friends, so I just walk away. I walk around the whole beach till I reach the end, and sit down on top of a rock next to the bushes, away from people’s sight. I look into the distance, into the waves. I look all the way across the whole beach, and see a kid sitting exactly parallel to where I am. He looked so sad, and tired. I stare at him, wondering if this is a hallucination, if I was seeing.. myself. That can’t be me.. Is that what I look like?... No.. The kid was looking around the waves, just as I just was. He turned his head and saw me. We were staring at each other, wondering if this was a mirror. I got up to see if I really was going nuts, and saw that he got up too. I knew this couldn’t be real. I got up and walked towards him. If that was what I really looked like, I have to do something. I might regret this, but I have to try something new.. somewhere out of my comfort zone. I walk and stare at him, walking past all of my so-called “friends”. He was just standing there looking at me, trying to look away but couldn’t help it. I reached to his side of the beach.

“Hey”,  I awkwardly greeted to him.

“Hi” he responded, with a little snicker.

“I’m, uh, Ken.”

“I’m Johnson.”

“Nice to meet you, Johnson.. I’m not very good with small talk, as you could probably tell.”

“That’s alright, I don’t really have many friends to talk to..”

“Well, you’ve got me?”

We both smiled, seeing that we’ve gone off to a good start. We were now friends. We kept going on, and on about our personal issues about our own friends. This was a great time for me to bond with a friend. I’ve never experience such relief. I hated school before, but now I’ve met a new friend. Someone who doesn’t ignore me. I talked to Johnson for a while, on the beach. We shared our problems, and how I was tired of being ignored. Johnson and I have a lot in common. He was new to the school this year, and we don’t have any classes together. But he seemed like a cool guy, and is a good friend. I was foolish and let myself get away with all my secrets. I used harsh words on how I felt about my “friends”. I felt that he could be trusted and that it felt like that I’ve known him for years. I asked if he wouldn’t tell anyone about how I felt about my previous friends. But he immediately walked away. I grabbed his arm and asked where he was going. He yanked his arm out of my hand and started running off and calling Fin’s name. Oh no. Please don’t be what I think is going to happen. My heart froze. I didn’t know what to do. I felt worse than ever. Everything turned blurry, and all the noises felt muffled. My head felt so light.

I walked up to them. Speechless. One word come out. Yes. Fin walked away, not mad, or upset, but with the same face as always. That was when I became mad. “You don’t feel anything? I was your friend and I just insulted and de-friended you, and you’re just going to walk away?!” I was furious. But then I remembered. Just deal with it. My mind was now clear. This was a possibility I should’ve saw coming. I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t let my emotions cloud my judgement. I’ve got to think about all the things I’m going to say. I need to step outside of my comfort zone, but do it wisely.

Fat, abnormally large bristles staring mockingly at him.

            “Cully, look how ginormous this toothbrush is?” his friend Jacob gushed, his voice wrought with exaggerated incredulity.

            “Yeah, I already saw it,” Cullen replied, irritated by Jacob’s fascination with the engorged personal sanitation device.

Now Jacob was worming his fingers into the plastic packaging, tugging the toothbrush out, marveling at it with his dumbly mystified eyes and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans.

            “I’m taking this, too. Might as well, eh? Fat toothbrush might’ve been a good thing to put on our list, we just never knew it, huh?” He snickered at his own non-joke. Cullen sighed, his nerves beginning to ware. It was enough he had committed to this in the first place but to be simply wasting what time they had exploding over an oversized tootbrush—despicable, it was. Well, he could only blame himself for all of it, really—it had been his idea, his own carefully-laid plan.

            “C’mon, Jake let’s just focus, please. I want to get out of here as soon as we can.”
            “Right,” he agreed, throwing the plastic packaging on the tiled floors of the general store. The lack of electric lighting in the store at the current time, one-thirty in the morning, had allowed a gray color to settle in, making everything, including the boys themselves, naught but dark, undefined shapes eerily cut into the darkness. Cullen ran a palm through his dark hair, finding it still peppered with the moisture of resting snowflakes. The two listened to the sound of their own breathing in the chilled air, poignantly audible in the dull silence.

Cullen walked past a row of perfume vials, following Jacob, and he sniffed reflexively as an aerosol battalion of fresh roses swarmed his face. He coughed, the roses tickling his throat. Jake was snickering once more, a red perfume bottle fitting the curves of his tacky hands. “You’ll smell like a princess now, won’t you Cully?”

            In one quick movement of the hand, Cullen sent the perfume bottle flying across the room, shattering it into thousands of red sprinkles. The impact was bright, fractured, and enthralling to Cullen’s empty hand. Those sprinkles would make a perfect cupcake for Jacob, he thought. “Would you concentrate, Jake? Please?” he half-shouted, the irritation no long restrained from his tone.

            “Relax, Cully, you smell beautiful.” His friend’s voice had lost a bit of its former comic zeal. Jacob peeled around the counter and began to maneuver a piece of metal into the lock, one of his eyes closed in dramatized fixation as he did so. Meanwhile, Cullen, as they had planned, scoured the stores, stuffing into his sack anything he thought worth a hearty sum. Not quite the easiest occupation, given the generally valueless inventory, but nonetheless he gathered a few things they had written on their list of what to find. But they had put their faith into the register for what it guarded; it was the prime object of Cullen’s deft planning.

            The lock of the register clicked. “Got it!” Jake yelled out. Cullen was already on his way over. Together they began to swipe the stacks of cash into their sacks. Jacob’s former lassitude had quickly transformed into greedy excitement, his sack stuffed with what he had dreamed of—crisp-but-slightly-depressed-longitudinally dollar bills, stacks of them, at that. The money fell into their sacks like clumped confetti. How easy it had been, what perspicacious planning brought to impeccable execution.

            But then there it was. A piercing of the ear, a congenial reminder that it is undesired by the owner for strangers to steal their money and merchandise. The store alarm whisked in Cullen’s ears but he was far from alarmed. He finished sliding his cash into the sack and neatly slipped it over his shoulders, Jacob following suit. Jacob had not made any noise of panic, but when Cullen glanced over, Jacob’s face was sheet white.

            “C’mon, Jake. Let’s get outta here.” It was a sheepish source of comfort for Jacob. The two boys began to run to the front door through which they had entered. Cullen had grown accustomed to the persistent piercing now, really. It was merely a slight discomfort. However, what became sickeningly uncomfortable was the other, a walloping. A red and blue walloping that was so alarming he felt his bones locking up. He stopped walking towards the door, paralyzed. Jacob had stopped walking towards the door as well, but he was not paralyzed. His face had regained color, but upon noticing the condition of his friend, he felt a throng of stronger panic coming on. Not only would he have to successfully escape capture but he would have to guide his friend from it as well.

            Painstakingly, Jacob uttered, “C’mon Cullen. We’ve got to get to the door. It’s the only way out.”

            The response came surprisingly fast, as if prepared. “No, Jake. I can’t leave.”

            “What do you mean, you can’t leave? Do you want to go to prison, Cullen?”

            Cullen said nothing. Unlike the store alarm, the walloping sound became more forceful in magnitude, more nauseating. It tied ropes around Cullen’s limbs.

            “Fine, then, good luck,” Jacob spat at him, and he booked for the front door. But he was soon sliding on his heels to a stop. Blinding red and blue had replaced the gray color of the store.

            Jacob turned around, facing Cullen, and they locked eyes. Jacob had not a clue what to do, and it was his best guess that Cullen hadn’t one either. But suddenly, as dark figures began to take shape in the flashing colors, Cullen bulleted to the west side of the store. In one quick movement, he leapt into the window, shattering it into thousands of glass shards. The glass made the thick, white snow on the ground sparkle something beautiful.

Cullen, now embedded in the snow, came to with a lethargic hurriedness about him. A discordant harmony battering his ears, then he and Jacob running hard and fast into the night, cotton ball-sized snowflakes smacking their cheeks. A sharp glance behind, dark figures, red and blue cascading down the alleyway. Hard fast turns and the sacks were still heavy on their backs and Cullen started to taste blood and felt glass sprinkles in his eyes. Moonlit alleyways felt homelike, but the trudged footsteps through the deep snow were far from it.

In one quick movement, he flung his sack as hard as he could opposite the way he was running, and he felt as if his bones were shattering. He could still smell roses, actually. Taste them, even, acridly sweet amongst the warm blood.

And then suddenly it was no more, the cotton ball globs smacking his cheeks, the horrifying music in his head. His bones were refusing again, and he was locked from movement. Like a reluctant torpedo he pitched through the air and landed prostrate in the snow. He closed his eyes, squinting them both shut tightly and the pain was incredibly colorful to the sight. The roses were losing flavor but what flavor was left was slightly sweet.

            He poked his head up for just a second, and he saw a wisp figure of Jacob, still sprinting against the horde of snowfall, his heavy sack bobbing against his back, and yes, even the large toothbrush protruding from his back pocket. Cullen replaced his head back into its impression in the snow.

            He wondered whether if he simply laid there, the snow would cover him up and no one would find him, he could be alone with his frozen limbs and his roses and his glass sprinkles and the memory of the large bristles staring at him mockingly.      

            The two dark figures of policemen ran through the snow, their flashlights flooding the alleyways. Jacob they eventually caught pressed up against a wall hiding behind his sack of green, but they had run straight past Cullen, lying prostrate in the snow.

            Cullen tried to remember why he had leapt through the glass. Perhaps he had only wanted to see how beautifully the sprinkles of glass would sparkle in the snow. As more snow fell upon him, he savored the image of the silver light that refracted thousands of times over in his mind. 

When I wake up in my bed, I look over to my alarm clock and see that it’s 1:36 in the morning. I went to bed last night a 10-ish and I usually wake up around 7a.m. to go to school. I figure that I can get in about six and a half more hours of sleep. I feel my bed creak a little under me. I have a loft bed so I keep my desk and a tv under it. I also decorated it a little, so I don’t know what shook it. I also sleep above the laundry room so it could be the washer or the dryer. I feel my bed shake again by one of the legs. I also hear the floor creak under it. I dismiss it thinking that the floor is “breathing” with the cold and wintery weather outside.

I fall back into my pillow with my eyes closed trying to back to sleep. I sit there for a little, smelling a foul smell. It didn’t really matter too much because I fell asleep a few minutes later. I have a cool dream. In this dream, I can personally control what I do and how things work. Whenever this happens, I make myself fly around a tall city looking down at things and getting a great rush of the sky passes through my fingers and hair. I love that feeling. I also make myself an extraordinary person, doing things others can’t and making myself special and valuable.

I wake up later with the lights still dim and dark. I try and lean over to look at what time it is on my alarm clock. I start to lean up and over but I’m stopped. I look down my bed and my body. I see brown restrains that look like belts up and down the bed I’m in. They’re put into a way that I can’t budge at all. I try and shake the bed and loosen up the belts to press my luck, but I can’t I keep on doing this over and over and eventually get tired. I lay my head down on the flat mattress and try and fall asleep. I do. I wake up again but find that what happened wasn’t a dream at all.

This time I find myself tied down in a chair with rope, zip ties, and some of the same brown belt loops. I can see the bed that I was laying in. On it I see blood stains all over it. The pillow is also soaked in blood. I see that the belts had little barbs sticking out of the bottom so that they would dig into skin when I wriggled around. I look down and see holes in my shirt with blood dripping out of them. I don’t know why I didn’t feel them from before, I might have been in shock.

I look around the room even more. There is a staircase with a blinking light. The light has a blue tint to it but it’s still white. I look to the left of the staircase and see a table along the wall with sinks, jugs of chemicals, and tools. There are kitchen tools, power tools, and regular tools (screwdrivers, saws, etc.) all of the tools and sinks have bloodstains too. I don’t want to even think about what the tools were used for and I don’t want to know what is going to happen to me. I can’t see behind me because the chair is stuck and I’m tied down. The bed that I was first in is to my right.

I figure out that I didn’t just go from the bed to the chair by myself, so I say that there is someone else in the house or room I’m in. I don’t know where or who they are, but I know they were in here at one point. I look around the room more and see a clock by the stairs. I watch it for a while but it doesn’t move. It reads 1:36. That’s the same time that my alarm clock read when I looked at it.

I wait for a little more, nothing happens. After what feels like an hour and a half, I see a shadow appear in the light from the staircase. The light flicked again and the shadow got bigger. It stays like that for a while. It then keeps on moving down the steps without hesitation. Taking steps slowly but lighty. Not too light by being sneaky. They’re obviously wanting me to know that they are there. When they make it all the way down the stairs, I can see they’re face, although I can’t. They’re wearing a mask that is white with some blood stains around their mouth. I don’t know if that’s put there on purpose or not. Their mask is also very wrinkled. It looks like it is  made of leather.

They stand at the bottom of the steps, staring at me, waiting for me to do something.  

“Please don’t hurt me,” I say to them. “I’m just a kid, trying to get through school, which is already tough. Please don’t make this worse on me,” I say this as tears start to roll down my face

He doesn’t respond. I wait and tell him that if he lets me go that I’ll never tell anyone what happened. He starts toward me turning his head cock-eyed while smiling. I can tell by how his mask curls at his cheeks. This tells me that the mask fits right on top of his face. I don’t know if this is helpful much.  

He walks to me, step by step. He reaches me and stoops down to be a little bit lower than me. He picks up his hand slowly and drags his cold and wet fingers up my cheek, then across my forehead. Once he lifts up his finger, he turns around and walks toward the counter. I wipe my cheek on my shoulder and feel a slimy residue. It’s clear like water but sticky and slimy. I have no idea what it is.

He reaches the counter and picks up a big jug with the label torn off. There’s even the parts of the sticker still on it. He picks it up and pours it on a small cloth. The cloth soaks it up almost instantly. He starts towards me with the cloth. Once he gets to me he pulls down my shirt up at my shoulder to reveal a spot with four scratch marks, which I assume he made.

He takes the cloth and puts it up towards my shoulder. I keep anticipating what the pain is going to feel like. The cloth finally reaches my arm and I feel a horrible, stinging sensation. It burns. I can almost feel the liquid dissolve and eat away at my skin and muscle. He holds down the cloth for a long time. It feels like it takes hours for him to pull off. He finally does. The pain doesn’t get any worse-nor better.

Not much happens after that. I think I fell asleep a few minutes after he left. I saw him go up stairs, slowly like he did before. After he gets to the top of the stairs, I hear the floor above me creak. I can he his steps, every, single, one he takes. The last step I hear is directly above me. After that I think I fall asleep, because I can’t tell what happens after that.

I wake up and still, everything is the same. I  try to look behind me to see what is there, for all I know he could be there with a gun or knife ready to hurt and injure me. As I look behind me, I see a little hole in the ceiling. I stare at it, as my eyes adjust to the dark, shadowy hole. I can finally see up it. I make out an eyeball. The man was watching me as I was asleep. After that last step, he must’ve laid down and watched me sleep. I feel a shiver go down my spine. He sees thats I saw him and gets up. I hear him in a rush to get downstairs.

Once he gets down here, he comes straight to my chair and puts his hand around my neck, but not choking me. He’s just holding me so I can’t move, which I couldn’t even do before. He starts to let go, by slowly drawing his hand back to his body. He eventually gets up and turns around. He puts his hand up to the top of the bridge of his nose, pinching the bone. He turns back around aggressively and puts his arms around me on the back of the chair. He stares me down in my eyes, trying to make a connection. He starts to move my chair around so I can see the back wall. Now I know that the wall has some important information. I see the wall has blood on it, which surrounds news paper articles of “a man that kidnaps children tortures them mentally and physically, then eventually kills them”. There are many home surveillance pictures along with the articles. Throughout all of them, he wears the same mask. My eyes widen and I start to pant. I start to scream for help. I keep yelling. I feel that no one can hear me, and I think I’m right. The man pops up from behind me and punches my head, with the intentions to knock me out. But I don’t.

He bends back up to walk away. As he does, I lean up and punch his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He falls to the ground while I get up to grab a glass bottle. He’s still on the ground as I hit him on the head. He falls to the ground motionless. I grab another bottle and hit him again-just in case.

I wake up in my bed and feel so relieved. I come quick to realize that it was a dream. I almost cry because I see how much I love to be alive. I lean up and run out to the living room to give my parents a hug. As I’m about to enter the living room, my dad steps in front of me, blocking my path. I see that he has a large bruise on his left side of his forehead, near his temple. He has a broken glass bottle in his hand. I don’t know what is happening, so I look down at my shoulder.

I find four scratch marks that are red and inflamed.      

THE END

Iridescence

My eyes are devoid of all color, as my days are experienced and portrayed in black and white. Of course, that’s fine with me. I have seen the world in these faded shades of grey, black and white ever since I was born. I wake up to a beautiful palette of charcoal greys and creamy whites. The trees surrounding my home, the birds that serenade me awake, the shooting stars that shimmer across the dark black night sky have no hue whatsoever.

My mother tells me, “Oh, Lillian, the sky is the most beautiful shade of blue, a beautiful deep blue, just like your eyes.” She then glances at my hair and runs her fingers through it as she describes the color of it. “And your hair, it’s so soft, and the most beautiful shade of brown I’ve ever seen, a mix between my dark brown hair, and your father’s light blond hair. It’s gorgeous.” I have no idea what brown or blond looks like, but from the way she describes it, it sounds pulchritudinous.

Talking to my mother about her color-seeing gift makes my day as illuminated as her “yellow-ish white” sun brightens the earth. Because she can view the world in color, and I am stuck with my day looking like an old 50’s television screen, I get a little bit worried about our differences. What if there’s something wrong with my eyes? What if I will never be able to view the world like mother? My mind races as these thoughts run about.

I ask her why I can’t see the world in color like her. “Sweetie, you haven’t found the right person yet.” She notices the utter confusion on my face, and chuckles. “ Dear, I used to see just like you do now. I had no sense of color, and both of my parents told me that they used to see in black and white…” The mention of grandmother and grandfather brings a smile to my face. “ When they found each other, their vision went from black and white to vibrant color, just like mine did when I saw your father.” She smiles as the memories come flooding back to her. “Yep, I used to see exactly like you did,” she lets out a happy sigh. “ I was in church when I saw him. He was in the pew in front of me. Before church started, my nephew caught his attention, and he watched the little one run right to me. He looked right up at me, and bam!” she puts up her hands as if she’s pressing them against a window and staring at the sight. “I saw the first color. That magnificent blue in his eyes. I started crying, it was so amazing. I got lost in the color of those eyes, and once I looked away, I noticed these beautiful shades of orange, red, white, as if God was telling me that he would make my world as colorful as the church that morning.” I watch as a sparkling tear races down her cheek, leaving a slightly darker line down her cheek. “I saw his color, and I knew that he was the one.” She looks over at father, who is almost on the verge of tears, his memories flooding him as much as mother’s tears flooded her eyes. She wipes her eyes, and lets out another sigh. “Anyways, you will get your vision. You just have to find that one person saved up for you, that one person that will add color to your eyes.”

My mind races as I toss and turn on my bed. The stars and the moon casts a silver aura throughout my room, and as I get up and turn on the string lights, I watch as the lights brighten up the walls with a pale whitish grey that lightens my soul. Plugging my phone into the large speaker in the corner of my room, I set it to my favorite music playlist, William Fitzsimmons, and as his soft voice and guitar music echoes throughout the room, my smile widens as I imagine all of this in color. I sit and think of the one who will bring the color to my sight. Will he be tall? Smart? What if he isn’t like me? I both laugh and shudder at the thought of him dragging me to social places, probably telling me on the way that my social anxiety is cute, and that he wouldn’t have it any other way. I catch myself thinking of the colors of his eyes. Will they be a blue? Green? Or maybe a deep dark brown? I feel myself slowly getting sleepier as I imagine the vibrant blissfulness of the colors he brings me.

He stands right on front of me at a cafe. His face is fixated on the ground, walking to my table. “May I, uhm...may I sit with you?” I blush and smile softly. “Of course.” He looks up at me and smiles, and as my eyes meet his, the first color I see is a dark brown.

My peace is violently ripped away by my alarm clock as I bolt upright. I look around my room, as I see an overload of greys, blacks, and whites. A sad sigh escaping  my mouth, I get up and put on my outfit. Placing a white flower crown in my hair and fixing my shirt, I walk over to the kitchen. My mother’s hair is in a messy bun, and her nightgown covers her up. I look over and notice father can’t stop staring, and I smile. Even when she just woke up, she’s beautiful.

Saturday mornings are always calm and happy. Mother cooks breakfast as father gawks over her, and I chuckle as I watch outside, a bird chasing a curious squirrel away from its nest. Putting on a bright white purse, I tell mother that I’m going to get coffee, and I write down on a little drawing pad of mine that she loves caramel espresso.

The wind tosses my hair back, making it shine a bright silver in the white day. Hopping on my bike, I ride over to the cafe that was in my dreams. Seeing the cafe makes my stomach churn with nervousness and anticipation. As I finish parking my bike, a smile and a wave greets me from the window of the cafe; I’m a regular customer, and the guitarist that plays for the cafe every Saturday morning is one of my best friends. I open the large door, the scent of warm sugar and vanilla filling my nose. I get a calm feeling that can only be described as joy. The employees greet me happily; I usually give a large tip to them. I order a caramel espresso and a hot tea, as well as some cinnamon rolls. Sitting down at a small table, the warm food and drinks send an array of scents to my nose.

“Hi. May I, uhm...may I sit with you?”

As I look up, I see a tall boy, a grey hoodie covering his eyes, his dark black hair sticking out of the hoodie. Memories of my dreams flash before my eyes, and as my adrenaline rushes through me, frantic thoughts invade my mind. Is this really happening? Will I get my color today? Is he actually the one? I blush as he sits down slowly, having to scrunch up his limber legs to comfortably sit. I watch as his hands travel up, as he clasps his hoodie and takes it off, making his curly mess of hair more visible. His voice sweet, yet deep, he almost whispers out the words, “I’m Rhyan…”

He swoops his hair out of the way.

I stare into his eyes.

His dark grey eyes slowly start turning into a dark brown.

My gasp is audible enough to call the whole cafe to attention. As I see his eyes fill with color, I can’t help but smile. My first color, brown, seen in the eyes of my soulmate. The warmth spreads out, turning his grey cheeks a light brown, with tints of what I can only assume is red and pink as his blush becomes noticeable. The sun shines off of his black hair, and his hand reaches out for mine as his hoodie turns to a dark navy blue.

“I…I see in color now..Rhyan…”

He nods his head, his crooked teeth becoming visible as a grin appears on his face.. “I see I’m not the only one who gained color today.”

As I look up, I notice the cafe has gathered curiously around me, so closely huddled around us that I can feel their soft breaths hot on my neck. My face becomes very hot as I notice the attention that has found me. I look back into his dark deep eyes, noticing that they are my only escape from the piercing stares of the gathering crowd. As silent thoughts fill the room, I notice some kids smiling and exclaiming that “That girl over there found her true love, and he found his. Oh, if only I could see in color like her!” As I scan the faces around me, I see my friend playing the guitar for the cafe, and as the employees watch happily, the sounds of loud conversing grows ever louder. I barely notice when a large male pats my back. My body, and mind, is as numb as the moment itself. The only thing that is running through my mind at the moment is his eyes.

As I run home, my mind visualises my mother’s different reactions. I hope her reaction is happy I found my color. My eyes wander restlessly around the scene, and I notice the white fluffy clouds in the now vibrant sky. Blue. I glance down at the soft grass that reaches around my flip-flops and tickles my feet. Green.

With a reason now to talk to mother, I open the door happily, and while handing her her caramel espresso, she notices the goofy smile stuck on my face.

“You seem happy,” she grabs her coffee and takes a sip of it. “Anything new or exciting happen?”

“The sky is very blue today, and the grass is green.”

She almost drops her coffee as her gaze meets mine. “Yes, Lilly, the grass is green, how could you tell?”

“Well...I met this guy…” , I can’t help but smile as I remember his dark eyes, “I met this

guy and-” I am cut off by the sound of mother’s happy squeals of joy as she embraces me tightly, spinning me around and making me dizzy.

“MY BABY! MY BABY HAS FOUND THE ONE!!”

The air is filled with my laughter and her squeals as we loudly celebrate. But even as we laugh and talk, the atmosphere seems to be missing someone. “Where’s daddy?”

Mother, although overjoyed with the fact I found my color, seems to turn a little grey as her smile softly fades. “He’s on a business trip, he’s a little busy but should be back soon…” She takes another sip of her espresso and looks up at me. “So, tell me about this ‘Rhyan’ guy.”

My mind rewinds back to his soft voice, and as I tell her everything, I make sure to add enough detail. Her eyes resemble saucers as she listens intently, her eyes fixated on mine. We sit for hours, talking and laughing about the memories of mother seeing color for the first time. “Hey, sweetie,” she suddenly sits up, smiling. “How about you invite Rhyan over for dinner? I’d love to see him.” I grab my phone and dial his number. The phone beeps three times, then pauses as he picks up the phone. “Hello? Lillian?”

My smile instantly grows bigger as his calm voice flows into my ears. “H-Hey Rhyan, do you think maybe uhm… you could come over f-for dinner?” I’m blushing intensely by now.

“Of course, love, that sounds fun!”  As I run upstairs to tidy up my room, my reply is short. “Thank you, I’ll text you my address, be here by seven!” I kiss the phone and hang up.

As I clean my room, I look in the mirror at myself. I notice my skin isn’t grey anymore, but a beautiful creamy shade of yellowish-pink. I stare at my light pink flower crown, which matches my pink top well, and I smile as I see my greenish-blue eyes sparkle.  My long moment of staring is caught off by an excruciating shriek from downstairs. I bolt to my mother, but stop in my tracks as I see her, hunched over on the ground, her eyes covered by her hands. Her piercing wails send me to a hell I have never experienced, and shoots a rocket of dread through my soul . I know exactly what happened. She lost her color. Father is dead.

Helping her back up, I can’t help but take in her absolutely shattered shell of her once happy self, as she stumbles on her feet, only to fall back on the couch, her face buried in the plush pillows. Even though I see in color now, the world has never looked so grey to me. As I grasp the reality, I stumble up to my room, and as I angrily toss myself onto the bed, I feel myself shatter, and I let out a howl of pure despair and agony. Daddy’s gone. I never even said goodbye to him. I loved him so much and now all I have left is our memories together. My tears flow out of my eyes as I silently cry, my short piercing breaths sending sharp aches throughout my chest. I grab my phone and call the one person whom I know is still there for me. The phone rings four times, then is cut off by his soft voice.

“Lillian, hey sweetie, what are you-” he pauses as my loud sniffles and soft whining sends a jolt of worry through him. “Lilly, I’m heading there now. You just wait. I promise.” He hangs up, and as the phone lets out a beep, I look at my dark room and feel a heavy emptiness attacking any last remnants of joy left in my heart.

As I sit in the silence of loneliness, I hear the doorbell ring, and as I slowly amble downstairs, I open the door and help Rhyan into my room.

“Wait here for just a second, please.”

He smiles and nods his head respectively.

I head downstairs to mother.

Wrapping my arms around her, I can feel her warmth and the salty wetness of her tears staining my clothes. Her soft sobs grow louder as she feels my heart beating, and she repeats her love’s name over and over, as if it would send her husband back into her arms. Deep in her eyes, I see the painful memories of that Sunday morning, seeing his eyes, her color appearing. Her voice is dreadful and low, almost dead as she monotonously groans.

“I’m….going to bed…”, she utters out softly.

I kiss her forehead protectively, and as the words run through my mind, I am still here. I love you and I will always protect you. No matter what, she seems to read my mind as she kisses my cheek and wipes away my tears. “You’re so precious…”

“I’m going to talk to Rhyan for a couple of hours…”

I open my door back up. He looks up, my soft string lights reflecting off of his large dark eyes. As I remember what has happened, I let loose a waterfall of tears, and he wraps his arms around me as I sit down on the bed, his warmth engulfing me, I let out a soft sigh and look into his eyes. He looks down at me, love and nervousness dwindling in his eyes. He caresses my cheek and as he leans in, I feel my face glowing a deep red. As his lips touch mine for the first time, he holds me tighter, his thumb rubbing against my glowing cheek. He pulls back, and stares into my eyes. I stare back into his, and I feel the same amount of nervousness I had felt when I first saw him in my dream. He smirks softly, his thumb wiping away the tears from my eyes. I smile, and for the first time in what seems like eons, I feel a small amount of joy and hope return to my broken heart. Sitting next to him, we share stories, some happy, some tremendously sad. The hours seem to pass as quickly as my sadness, and he gets up to leave, leaving me trailing behind him. As he says goodbye, he blows me a kiss and I let out a soft chuckle. This boy really is amazing. I watch him turn and leave, and I notice that his very existence makes me feel like myself again.

As the months pass, so does the aching pain in my heart. Rhyan and I spend our lives learning about each other, our days now filled in color, our hearts now beating for each other.

He tells me of his life, and I tell him of mine. We spend our hours together laughing, our stories and actions filled with love I could have only hoped for. The cafe is our trophy paradise, and we escape there when our worries get the best of us. He is the true love, the one that girls only dream about meeting. He shows respect and compassion to me. He is the one that father would have always wanted me to meet. He is the reason that there is color in my life. And as he holds my hands in his, he brings me the warmth, vibrancy, and happiness of a million colors.

A Girl, in Seven Parts

I.

When I was six and you were seven, we became friends after you punched me in the face. At the time, I didn’t like you in the least, because you once stole my animal crackers from me and then laughed in my face afterwards; on the other hand, you viewed me with a sort of bored curiosity that you’d mastered already as a child.

The day we officially met, I was holding my new rag doll and you were barreling through our second-grade classroom with a toy truck. As I moved to sit down, my doll’s dress somehow caught on the door handle and ripped neatly in two. I was absolutely horror struck and immediately started bawling. Since I was a quiet, mousy child, nobody in our class really knew what to do.

Except for you. I still remember you calmly setting down your truck and walking up to me. Then, instead of words of soothing comfort, you socked me directly in the face.

In a strange way, though, I suppose it worked. I stopped crying, probably due to shock, and you got sent to the principal’s office, where you had to write out an apology letter to me. When you handed it to me later, the messy scribbles read, “I’m very sorry for punching you.” Behind that was a smiley face.

During recess the next day, you were sitting at the bottom of the slide, kicking up the rubber chips. There was just enough room beside you for me to sit down too, and you looked over slightly. “Hi,” you said.

In reply, I dumped a handful of rubber chips on your head.

You sprang up, shaking your head wildly as I started to laugh. “Now, we’re even,” I said, echoing the words my older brother had taught me to say. The night before, Eli had been half-slumped on his bed, staring at his ceiling blankly. He sat up when I walked in, though, and when I’d told him what happened, he thought it was absolutely hilarious. Eventually, he caught his breath and said he and your sister were acquaintances and, being a senior in high school, knew exactly how to get you back.

You gave me a shrewd look that hovered on grudging respect. Then, you stuck out your hand, with all the formality of an adult. “Truce?” you said. There was still a rubber chip lodged in your golden hair.

“Yes,” I said back.

II.

When I was eight and you were nine, Eli was home from college, and he took us to the state fair. It was fantastically captivating, with glistening towers and wheels of light, all threaded together with thick, pulsing scents of French fries and cotton candy.

You and I held hands so we wouldn’t get lost, as Eli led the way to the merry-go-round. We spun around until I almost threw up everything in my stomach. When we were done, you hugged a bright red horse whose eyes were starting to flake off. “’Bye now,” you said excitedly, as we dove back into the splendor of the fair.

Fifty dollars, one dropped ice cream, and two giant stuffed bears later, I was very ready to go home. Eli, though, decided to go buy me a cotton candy before we did, and you went with him, taking your purple bear with you and leaving me alone with the blue one. “Grapes will keep me company while l eat all the cotton candy before you can,” you told me teasingly, but you were a terrible liar so I didn’t mind in the least.

I remember how long it took – at least thirty minutes, just for a cone of spun sugar. I sat on the cold bench, playing with the purple bear with the heart-shaped eyes until, finally, you and Eli came back. Eli was holding a cone of candy so pink it almost looked scarlet, and you were trailing behind him, with the barest trace of a limp.

I took the cone, and Eli picked up my bear and started back towards the car. I waited until you were next to me, and I realized how stiff you looked. “How was the line?” I asked.

You didn’t look at me. Your left hand dragged the purple bear behind you, so it trailed like a mottled bruise, and the right one tugged on your pants slightly, which were creased and rumpled in odd places. “Long,” you said quietly, and that was the last thing you said to me for nearly a week.

At the end of that week, Eli went back to college, and I was invited over to your house for a playdate. We went up to your room, and played board games for an hour. When we lost the dice and had to find a new one, I ransacked your closet, where your games were stored, and found your bear, violently crushed into the back corner, with its legs folded in on itself and the poor thing crumpled into a heap.

I went back out, with two dice rattling in my palm. “Where’s your bear?” I said loudly, obnoxiously.

Your expression froze, like it had for the last week. Then, your shoulders loosened, and you smiled up at me. “I lost it,” you said, and I never brought it up again.

III.

When I was ten and you were eleven, both of us dressed all in black to attend Eli’s funeral. I cried all the way there, but you were completely silent, as you folded your hands in your lap and let the thin breeze from the AC flap your blue tie gently.

There was a framed picture of my brother there, which captured him at his best (confidently grinning at the camera, green eyes dancing) instead of at the other end of the spectrum (accidently swallowing too many snowy pills at a party, green eyes half-closed). A lot of people were crying, dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs as relatives got up to give speeches about how great Eli was when he was alive.

But you were stark white as you stared straight ahead, your hands lacing together quickly, twisting into patterns. You’d insisted on coming to this, and now that you were here, you seemed like you wanted to disappear.

I leaned over and poked you in the side. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes looked over my head, and rested on Eli’s coffin. “Yes,” you said softly, and your voice was so full of conviction, that I believed you were telling the truth.

IV.                  

When I was twelve and you were thirteen, it was the first time I saw you cry. You were at my house, and I was teaching you how to play Blackjack, a tricky feat because there were only two of us there. Still, you picked up on the rules extremely quickly, and in turned out that you were ferociously good at the game; in the first hand alone, I lost 129 dollars. I thought you were cheating, but you put your hand to your chest and announced, “May God strike me down if I am” in such a dramatic way that I burst out laughing.

You leaned in closer, like you were going to tell me a secret. “Hey,” you said, and your tone dropped lower to imitate a gangster from an old film we’d seen several weeks before. “I won’t charge ya for it – jus’ give me the most precious thing ya own.”

I went along with it, and reached under my bed to pull out a stuffed animal, covered with dust. I couldn’t do accents, so I just held it out to you instead. “This,” I said, because it was true. The blue bear that I held represented one of the best nights of my life – where I had both my brother and my best friend beside me.

But you just stopped. Everything in you seemed to shut down, and you became a living statue. The only thing that moved were your eyes, as they widened slightly. There was something openly raw and naked in the way that your hands clenched, digging into the carpet, and a single tear streaked down the side of your face and caught on your shirt collar.

I panicked. I shoved the bear back into its home and my words stumbled out. “Was it something that I said?” I stuttered, then instantly regretted it. Of course it was something that I said. It was probably because the bear reminded him of Eli as well – I knew the two of them had always gotten along.

You just shook your head. “I’m fine,” you said, and your voice tightened. I saw you inhale slowly, as you shifted a trace of a smile onto your lips. “Maybe you want to punch me in the face too?” you said, as you laid out your cards before me. You had twenty-one exactly; a Queen, a King, and an Ace. I started laughing immediately, because not only had you beat me again, but your words had just brought back ten million memories. You joined me, and I laughed even harder, as I remembered how genuinely surprised I had been all those years ago.

I was laughing so hard that I nearly missed it when you stopped laughing first.

IV.

When I was fourteen and you were fifteen, you decided to teach me how to smoke a cigarette. We snuck out onto the bleachers during fifth period, as a flurry of papers shifted in the school. I kept looking over my shoulder, certain that a teacher would catch us, as you slid into the small space between the bleachers and the ground with an expert’s hand.

You took a pack of Marlboros from your bag, shook one into your hand, and flicked your lighter. “It’s just a cigarette, you know,” you said with the air of a professional. You sucked down before exhaling, and I watched the trails of smoke hiss in the air before you handed it off to me.

I choked on the first drag, as ash crept down into my lungs. “That’s awful,” I said drily, handing it back to you in distaste.

You smiled at me. You were going through one of your phases, where you adored something for a short while before quickly casting it off – I’d seen it before, through Spiderman, Superman, and the Justice League, and, to me, this “bad boy” façade was no different. You tugged on your earring – the one you’d secretly had pierced without your mother’s permission – and blew a smoke ring in my face in a smug sort of way. “Can’t hold your own?”

I shrugged. This was Jefferson Crown High School, where being able to take at least a shot was practically an initiation. I never liked the idea of losing myself in veils of smoke, though, especially since, for one, Eli had never cared for cigarettes. He said they burned up his insides, and, now, a sliver of guilt probed at me for going against my brother.

You sighed. You leaned back, a dim silhouette in the simmering heat of April. “Why do you look up to him so much?”

The bite in his voice stung. “I don’t,” I said, and we both knew that that was a lie.

V.

When I was sixteen and you were seventeen, you took me to prom because I spent four weeks begging you to. You rolled your eyes and ran your hand through your hair (still brown, because even though I was right about the passing phase, you preferred brown to gold) and told me how utterly stupid prom would be, but in the end, you agreed to take me regardless.

You were right – the decorations were cheap and the music was ridiculously bad – but I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, we came late and left early, with a bottle of stolen champagne under your jacket. Afterwards, we went back to my house, empty because my parents were trying to forget reality in Vegas, poured each other full glasses, and toasted one another while half-heartedly trying to play a game of chess.

Even in our intoxicated states, you beat me, killing off all my major players in a matter of minutes. I groaned and told you I hated you, but you just rolled your eyes, not fooled at all. “You’re a horrible liar, you know.”

I opened my mouth to reply in a hilariously witty way, but the room was too warm and you were too far away and I was dead-drunk on French champagne and maybe on you too, so I just shut my mouth and smiled tiredly. “Maybe,” I countered. “But so are you.”

Your jaw tensed slightly. You reset the board for another game, and moved out your first pawn. “Do you remember when the two of us were kids?” you asked, taking a deep drink of the liquor.

I shrugged. “Sure,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “Remember the rubber chips?”

A thin smile traced your lips. “Yeah,” you replied, but even though I was drunk, I knew you well enough to get that you were thinking about something else. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words seemed to be stuck. I nudged you playfully, trying to help you out. “Cat got your silver tongue?”

Something in you clicked, as you blinked at me. Then, you drank down the rest of your glass and refilled it again. “I hope that never happens to you,” you said, and I moved closer to lean my head against your shoulder and fell asleep like that, with you swishing the alcohol around and me listening to your gentle, steady breathing.

VI.

When I was eighteen and you were nineteen, it was February of senior year, and we were both so close to freedom. Classes were blown off, essays were plagiarized, and you spent a good two hours pirating the newest movies off the Internet to watch during calculus.

You caught up to me after I was out of physics, and wanted to know if I could come over that day. And I should’ve – should’ve said yes, of course, definitely. But I was tired and it was just a Tuesday, so I bluffed and said that while I wanted to, no, I couldn’t. I trotted out a list of excuses (lots ofhomeworkhugetestinhis/herclass), but you just brushed them off with a quiet smile. You gave me a quick hug and shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s alright. I’ll see you later, okay?”

And I remember that your veins ran blue into your pale skin and that your backpack had a faded Sharpie drawing on it and your natural roots were finally growing back, crowning brown with gold – but for the life of me, I can’t remember if I said anything back.

That night, you sent me an email with 426 words in them. Out of that, 135 of them detailed our friendship together and how much it all meant to you. Three highlighted that you loved me. 57 asked me to look after your sister and your parents. And 235 words told me what had happened to you ten years ago – what my brother did to you ten years ago – at a pulsing fair among throbbing lights.

I read it two times. Then I called your cell phone, but received the same voicemail that had been there for years: Hey, it’s me. You know what to do.

But that was the thing – I didn’t know what to do. Ten years had passed – and countless opportunities for me to find out – and I had idolized the brother that had made your life a hell. I called your cell phone over and over before I phoned your parents and found out that you had told them that you loved them and then you’d taken the car and left.

I called the police after that, before I screamed – for my parents to come upstairs, for you not to do what I knew you would be doing, for some God somewhere to stop you.

But in the end, the sirens didn’t find you until after a second person called. By the time I heard what had happened, I was wrapped in a brown blanket, sitting in the hospital with a police officer before me, and your written words burned into my eyes as the facts were put in front of me:

There was one car, no moon, and you, standing there in the middle of the road, arms stretched out, unmoving.

In the end, it only took one impact and five seconds.

IV.

When I was still here and you were gone, I realized that the silence around me could eat me alive. Everywhere I turned was filled with the soft echoes of you – laughing, shuffling a deck of cards, blowing smoke at me with a self-satisfied half smirk.

I lay flat against the floor, and the shaggy edges of my carpet tickled my cheeks. I let out my breath slowly and thoughts of you came back, as I remembered the second grade and what you’d said that day on the playground, after you’d shaken my hand with a sense of superiority.

I kind of like you, you said, giving me the beginnings of a smile.

I shrugged. You’re kind of mean, I responded.

Your smile grew wider. Maybe, you said. But not all the time, I don’t think.

Then, you took off running, your sneakers kicking up rubber chips, as you screamed at me to follow – but I think you already knew that I was chasing after you, trying the best I could to catch up, just never being quite fast enough.

    I gazed over the cornfields and saw read and yellow leaves falling from pine trees. I saw carved pumpkins covering several houses’ porches. Haunted houses spread all across the neighborhood with scarecrows surrounding them. It was Halloween morning and there were already people trick or treating. There were mummy costumes, green goblins, and joker costumes.

    My mother drove me away from the forbidden houses and took me to my grandparents’ house. I took out the Hershey’s chocolate bar I had left in my pocket. I ripped open the wrapping and took the delicious chocolate out. It was nearly all melted, but I still ate it. It tasted delicious.

    I smelled the cherry pie that my mother had brought with us to my grandparents’ house. As we arrived, I jumped excitedly out of the car and ran to the front porch. I saw my favorite cousin and sprinted to her, hugging and squeezing her tightly. She smelled like my grandmother’s cooking, and I charged inside the front door and ran towardsmy grandmother. She picked me up and spun me around; after all I was a heavy four-year-old. Her kitchen smelled delightful, and I knew I was ready to have the Halloween dinner I always wanted.
    I ran back outside to my mother and help her with the bags of food. It was noon then, but the five hour drive from Fresno went by so fast, I felt like it was still morning. Grandpa’s Pine let go of the orange leaves attempting to fall for hours. I saw Grandpa gardening, and I jumped all the way over to him. He hugged me very tight and I squealed with excitement. Thanksgiving was coming early that year.

    “Abby, we need to pick up Spencer,” she said. Spencer was my brother. “His car is in the shop. Oh, and your other cousins are on their way over.”

    “Mommy, let’s live with Grandma and Grandpa! Their house is so much fun.” I told her.

    “Not now,” I remember clearly when my mother and father talked about how they were going to move into my grandparents’ house. We never did, but we moved into their neighborhood. My older brother lived by them and we wanted to spend more time with the family. “Let’s go, Abby, he’s waiting for us.”

    “I want to go with Kendall,” I replied to my mother. “I like her car more.”

    “It’s okay, she can come with me Aunt Jessica. Besides, what’s better than hanging out with a four-year-old little girl?” She said cheerfully. My mother shot her a confused look.

    I hopped into the front seat of the Ford. “Woah there, what do you think you’re doing, little girl? You’re too young to sit in the front seat. Get in the back.”

    “Fine,” I said. I got in the back seat of the car. Kendal drove away from the parking slot. My mother was driving right in front of her, leading the way.

    While we were driving, I saw scary teenagers throwing toilet paper, eggs, and smashing pumpkins. Kendall saw and stopped the car, running really fast to the teenagers. They ran away, but not fast enough for my cousin. She was in the track team in her senior year. She was twenty-one years old. I got out of the car, running as fast as my four-year-old legs could run, which wasn’t very fast. My cousin jumped and landed on the teenagers.

    “I swear, it was his idea, please don’t call my mom,” the girk teenager said, “I get good grades in school, I don’t do this sort of thing.”

    “Hey you wanted to hang out with me. If you really like me, then you would figure that you should hang out with me. It was mainly her idea, Miss.” The boy teenager said. I was still running towards them. I tripped over the sidewalk, and fell flat on my face. As Kendall came running to me, the two teenagers tried to run away, but ran into a tree and knocked their heads on a branch.

    “Where do you think you guys are going? I’m not done with you yet. You caused my four-year-old cousin to fall. Seriously, you guys are jerks. What makes you think this is school? You’re only thirteen or fourteen, right? Was it a trend in middle school? It’s changed that much there? Where do you live?” Kendall questioned them.

    “I live right here,” the boy said. Kendall shot him a sarcastic look.

    “Okay, if you live right herre, let’s knock on the door,” she said, and knocked on the door. The two teenagers had guilt plastered onto their faces. “What are both your names?”

    “Eartha Kitt.”

    “Frank Sinatra.”

    “You guys crack me up,” Kendall said sarcastically.

    “We were hoping you didn’t know who they were,” the girl said.

    “I don’t think you know who they are,” a lady appeared at the front door of the Halloween decorated house. “Am I wrong? Oh no! Look at what you’ve done to my house! Matthew, don’t you think about telling your mother you didn’t do this. Cathy, sweetheart, I don’t appreciate you trashing my home. You are my grandmother and you will respect me. You are not to hang ou with Matthew again. Am I clear? Now clean this mess. As for you children, thank you ever so for stopping them. Would you like to help me pass out candy to the children?”

    “It was no problem, Ma’am, but we have a dinner to attend. We must hurry. Oh no, we’re already late. It’s time to leave! Goodbye, Ma’am.” Kendall shouted.

    Instead of driving to my brother’s house, we drove back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. But as soon as we arrived, everyone was already there waiting for us. My mother rushed to me frantically.

    “Where were you? And why is Abby so bruised?” My mother questioned us. Ken explained the story. I saw my brother and my cousins.

    I hugged my brother as tight as I could. I hadn’t seen him for two years! “Abigale, you call that a hug? I haven’t seen you in forever!” His beard scraped my face as I hugged him even more.

    I saw my cousins and ran to them, giving each of them a hug. I had to be the youngest child in the family. There was no one my age there! Everyone was eleven years old or older.

    My mother dressed up in a vampire Halloween costume. I knew what that meant. “Are we gonna go trick or treating now? Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes!” My mother nodded and grinned a wide smile, flashing her sparkly white teeth. I ran up the stairs and got dressed in a matching Halloween costume. When I was walking down the stairs, something startled me.

    “Daddy! I tought you were in a business thingy.” I managed to say. My articulation wasn’t clear and I could barely speak, and I’m surprised now that I could’ve spoken at all when I was four.

    “It’s thought, Honey. And the business trip got cancelled. It’s going to be family time now!” He was dressed up in a vampire costome also, so we were all matching. Later, Spencer put on a vampire costome, too. We went trick or treating after that.

    We walked around the houses and lookes at all the blood dripping from costumes, a whole bunch of candy corn, gooey cuts, pointy knives, Slenderman masks, and fooly pajamas. It was awesome.

    “Abby, you better not eat a single piece of candy,” my mother told me. Later that evening, we all went back to the house and had our dinner. The dinner was perfection! I had roasted turkey with mashed potatoes, my absolute favorite meal. They made me hot chocolate, but all the adults had wine. My hot chocolate was creamy and delicious.

    “This was the best dinner ever!” I shouted. I realized that day wasn’t about the dinner I wanted to have, but about my family. They help me, share their love with me, and care for me, until the end of time. After the dinner, I layed in bed, thinking about the floating menorahs we will set on the piano in a couple of months. I thought about how amazing the dinner was, and every little detail and how much effort was put into the food. Then, all of a sudden, I drifted into a sleep. In this certain sleep, I dream of what it was like to have that dinner all over again, and then what it would be like to be four years old again. I became nostalgic.

We were called The Shadows, a group of high school teenagers who were both great at sports and in academics. We had the potential to become one of the most popular people in the school, but chose to stay in, well, the shadows. Hence, the name. We were almost never seen outside of school and spent almost all of our time either doing schoolwork or something online. There were both girls and guys in our makeshift group. We ate lunch together every day at the same table, but never really started a conversation or got to know one another at all. We would usually just put on headphones and drown out the rest of the cafeteria.

Popularity meant nothing to us. We chose to stay average teenagers. The so called “popular” kids would always try and talk us into getting sucked into their popularity black hole, and many of us have. A group of girls, who were no different from walking Barbie dolls, would always pick on me saying, “Eric, why don't you ever come the movies with us? We missed youuu!” Holding the last syllable on the you just a little bit too long. I never partook in their silly events, nor did I ever want to. My perfect evening consisted of reading a good with a steaming cup of hot cocoa.

This particular morning, the rain was pouring hard outside when I woke up. The steady beat of the raindrops hitting my window gently persuading me to go back to sleep. Reluctantly, I got out of bed, my bare feet touching the cool wooden floor underneath me. The cold morning air outside my blanket nipped at my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. Even if I had rushed out the door right now and ran to school, I would still be late, so taking my time, I started getting ready for another ordinary day of school.

I blasted Fall Out Boy’s “Uma Thurman” when I was in the shower, singing as loudly as I could, knowing that my parents would have already gone to work. My older sister Chloe had just started her freshman year of college, leaving me to do my sophomore year in high school alone. Until junior year, Chloe was also considered “a shadow”. She was a competitive swimmer and runner, but still found time to get all A’s in every class she had. Chloe was on her way to a top tier college, until she had met her boyfriend Justin.

Justin was basically a stereotypical jock. He was one of the super popular kids and had asked Chloe out to the junior prom. When they started dating, Chloe became so absorbed in trying to be his perfect girlfriend that she had quit both the track and swim team so she had more time to go to stuff with his popular friends. She had been successfully sucked into the black hole they called “popularity.”

By the time Chloe realized that what she was doing, senior year had already ended. She had finally broken up with Justin, but was devastated when she realized that she hadn't gotten into any of the schools she had dreamed about. My sister was my role model on what I shouldn’t do to myself. I struggled each and every day not to follow in her footsteps. I was also on both the swim and track team, but intended on staying on them until college.

The rain had almost completely stopped by the time I started walking to school. I had missed both homeroom and first period, but my teachers loved me, so they wouldn’t mind. My clothes were the same as always. I would grab a random t-shirt and jeans from my closet, hope they were clean, and put them on. My mom did almost all of my shopping, both of us liked it that way. I laced up by black and blue Nike sneakers and made my way to school, careful not to step on any puddles on my way there.

The air was still very damp. The sun had just risen and the distinct smell of spring filling my nose as I walked outside. The trees were just starting to shake off the cold and the sports season was just about to change. A couple of clouds still lingered in the sky, but most had disappeared after the rain. All the snow had melted and the birds were starting to migrate back, the sounds of their calls audible in the sky. Boston was peaceful this time of year.

I signed myself in at school, got a late pass, and made my way to my literature class. Second period had already started, and by now, my teacher Mr. Petrarch would already be agonizing students by asking them to read prolonged passages from the book we were reading, Gulliver's Travels. I never really had a problem reading out loud, because I already had a college reading level.

3rd period Spanish was also the same. Mrs. Cox had checked our homework, which I always do, and had told us to translate the sentences on the board.

“School is where I have learn and have fun with my friends.” I translated.

“What friends?!” I heard the girl behind me smirk. “Oh you mean those reclusive Shadows?!”

The class chuckled, but I just stayed focus on Spanish and drowned them out. This was nothing unusual for the Shadows, even though we had the potential to become popular, we were still rejects in everyone’s eyes.

When the bell rang, I quickly walked out of the classroom and to my locker. This was my favorite part of the day, lunch. As I was walking toward my locker, I crossed paths with another shadow, a sophomore girl named Maria. I quickly waved to her as she flashed a smile and waved back at me. I have known her since the start of freshman year, but still have not had conversation with her that lasted more than 10 seconds. I knew almost nothing about her, accept some things I picked up on my own based on what she looked like and what I heard.

Today she wore a short-sleeved, black Green Day t-shirt paired with some fitting black jeans. Her purple headphones around her neck like always. She always braided her hair to the left side or put it in a high ponytail. She was on the track team with me and we were one of the fastest runners there. Opening my locker, I pulled out my phone and my headphones, putting on another Fall Out Boy song as I went to the cafeteria. The table which hosted most of the Shadows was almost full as I got my food and sat down. Everyone had headphones on and was doing something on their own. No one bothered to talk to each other.

We were not hermits. We were normal teenagers with our own likes and dislikes. We had a couple of friends, but as a whole did not like mingling with popular kids or large groups. I was about to completely tune out the cafeteria with my music, but felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I came face to face with my best friend Chase. He was not a shadow, but we’ve known each other since we were 7.

“Eric, please please please please,” he said, out of breath from running here. “Bro, you have got to help me!”

“Chase,” I replied, trying to calm him down. “What happened? Why are you so out of breath?”

“I ran! Duh! Sometimes I wonder who the smart one actually is!” he smirked. “Okay, so here’s the deal. The acappella club just got a notice from the principle that if we didn't have at least 20 members and an achievement by the end of the month that the funding for us would be cut!”

“Wow that sucks.” I stated bluntly. “But what do you want me to do about it.”

“Join the club!” he pleaded,

“No!” I answered back.

“Why not! We won’t have you doing anything! All you have to do is count as part of the club so we can get our numbers up!” He reasoned. “Although you might actually have to sing,” he mumbled afterward.

“Why me?” I asked. “Why can’t you get someone else to do it?”    

“We are!” he answered. “Brittany made flyers we can hang up and the rest of the club is asking people they personally know to join. Do me a solid bro. Pleeeeaaasssseeeee!”  

“Well I mean… I guess. As long as I don’t have to do anything and you have to buy me lunch for the next 3 weeks?” I replied, defeated.

“Deal!” he shouted and practically skipped away with joy.

What just happened? I thought. I guess I just joined the acappella club.

Being too lazy to walk, I took the bus home. I have never actually heard the acappella club sing. Chase told me that practice was after school tomorrow for 2 hours and had asked me to hand in my club registration form ASAP.   

The time was around 8 pm. I had finished all my homework and had eaten dinner. Though most people don’t know this about me, I love photography. Whenever I have free time, I go to a nearby park to take pictures of the nature there. Taking pictures of people is not one of my specialties though. I like taking more natural photos of the things surrounding me.

I was looking through the latest photos I took at the park last week. The snow had almost completely melted, but there were still patches here and there. I had taken this one picture of the trees which was absolutely stunning. It showed the small amounts of snow still on the branches reflecting the morning sunlight.

I still hadn’t finished the club application, so I took it out of my backpack and started to fill it out.

“Name?” I mumbled to myself. “That’s easy Eric Reyes. Hmm what’s next? Age? 16. Reason for joining club?”

I wanted to write “I was bribed and forced to”, but ended up putting down “recommended by a friend.” All I had to do now was hand this in the club president, Britany, and attend practices.

The club room was larger than I thought. It was at the east end of the school and was actually where the school stored their extra instruments. As I entered the room, I realized that I wasn’t the only Shadow there. Astonishingly, Maria was there, but other than that I also saw Brandon, who was a junior, Kelsey, a freshmen, and Lucas, a sophomore like me. I sat down next to them and immediately asked, “Who else was dragged into this?” They all nodded. Go figures, none of us would be here if it wasn’t for our friend’s pleading.

The club had around 13 actual members, but including the new arrivals they had exactly 20. Britany, the club president, started by explaining to us what the club actually is.

“Hey everyone!” she started. She seemed like a social butterfly. “As you all know, the acappella club was facing some difficulties in the past. We have passed the hurdle of raising our numbers to 20, even though half of you were forced or bribed to be here!”

I chuckled, she was right about that.

“The second criteria we were given was to win an award by the end of the month. Lucky for us the Massachusetts State Competition is coming up in less than 2 weeks. Let’s win this guys!”

They explained to us that in exchange for us singing for them, we could choose the songs. I didn’t want to sing at all, but they seemed desperate and it was a fair deal. We all put our song choices in a hat and from it they chose 3. Mine wasn’t picked but the ones that did were Titanium by Rihanna, Centuries by Fall Out Boy, and Surrender by Cash Cash. The new arrivals were then free to go as the rest of the group decided what songs they would sing to tie them together. Acappella was a longer and harder process than I had first thought.

It was mandatory to go to practice every day, due to the fact that we only had 2 weeks to get the entire performance ready. Britany also told us to be prepared for overtime if needed. Everyone learned the songs fairly quickly and to my surprise many people commented that I was a good singer. I acted like I wasn’t exited to be there, but every day I saw myself liking the club better and better. I had gotten closer to everyone too, which was shocking, especially with the Shadows. I now knew almost everything about Maria, Lucas, Brandon, and Kelsey. I even learned a couple of new things about Britany and Chase. One day after practice, I saw Maria checking through the extra instruments in the room.

“Watcha doing?” I asked her.

“Nothing much,” she replied. “Hey, is it just me or is everyone a little bit more cheerful nowadays. Like I feel like I know everybody and that I actually have friends. I find myself thinking about acapella club in class and have even gotten a detention because I it. I also got to get to know you a lot more.”

“You took the words right out my mouth.” I answered. “I went home last night, looked in the mirror, and said ‘hey I actually have friends!’”

“Sounds like you!” she chuckled.

Everyone had left the club room by then. Maria stood up and said, “Do you know how to instruments?”

“I played a little piano when I was younger,” I replied.

“Perfect,” she mumbled as she shoved me toward the piano in the corner of the room and then turning around, picked up a guitar herself. We spent the next hour trying to harmonize and play the song Titanium, but ended up just laughing at how bad we were. Soon it was about 5 pm and the sun was starting to set.

“I better be getting home,” she said. “My mom’s going to be so mad that I stayed this late.”

She gave me a quick wave and flashed a smile like she usually does, packed her stuff, and headed out. I did the same and was in deep thought as I walked home. All of my freshmen and most of my sophomore year, I was so caught up in not becoming like my sister that I had actually forgotten to have fun. Now, I’m surrounded by people but still it feels like almost nothing has changed. I thought popularity made you happy. I’m not popular, but I am happy.

Finally, the day of the competition had arrived. Everyone was running around trying to make everything perfect, as the club squeezed in one last practice. This was it. If the acappella group dispended now, I would go back to being by myself. But now, it would be much lonelier.  We had to win. There was no other choice.

Everyone had changed into their uniforms. Girls tied their hair with a blue ribbon, wore black pants, and a sparkling dark blue top. The guys had no-sleeve shirts the same color as the girl’s tops, wore black pants, and a black tie. We actually looked pretty good in them.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around to see Maria, Kelsey, and Chase.

“I never thought I would be wearing this!” exclaimed Chase.

“I think we look pretty good.” Said Kelsey, fixing her hair.

“We look amazing.” Maria said looking at me. “Now all that’s left is to win this!”

We shouted in agreement and went to take our places on stage.

The speakers boomed. “AND NOW, HERE COMES TROUBLE! PUT YOU HANDS TOGETHR FOR THE TREBLES FROM ST. LAKE HIGH BOSTON!”

This was it, I thought.

The next 4 minutes went by in a blur. The crowd went wild as we did our performance perfectly. Lights flashed behind us and the fog machine covered the floor with fog. We finally struck the ending pose, all of us gasping for air. Exiting the stage, the entire team was ecstatic. We took a group picture and now all we had to do was wait. The results would be announced in around half an hour.

We all binged on the donuts Britney had brought for us as tension filled the air. 10 more minutes. I ate another donut. Now there was about 5 more minutes. Soon all the teams piled onto the stage and a voice filled the speakers.

“NOW FOR THE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN EAGERLY WAITING FOR! THE WINNER OF THE 2015 ANNUAL MASSACHUSETTS ACAPPELLA COMPETITION IS… GROVER HIGH! CONGRATULATIONS!”

A team to our right, dressed in red and gold, erupted with happiness. They hugged each other and screamed with joy as they were handed the cup and medals. This is when I finally realized, we hadn’t won. Maria had tears in her eyes, but still stood tall as she clapped for the other team. Britany acted fine, but you could still see the sadness and disappointment in her eyes.

“I-I-It’s okay guys! W-We’ll win next time!” she tried to reassure us, her voice cracking. We all knew as a fact that there would be no next time. This will be our time to part ways and be like we used to.

I went home and cried. There was no way I could be back the way I used to. Life was going to be miserable.

Two days later, as everyone was packing their things from what used to be the club room. Chase burst through the door and screamed, “GUYS THE CLUB HAS NOT BEEN DISBANDED YET! THE PRINCIPAL SAYS THAT WE CAN STILL KEEP GOING!! FUNDING IS NOT GOING TO BE CUT!”

The fluorescent lights cast a blinding haze.

               Then the elevator dropped down, and its tinted glass walls showed only grey cement pierced by steel support beams, illuminated dully by small neon diodes. The lift’s occupants stared listlessly at the glowing screen counting down the floors as they plummeted further and further below the ground. A soldier snapped the chamber of his gun open, swapping out the bullet cartridge for a new one he withdrew from his armored vest. A vaguely nervous-looking man toyed with the cufflinks of his suit. A young woman in a lab coat wiped a miniscule speck of dust from the lenses of her glasses. For fifteen seconds, twenty, thirty, they continued downwards before halting.

               The screen read “B-33”. Thirty-three floors below the military base-like offices of the aboveground law enforcement outpost they had boarded the elevator at. A light chime tone sounded and the ironclad doors slid open, revealing in full the terrifying grandeur of the room beyond.

               They exited into the base level of a grey stone arena-like expanse of a place, levels of circular halls overlooking where they stood. Staircases encircled the perimeter, leading up towards the higher levels, which extended upwards for hundreds of meters. Set into the upper hallways were thick steel doors, and everywhere, there were soldiers. Pacing in squads, leaning against the walls in twos and threes, it seemed a small army inhabited the underground facility. All were heavily armored, and all carried imposing machine guns. Upon exiting into the room, the soldier who had been in the elevator with them stepped away, merging with a passing squadron. The suited man spoke.

               “Welcome, doctor, to the Cliffs High-Security Detention Facility, home to some of society's most dangerous criminals.

               “The Variants.” she stated flatly, casting a skeptical glance about the facility. “The ones that you were able to capture instead of kill. You’re sure your little underground prison is capable of holding them?” She smirked at the man, adjusting her glasses. He shifted uneasily.

               “Absolutely certain. As the director of this facility, I have total confidence in my men and our control of the inmates. Also, it's built into the face of a ravine. Only way out is through the hovercraft docks.” he said, gesturing at the expansive facility. “After all, the Variants we have all generally possess minor degrees of the genetic alterations causing the manifestation of what appear to be superhuman abilities. One who generates weak seismic waves, another with a penchant for lighting things on fire with her bare hands… None of them pose real threats here.” He swallowed. “Except, of course… the energy one. Electricity control and flying with electromagnetic levitation, a real nasty power set on that one. The Variant you’re here to run diagnostics on. When we first brought her in, she wasn’t properly restrained. She damn near drained all the power in the building’s grid. Took out thirty-seven good men.” He sighed, running his hands through his thinning hair.

               “She’s that powerful?” The doctor inquired, simultaneously checking her watch and adjusting the tie that held her dark hair back. The Director nodded.

               “I’d say she’s the strongest I’ve ever seen since they first started appearing, other than a few here and there. Like that flame boy four years back… he was a feisty one. Rumor has it he’s her brother! Imagine that, two high-power Variants in one family… I pity the parents. Luckily for us, he’s safely secured at some military base off in the mountains. Can’t do much harm from there. Now, let’s go check on that monstrosity and get this over with.” He led the way across the base level to a door that was made not of steel, but of some black-grey armored material. He glanced at the doctor. “Insulated, so that in the event of an escape attempt, she can’t discharge energy through the door.” He touched the door, and a blue light scanned his eye as he typed in a long series of numbers on a touch screen that glowed on the door. The dark material slid into the stone wall, and vibrantly white floor lights illuminated the hall beyond.

               At the end of the hall, surrounded by countless machines, monitors, and lab equipment, was a cylindrical tank filled with a pale blue liquid. Suspended in the liquid, wearing a breathing mask and hooked up to large twists of electrical wires and IV lines, was a small girl clothed in loose, grey garments. Her dark hair, streaked at the end by purple dye, drifted in the solution. Her eyes were closed, and, if not for the persistent beeping of a heart-rate monitor, it would be impossible to tell if she were dead or alive. Behind the tank, a large expanse of darkly tinted glass showed a picturesque view of the outside ravine that was considerably at odds with the cold functionality of the room.

               “Nice view you have there.” said the doctor, gesturing at the impressive window. The director laughed.

               “Not like she’ll ever be able to appreciate it, she's safely in nanofluid suspension. Don’t get too close to the glass, it’s energy field-protected.” He smiled, then stepped away to talk to a scientist who had appeared from behind a machine.

               Ensuring that no one was watching, the doctor stepped up to the tank, pressing her fingers against the glass. Unexpectedly, the girl’s eyes snapped open, flitting rapidly around the room. Her shockingly purple irises held a look reminiscent of complete and utter panic. The doctor reeled back in surprise, and she heard a faint voice in her mind.

               Help me.

-----        

She was tired. So very sleepy, but she couldn’t remember why… Then she saw the woman in front of the tank. She was familiar, she would help her… The girl tried to focus, but she could feel herself already slipping away into the bliss of sleep and the accompanying memories.

               She stood in their house’s living room, near where her twin brother was sprawled on the floor, reading. Suddenly, he startled, and the book burst into flames. With a faint shriek, he flung the novel at the wall, curling up on the floor and crying. Somewhere in the house, her older sister, now eighteen, was shouting with their parents.

               “But if I leave, who will protect Nico? I know you both definitely won’t. In the blink of an eye, you’ll report him as a Variant and call the Enforcers, with no regard for the fact that he’s your son!” She stormed into the room, toting a small duffel bag and a suitcase. Their parents tailed her.

               “The metro is here. Everything will be fine; soon, after you attend the Academy, we’ll have a doctor in the family!” Their mother smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on, children, say goodbye to your big sister!” The adoring girl ran to her older sister, followed closely by her brother.

               “Bye, Reese!” they chorused. Reese hugged them tightly, tears streaming down her face.

               “Both of you, remember, I’ll always help you, no matter how far away the Academy is.” Turning to her younger sister, she said, “Promise you’ll stay strong, no matter if anything happens, okay?” The small girl frowned.

“You mean if they take Nico away? I don’t know if I can do that. Stay tough, I mean. I don’t think I can.” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. Reese hugged her tightly. Then she was dragged away by their parents and ushered out the door.

Spiraling flames encircled Nico’s hands as he cried.

               Fifteen minutes later, the Enforcers arrived.

-----

               “Has she opened her eyes since being put in the induced coma?” the doctor asked, facing the Director where he conferred with the scientist.

               “No, the system is flawless. The only way to wake her up would be to turn off the narcotics stream or administer a strong dose of adrenaline.” He tapped a few keys on a monitor, frowning in concentration. “An extreme spike was just registered in her brain activity. Did you notice anything abnormal within the past couple of minutes?”

               “Nothing out of sorts. Maybe she’s dreaming.” the doctor said without pausing. “Who is she, exactly? Do you know how she developed the Variant traits?” The man sighed.

               "Variation under nature. That's why they're called Variants, after all, and that's all we know about the power development so far; it's some freakish genetic mutation. Cosmic radiation, perhaps? But 'variation under nature', that's all the higher-ups say, like they're normal biological specimens, not monsters." A machine buzzed, and he rushed to tend to it.“She’s confirmed by social security as Violet Stone. Parents denied responsibility, she apparently ran away about four years ago, just before she appeared on our radar."

The doctor turned back to the girl. Amethyst eyes stared at her through the glass, then flickered closed.

-----

She was sitting on the dining room floor, underneath the table. Nearby, her father was talking on the phone to her sister at the academy while her mother stood by, looking irritated.

“He left us no choice! To keep him in the house would pose a risk to all of us! What if he got overly upset and sent the whole house up in flames with us in it?” His voice was raised. From her hiding spot, she sobbed silently. Nico, her only brother, her twin, was gone, sold out to the Enforcers by his own parents. Almost a month had gone by, but the pain was still unbearable. “Reese, calm down, it was the right thing to do. Everyone is much safer now. Reese! Reese!!...” he shouted into the phone. Evidently, her sister had hung up.

Her body shaking with rage, Violet stood from her position. Noticing her, her father sighed. Her mother cringed.

“Violet, dear, everything’s okay, nothing to be worried about. Everything is going to be alright.” her mother said in a soothing but condescending voice. She moved as if to hug her, but Violet flinched away, trembling. She clenched her hands in rage, and the lights flickered.

“You sold him out. You were supposed to protect him, and instead you betrayed him. I hate you both. I’m done. I’m leaving. I can’t live with you, you MONSTERS anymore.” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face. Her father started forward, fury showing on his face.

“He was the monster! We were doing our civic duty to the Enforcers for the good of the country!”

“You can’t run away. You’re only twelve, and we’re your parents. Don’t you dare defy us!” her mother added. Violet laughed humorlessly.

“Neither of you are my parents anymore. I hate both of you. HATE YOU!” she shouted coldly. With that, she spun and ran from the house.

-----

“By the time we were able to apprehend her eight months back, she had already taken down an estimated two hundred Enforcers. Terrible losses, all of them. We only caught her because of the trail of missing electricity she left and her penchant for petty thievery. She just happened to rob the wrong store, took a bit too much energy from the grid. Ran flat out of luck.” The Director grinned at the doctor. “Unlucky for her, lucky for us.” The doctor leaned with her hand on the glass wall of the tank.

“This is quite the tank you’ve got here.” she said calmly, hairline fractures spreading along the glass from under her splayed fingers.

-----

She stood balanced on the edge of the skyscraper’s observation deck. Over seventy floors below, the city streets teemed with automobiles and metrobuses. A single tear dripped from her face, falling hundreds of meters down to hit somewhere on the distant ground. Above her, the stars shined like innumerable minuscule candles. She sighed. She had been living on the streets for almost two months, hiding and stealing to survive. Her sister was away. Her beloved brother was gone, as he had been for over three months. Her parents were terrible people, blind to the law enforcement and government’s manipulation. It was all over. She closed her eyes.

She let herself drop from the building’s edge.

Time seemed to slow down. As she approached her ultimate freedom, with the ground growing closer and closer, her thoughts drifted to her brother. Nico. Who would save him if she was gone? Her eyes snapped open.

She did not want to die, but it was too late.

Covering her face with her hands, she braced herself for the inevitable impact. To crash into the unforgiving cement of the street.

It never came.

Tentatively, she uncovered her face. She was no longer falling, but hovering high above the traffic below. Bizarrely, the veins that showed through the skin of her arms were glowing a shade of electric purple. Sparks of the same color encircled her hands, and as she focused on them, a nearby neon telescreen on a building popped and went out. A jolt passed through her, as if her energy had been completely renewed. She sought to replicate that feeling, and around her, lights popped and fizzed out. Darkness descended over the buildings. The only light emanated from her veins and the now blinding sparks. On replays of the incident, it would be revealed that her violet eyes were also aglow.

Far below, from a crowd of pedestrians gathered to watch, someone shouted.

“A new Variant!!”

-----

“What was that?” the director asked, looking inquisitively at the doctor.

“I said, this is a nice tank.” She languidly dragged her fingers down the glass. “It would be a shame if someone were to… break it.”

The tank exploded.

Nanofluid spewed everywhere, though it quickly drained through grates in the floor. The scientist was flung against the wall, unconscious. The Director, despite not being too formidable in stature, managed to hold his ground.

“H-how?” he managed, gazing in awe at the doctor. She laughed.

“I believe you called it 'variation under nature'." The Director looked terrified, but not for long. An invisible force cast him against a wall and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. “You should’ve never messed with my siblings.” she hissed, then ran to her sister’s still comatose form.

“Vio, wake up. We have to go. Now.” She grabbed her sister’s arm. Immediately, Violet jerked up from her position on the ruined base of the tank, snarling and ripping out her IV lines and wires. Lights in the room flickered and popped, and a faint siren sound could be heard from outside the cell. The violent look in her eyes immediately softened when she recognized her sister.

“Reese!” she cried, flinging her arms around her sister. “You're here! What happened?!” Her sister grinned.

“What can I say? Looks like the Variant traits run in the family. Come one, get up; I’m getting you out of here to find Nico.” Violet’s eyes widened.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked, smiling for one of the first times in over half a year.

“No more hiding and being imprisoned for us or any other Variants. Fighting back for real.” Violet's eyes glowed in the dim light.

“Let’s go.” She stood upright, and, extending her arms, her veins began to glow. The lights and machinery in the room immediately blew out, and the edge of the window’s glass pane sparked brightly. “Nice view there, by the way.” The wail of sirens grew louder, and a sound of running boots echoed down the hallway. Her sister ran to the window, pressing her palms against it, and the glass exploded outwards into infinitesimal glittering shards. Wind howled through the newly-opened hole in the wall. Violet leaned out into the open air, her still-damp hair blown awry by the gust.

“Jump!” shouted Reese, running towards their gap to freedom. “Falling can’t hurt us!” She leaped out the window and hung in the open air, casting off her lab coat, which fluttered down towards the distant river at the base of the ravine, revealing what looked like fitted military-style body armor. The sounds of footfalls grew closer, cracks of guns beginning to pierce the hollow whistle of the wind, but still Violet hung back, cringing in fear.

               “I’m too weak!” she cried, clinging to the edge of the gap. “I haven’t used my abilities in so long, I don't think-” She flinched instinctively as a bullet streaked past her head, not three inches away from hitting its mark. She knew she had to be strong, had to be brave; if not for herself, for her sister, Nico, and all the imprisoned Variants. Closing her eyes, she lunged forward into the open air, preparing to fall to her death.

               For the second time in her life, that did not happen. Instead, defying gravity, she spiraled upwards into the sky, shooting out of the ravine and into freedom. Her sister followed close behind, grinning widely.

“Where to now?” asked Violet, surveying the vast expanse of twilit desert ground, marred only by the harsh slash of the ravine and distant prison base hunkering low to the edge of the cliff. Black specks of soldiers scattered across the red-orange terrain, akin to ants from this distance, almost certainly searching for their most prized prisoner. From inside the ravine, a swarm of darkly-colored hovercrafts surged into view, still thousands of meters away from their position, spotlights casting vibrantly bright beams beneath their hulls onto the quickly-darkening landscape. Even at this distance, the persistent shrieking of the siren could be heard. Reese pointed west, where the sun was glowing red behind distant mountain peaks.

“There, the mountains. That’s where they’ll be holding Nico.” She paused. “Sure you’re up for this, little sister?” Even in the near darkness, Violet could see her joking smirk. She grinned with an almost vicious ferocity, her eyes glowing and sparks dancing across her hands.

“I’ve been waiting for this day for four years.”

They headed into the crimson glow of the receding light. 

The man stood on the deck of the ship, staring at the dock.  The wooden deck was no more than 20 feet away, and yet it was an infinite length.  His eyes were old, filled with knowledge and hardship and loss.  The man stayed on the boat, as he always did.  As he had done for the past 10 years.  The water was safe.  The land was filled with sorrows, watered by his tears.  No, he decided.  He would not go ashore.  Not today.  

*  *  *

The sounds of shots fired welcomed the boy into the world.  They were not shots of joy, they were shots of fear and hatred.  The Americans feared the Japanese and the Germans hated the Jews and the parents feared that their children would be feared and hated. This was the life the boy was born into.  He was came into the world at a moment of timid optimism, when his parents were being saved from the Germans and brought to the New World.  The optimism was soon lost under the trampling feet of all of the immigrants, back-breaking yet never prosperous refugees.  When the war was over for the world it had just begun for the boy.  

He fought many battles, to go to school, to stay in school, to graduate school, to go to more school all so that he could make his parents proud and not end up like them.  And things went down, as they do, by way of a girl.  Not just any girl, but of course, they never are.  He met her when he was in University, and was startled by her ambition.  She was writing her dissertation, and she would not be distracted.  But he chased her; he asked her out again and again and when he finally wore her down she agreed to have dinner with him.  

The boy loved his parents and wrote to them at least once a week.  He knew that they loved his possibility for a better life, the life that they had come to get but never would.  He wrote and he called and he visited and whenever he talked to them he told them about the house he was going to buy once he was a doctor.  It would be white, simple, with shutters.  They would live on a road lined with trees, flowering ones, preferably, but any would do.  The house would have four bedrooms, one for his parents, one for he and his wife, and two for his children.  They would live in a neighborhood with a good public school and they would grow up to be doctors or lawyers and they would then buy a house for him.  And, he had decided, they would go to temple.  They would go to temple for all of their relatives who couldn’t go to temple because they never made it out of the camps, much less Germany.  They would go to temple for his parents who had lost their patience with God because they had no time for Him while working three jobs.  They would go to temple for himself because he needed something to believe in.  

It was for those reasons that he should have left dinner exactly seven minutes and thirty-four seconds after he sat down.  For, it was the only thing that could have saved him from never getting that house for his parents and rediscovering his God.  Exactly six minutes into the dinner he felt that he had made a profound connection with this girl.  She was smart and funny and a bit boastful but in a smart and funny way.  He loved that she understood the struggle of fighting for an education.  It made him feel as though he were not alone.  And so, when she told him exactly what she thought about Jewish immigrants one minute and thirty-four seconds later, he simply changed the subject.  It was not that he didn’t care that she hated that he was brought into America, it was simply that he believed if this girl was The One, then he might be able to change her opinion.  After all, true love changed how you saw things.  

He never stopped to think that maybe she would change him.  It was gradual, of course.  At first he didn’t notice that he would forget to write and call and visit his parents because he was so madly, head-over-heals in love with her.  He did not notice that whenever she began to rant about the violent, job-thieving, barbaric Jews, he would slowly start to nod his head.  Give her a grunt of approval.  Sometimes he would even say a word in agreement.  There came a time when he barely spoke to his parents at all.  Even if at first he didn’t believe himself, his nods turned into sentences about the no good Jews coming into this country when they had no right, and now they’re taking our jobs, how dare they!  

This betrayal stemmed deep inside of him, until he couldn’t bear to see his parents anymore because of his stinging words.  He would rather have his mom and dad live in a run down apartment in a bad neighborhood than have them know what he had done.  So, when he learned that his girlfriend was pregnant, he did the gentlemanly thing and proposed.  When she said yes, and the invitations were sent out, there wasn’t one sent to his parents.  They simply ran out of stamps.  

When he graduated medical school with two new letters tacked onto his name he felt he had a golden ticket.  The D and the R saved him from becoming another ever-climbing, never stopping German.  He had a pretty wife whom he admired and two children whom he loved fiercely.  He had the house with the trees on the sidewalk.  He walked past the guest room.  He pretended that he didn’t have a place for his parents.  He filled the empty room with hobbies and artwork and avoided its emptiness, and it worked.  Never once did it occur to him to wander back down to the low-ranking Jews on the bad side of town, so he could see the parents whose optimism had been smashed, rebuilt, and then smashed again.  It never occurred to him because he didn’t want it to.  He was embarrassed of his parents, and embarrassed that he was embarrassed of them, and so he hid away hoping that the guilt would fade.  He learned, 13 years later that they were dead but the guilt was flourishing.  

He hid his shame well, telling friends that he had never known his parents, that he had been sent over to America alone.   He built up a facade to the public eye, one that hid his past so well that he was almost able to fool himself.  But lies upon lies upon lies create a shaky tower, one that is bound to come crashing down at some point.  He was known in his city for being the most thorough, most accurate, and most pensive doctor.  His accurate diagnoses protected him from being cold-shouldered because of his cold personality.  He slept the two feet that his bed would allow between himself and his wife, as if he could pretend as though she would not learn of his cowardice if he distanced himself as much as possible.  He stopped kissing his daughter goodnight until she closed the door to her room, losing hope that he would ever enter again.  He did not wave to his son at the living room window until his son began to do his homework in the kitchen.  

The man did not try to save himself because he already believed that he was roasting in hell.  He thought that he was being punished for being such a bad son that he had let his parents die after 10 years of never even thinking of them.  When his children went from getting As to Bs to Cs to Ds, he thought it was what he deserved.  When his wife stopped leaving dinner for him in the kitchen, he believed it was his karma.  When his son joined the army instead of going to medical school, the man expected nothing less.  And when he received the notice telling him that his son had been killed in action, the man was not surprised.  

He was distraught.  He withdrew.  He hid from his family, from his work, from his history.  For the first time, he begged.  He pleaded and argued and bargained with God.  He wished and wanted and willed and tried to convince himself that he had paid the price.  He had given up a son.  He had sacrificed for his mistakes.  He hoped with all his heart that it would get better.  He hoped and prayed so hard that he missed the self-inflicted scars on his daughters wrists.  He wished in vain so much that he was oblivious to the hidden bottle of whiskey under her bed.  He begged with so much of himself that he didn’t see her bloodshot eyes.  He paid no attention to it because he couldn’t bear anymore pain.  He paid no attention when she said she was going out.  He paid no attention when she instead drove up the highest bridge.  He paid no attention when she jumped.  He did pay attention to the phone call.  

At first, he didn’t believe it.  He cried and screamed and he panicked.  He crawled under her bed and he asked why with such ferocity that he was surprised he was not answered.  He got up and he banged his head against the wall.  He saw her everywhere and nowhere and he ran.  He ran for hours.  He ran until he could not stand, and then he fell.  He fell and he wailed and screamed himself to sleep.  When he woke up he felt calm.  He sat up and then he stood up and then he walked.  He walked to the docks and before he knew what he was doing he asked for a job, any job on a boat.  And he left.  

*  *  *

Suddenly, the man felt awake.  He felt as though he had been asleep for years and years and finally the veil had been lifted.  He felt such clarity and then he felt need.  He needed to see his house.  He needed it.  He could not explain why to himself, but he simply did.  So he got off the boat.  He stood and then he walked and then he ran.  He saw the blooming trees and the white house and he tried the doorknob.  When it did not budge he knocked.  When they did not answer fast enough he banged the door.  When the door did not open he sat and he waited.  When the car pulled into the driveway he ignored the questioners, the unknown faces.  He pushed his way past them and he tore up the stairs.  He checked every room and he saved his parents’ room for last.  He gulped for air as he pushed the door open.  The room was full.  It was full of life and love and a little bit of pain.  The house was full.  He smiled.  

            It’s funny how fast things can change.

My name is Nagi Supefuit. I have olive skin and long, coppery brown hair. I’m tall, somewhat thin, and I have brown eyes. I wear a green snake necklace, an olivine gem in a silver case, on a silver chain. I got it from my grandmother. She told me to never let it out of my sight. I didn’t, and it changed my life forever.

It all started one afternoon in history class. We had all just arrived from lunch, so everyone was bored and tired. I admit, I was slumping in my chair. The teacher, Ms. Moines, was finishing a lecture.

“And so, thanks to Mr. Witt’s ideas, the square is the most common shape in architecture.” She announced loudly.

The history room was poorly decorated, with multiple “motivational” posters plastered to the wall. In the front of the room was a whiteboard, though it was rarely used. In the back was a bulletin board. The walls were painted dull gray. According to Ms. Moines, gray promotes focus. I doubt it.

I heard Ms. Moines call my name, but I wasn’t paying attention. I sat up straight, embarrassed.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Nagi, but I see why you would think so. Our next discussion is about the mysterious philosopher, Nagara.”

Like my name, she pronounced it “Nuh-ZJAR-uh”.

“If not for ancient documents, she would be regarded as myth.” Ms. Moines continued on. “She lived at about 100 B.C., in what is now known as Baja California in Mexico. Her life and works are shrouded in mystery. It’s said that she locked herself in a tomb, with her precious necklace and written treasures, at age 21. The necklace part is disputed, though. Why not pass it down between generations? Historians and archeologists alike are still searching for both the tomb and necklace.” She paused, letting it sink in. “Next, we'll talk abo-” Ms. Moines stopped abruptly when the bell rang. “Sorry, I lost track of time,” She said, regaining herself. “You're dismissed.”

Everyone shot out into the hall, feet pounding on the linoleum floor. I just walked quietly to my locker, which was just a few yards away. I got my backpack and walked out the door into the spring air. The trees across the street had new buds, and a fresh breeze blew through my hair.

“I love spring,” I said to myself.

“As do I,” said a voice on my right. I spun around, ready to defend myself. A man in his 20s stood there. He wore a crisp black tuxedo and had short black hair, and bright blue eyes.

“We have to leave now. Give me the amulet.” He said.

“Why should I? Who are you?” I asked, getting scared.

“I,” the man said, highlighting his British accent, “am Jymes, butler of Nagara.”

I stood there at first, dumbstruck. Then logic kicked in. “How are you still alive, let alone young?”

The man responded as if it was obvious, “Magic.”

“If you've lived through Nagara's time, and knew her, where is her necklace? Was it passed down? Did it even exist? Where is it?”

Very smoothly, he said, “On your neck.”

I was mentally speechless, but I didn't show it. “Prove it.”

“It is fourteen karat silver, with a finely whittled olivine gem in the center. It clips in the back with two clasps.”

I was dumbstruck again, but again I didn't show it. “Very well,” I said, feigning superiority. “You have earned my trust-for now.”

Jymes smiled. “Excellent. Follow me.”

We began walking past a bunch of one person houses down the street from the school.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Nowhere. I'm trying to throw off our pursuers.

“Pursuers? What pursuers?”

“Trackers that work for Arud Bernham.”

I stopped. “Of Bernham Products?”

Bernham products makes everything, from apples to zebra-print purses. They even made my phone!

Almost on cue, two ugly men in black jumpsuits launched themselves out of a bush. I barely had time to react before they came at me. Before I could get out of their way, my necklace started glowing. One of the men jumped on to me. Just when he got an inch away from me, he was repelled, landing hard on his back. The other man ran into me, but bounced the same way, landing onto his face. They were both knocked out.

“Follow me!” Jymes shouted. “Before they can wake up!”

We didn't stop until we were a good mile away. We then slowed down to a brisk walk. I took in my new surroundings. We were now at the edge of a neighborhood. The sidewalk was fading into a dirt path as we moved on. We were approaching a deciduous forest. A sign said “Ardyh Park”. A burst of forest air hit me as we walked in.

“If we stay off the main trail and keep moving, we'll be safe.” He paused, thinking. “Give me your phone. If it was made by Bernham, which it probably was, they'll be able to track it. They use the satellites for phone service, and to secretly track people.”

“I knew that plan was too good to be true,” I muttered. “Here.” I handed him my phone, with the green tiger-print case. He crushed it in his palm.

“How did my gem protect me? Why is Bernham after me?  How did he find us?” I asked, suddenly full of questions.

Jymes smiled, “So many questions. First, the necklace has more power than you realize. It can take the user through space and time, and protects the holder from those that would wish to harm them. It also is the key to Nagara's tomb.”

No wonder my grandmother had stressed to never let it go.

“Bernham tracked you with a combination of your phone, hidden cameras, and spies,” Jymes continued. “Being president of a giant corporation gives you many ways to get what you want”.

“It’s all my fault that he after us,” he sighed. “Bernham found me accidently and faked interest in discovering Nagara. I believed him. He got all the information he needed from me, left me, and sent those two imbeciles, Buf and Shirn, to attack me. I've been avoiding them and after you ever since. That's why I chose to reveal myself.”

“So,” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “How will we get to Nagara's tomb when many expert archeologists have failed?”

Jymes smiled his butler smile. “Before her self-inflicted death, Nagara had learned how to enchant with your amulet. Because of its power Nagara made her tomb exist in a single point in space and time, so only the bearer of the amulet and their allies can find it.”

I could feel that this quest was coming to an end. “How will we get there?” I asked.

“Nagi, surely you've figured it out. The amulet senses where you want to go. Just focus, and shake it three times.”

One....my heart rate got faster.

Two....I steeled myself.

Three!

There was a flash of light. The first thing I noticed was the light. I was out of the forest and on a plain. There was no more forest canopy, so I was open to the harsh sun and strong wind. I was on a peninsula, with a sparkling blue sea to the south. But the biggest thing in the area was the tomb. It was about forty feet tall, made with a type of gray stone, and it was slightly shaped like a trapezoid prism. On the front, where a door should have been, was a circular picture, like an Aztec calendar. It had a border of rectangles around the perimeter, with a multiple pointed star, with the imprint of a snake, in the center.

“The Prizm of Nagara.” Jymes said suddenly from behind me.

I gasped a little, which I regretted because the salt in the breeze stung my throat. “How did you get here? I thought I left you behind?”

“That is Nagara's enchantment. ’A single me, all over time'.” The butler said nostalgically.

Deep, I thought. “Tell me more about this 'Prizm',” I said, intentionally not phrasing it as a question.

“It's constructed out of graphene, one of the strongest minerals on the planet.”

“Graphene?”

            “It is a molecule thick layer on the graphite on pencils. Somehow Nagara found a way to produce it in great amounts.”

            “What's with the calendar?”

“It is the lock of the Prizm, and you-”, Jymes paused to add dramatic effect, “-have the key!” He pointed at my neck. “The Serpent Amulet, necklace of Nagara. It holds the power to carry the owner through space and time, protects them from evil, and unlocks the Prizm of Nagara. The time has come! Insert the amulet into the seal.”

No pressure, right?

My hands getting sweaty, I touched my necklace. I let the sea spray wash on to my skin, took a deep breath, removed the Amulet, and plunged it into the imprint in the seal. There was a click, and the grinding of a thousand gears began as the lock rotated on its side. I saw Jymes' eyes widen as the seal turned 360 degrees. There was a final click as the lock snapped into place. The Amulet started glowing, and there was a flash of light.

 “Remove the Amulet from the seal! Quick!” Jymes shouted. I did. And if I had waited a few moments later, it could have disappeared like the lock. Where it has stood, there was now a gaping hole. I stepped inside.

The musty air almost overwhelmed me. The inside was dimly lit, with torches on the walls. (Even Jymes couldn't explain how they were still burning). Unbelievably, the Prizm seemed even bigger on the inside, but it was empty!

I turned to ask Jymes about this but he was looking around in wonder. I realized he must have never been in there before, because Nagara had locked herself in. He saw me looking and quickly snapped out of it, embarrassed.

“I was told that this tomb was filled with written treasures! Where are they?” I asked.

“I...don't know” Jymes said quietly.

I then spotted a rectangular box in the center of the room. We slowly walked over to it. On it was an inscription in some sort of code.

Jymes gasped. “This is the Zarcofagas! Nagara is in there!”

I looked closely at the runes. “Can you read this?”

“Some of it. It says, 'Ma-'”

His voice was cut off when there was a mechanical whirring, which was followed by a flash of green light. Where the light had come from, there now stood Arud Bernham, tall, portly, official looking owner of Bernham Products, Inc. Beside him stood the two men that had attacked me earlier, Buf and Shirn, holding dynamite!

“Look,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve had enough flashes of light for today, so will you please go home!”

Arud laughed a loud, deep laugh that seemed to reverberate around the walls. He didn't even make eye contact with me!

“Buf,” he said suddenly. “Light the match. Shirn, put the dynamite down.” Then he turned to us again. “All of it goes up! Those two sticks of dynamite hold more power than a megaton of normal TNT, with fuses that will burn for 3 minutes.”

“How will you survive it?” Jymes asked defiantly.

“With these.” Bernham held up his wrist, which had a watch on it that I hadn't noticed before. “Oh, it's not a watch,” he said. “It's a wrist-sized time machine.” He smirked.

“Oh, really?” Jymes said. “I must give you a reward for your innovation.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out two shurikens! He threw one at Bernham's wrist time machine. It hit bulls-eye and the machine produced a volley of electric sparks. He threw the other at Buf's. Before he could produce a third, Shirn lit the match.

“Shurikens?!” I shouted over the match's hissing. “Where the heck did you get shurikens?!”

“No matter. Let's get out of here!”

I saw Bernham and his henchmen dive out. I ran and tumbled out the door. Jymes followed after me and the seal reappeared.

I looked at my watch. It had been two minutes and thirty seconds. Soon it became twenty. Then ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six…five…four…three…two...one.

A sonic boom sounded. After the first shockwave, everyone had been knocked down. But as everyone raised their heads, the Prizm was standing, untouched.

Jymes smiled as Bernham looked incredulously.  “And that’s why she chose graphene.”

Bernham recovered and barked at Shirn to come over. The small man squeaked and ran over. “Quick, give me your time machine.”

But before he could put it on, Jymes pulled a solid gold shuriken from his pocket and gave it to me. I instinctively threw it, and it whirred though the air and cut the strap of the last time machine. I walked straight over and stepped right on it.

“Hope you enjoy 100 B.C.!” I said, recovering Jymes’s golden shuriken. “You even made Jymes resort to his never-miss shuriken.”

I scooped up the remains of Shirn’s time machine as I walked back to Jymes.

“Now we need to finish what we started.” I said, turning my back on Bernham forever. We walked back to the Prizm. I inserted the Amulet into the crypt’s seal. It rotated fully and clicked. I snatched the Serpent Amulet as the seal flashed and faded away. We walked inside and looked around in wonder all over again. The torches had practically been rendered molecular dust. We couldn’t find a trace of the other two time machines. But every scrap of graphene was intact, and the Zarcofagas was unshaken.

“What does the lid say?” I demanded.

“Look inside yourself. You’ll be able to read it,” Jymes said.

Somehow, in the blackness of the Prizm, it came to me. “It says, ‘Make your own ideas’”.

.           .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .          

What happened after that? I told my grandmother what happened, and she, Jymes, and I (who quickly became the family butler, for no wage!) explained it to my parents. And, thanks to Arud Bernham, we became billionaires for patenting the first time machine. My father, being the only living relative of Bernham (a big surprise, even to him), became CEO of Bernham Products, renaming it Nagaraco. And I discovered an amazing talent for writing, making the story you hold in your hands. But one day, I may be called into action again…..