The dry pages rustled as the class turned to another page in history.
More than one pair of eyes was staring out the window to the clear blue sky. The last class of the day was far from over. A whispered collective sigh echoed throughout the classroom. With its black chalkboard and white walls, there was very little to distract the students from the nice day and the daydreams that drifted through their minds. Outside, a single butterfly fluttered by the window.
A shot. A gunshot echoed through the building.
Five seconds later, the lockdown alarm blared throughout the school. The teacher closed the door, locked it and turned off the lights. Some students ran to the windows and pulled down the blinds. The rest scrambled to the corner of the room that was on the same wall as the door. Within another five seconds, the room was completely silent, but the air was full of invisible tension that ran like electricity among the students.
A bang erupted as something slammed into the locked door of the classroom. The noise startled each person, and a girl let out a miniscule squeak. There was a pause, silence flooding in again.
Without warning, there came a second bang, and the door toppled to the floor like a felled tree. In stormed a lone figure, the face obscured by the dark room. Whoever it was held some sort of weapon, a strange, curving, bulky object that despite these features resembled a gun. No one else came into the room.
The figure observed the frightened huddle in the corner. Then the person raised the gun-like object.
The teacher moved in front of the students, hands trembling. “Don’t you dare hurt any of these students.”
The gun tilted to the teacher’s left side, pointing to one student. It was a boy who was kneeling, looking intently into the face of death.
“I only need the one.” said the figure, using an oddly calm female voice.
The shot was straight and true, the bullet embedding itself in the boy’s chest. He fell forward with a sigh. The strange woman caught him and picked him up, cradling him in her arms.
“What are you going to do with Milan?” the teacher challenged feebly.
“His name’s not Milan.” the woman answered.
At this, the boy opened his eyes. He looked up at the person who held him. He smiled. “It’s about time you got here.”
Then the two of them suddenly vanished.
The next time the boy opened his eyes, he was looking up at the lush branches of tall trees. He felt spongy moss that was slightly damp pressing against his back. He sighed, closing his eyes and breathing in the cool air.
A sharp pain erupted in his lungs, causing his eyes to snap open. He coughed, tasting blood on his tongue. The boy looked down and saw the red liquid still flowing from his chest wound.
“That’s just like her.” he muttered, groaning.
“Just like who now?” asked a voice.
The boy looked to the sound’s direction and found Kris, his best friend, walking toward him. He had blonde hair, pale skin, and was wearing glasses. When Kris reached the boy, he seemed to tower high above him.
Kris sat beside his friend. “I don’t think she’s completely comfortable around you yet, Mirran.” he said, a bit gravely.
Mirran let his head fall back onto the moss, feeling less pained by his wound but more pained by something else. He was starting to feel cold and light-headed.
“I think we’d better get you into the pond.” Kris grabbed Mirran’s arm and gently slung it over his shoulder. Carefully, he helped Mirran to his feet and walked him to the edge of the pond before them.
Mirran stepped down fully-clothed into the water, letting himself float even though he knew his feet could touch the bottom. Large lily pads floated around him, their buds having yet to bloom. It was early spring in the land, almost a year since Mirran had been there last.
“I’ll get you a towel.” Kris left him, giving some privacy.
The cool water washed into the wound as Mirran drifted to the middle of the pond. He ducked under the water for a moment. The long roots of the lily pads anchored each pad to the round stones that lay on the bottom of the lake. The lakebed itself was also made of stone.
Then he broke through the surface before breathing deeply in and out. Then Mirran recited, “O LeMar, land of my ancestors, grant unto me the power of your earth and return this body to the form in which it is meant to be.”
The light glowed around Mirran, as it always did when he was healed. He closed his eyes and thought of clouds in the sky, trying to ignore the strange stretching feeling in his chest as the wound healed. The sky was bright, like in late spring, and the clouds drifted lazily along. Mirran breathed in and out slowly as the piece of LeMar inside him, the “bullet,” dissolved in the glowing water.
The sky behind Mirran’s clouds turned blood red. He cried out and opened his eyes, feeling as though he had been struck by lightning. A man was by the pool, his hand in the water. Something there glowed an evil red, and the man smiled devilishly at Mirran. The boy stared back at the man, shocked, angry, and in more pain than ever.
No one else was ever to touch the water during a healing. Absolutely no one. The water would become…contaminated.
“Hurry! The Prince is inside!” shouted a voice. The crowd of footsteps could be heard thundering closer to the pond.
“Until next time, my prince.” The stranger’s smile widened. Mirran blinked, and the man was gone.
The pain in his chest was almost overwhelming him. Mirran gritted his teeth, not wanting to cry out again. He slowly made his way to the edge of the pond and heaved his torso onto the mossy ground. What energy was left in his arms disappeared then, and Mirran breathed heavily, his face and eyes turned toward the entrance of the clearing.
“Help…” he called out weakly, not only for himself, but for the pond too. It was one of the main healing sites and one of the few left. Once contaminated, it could take years to restore the pond, and sometimes it was permanently poisoned.
Footsteps and fuzzy images blurred in his head and vision. Mirran heard someone call his name. The boy’s sky turned midnight black, empty of stars.
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I'll probably add more. I know it's a bit lacking.
Note: This is intended to be a novel sort of thing.
. I would lose the *collective*, as it sounds a tad cheap.
