Young Writers Society

It all began with a flash of green light; his body was propelled into the heavens, charged with a surge of adrenaline. The kick-off was momentous. Before long, he was airborne. Just himself against the forces.

Dangerous, that was dangerous, he thought. Too much power, too soon, but if he hadn't gotten it right from the start, it would've been over.

Ninety miles northwest, now. His helmet was sending him all the feeds. For pilots, navigation was vital, but he was of a different sort. He was a boarder, born and bred. For them, it was not a matter of getting there, it was a matter of getting there first. It was a game they played. A cat and mouse game.

A glowing yellow dot pulsated along the screen of his visor. Liam grimaced; he found a mouse.

Up ahead there was a heavy cloud covering. More yellow dots began to appear. The currents were against them now, and there was a ratchet of sounds and explosions as the competitors fought to the bitter death. They'll head above it, Liam thought. He could cut across them from below. The air was always more dense directly below the clouds—the more elevation, the less the resistance. The fact was elementary. But to speed up now was the mistake of the inexperienced. The race had barely begun. Slow and steady, after all...

He allowed them to pass by. They'll soon knock each other off, and that'll leave the skies to him alone. At least, that was his hope.

A flash of light!

Liam swerved, barely avoiding the impact. He was being targeted from the front. They were well aware of his strategy. There was no choice but to hide. This was not about engaging in battle; this was all about speed. In all his years, Liam never fired a single shot—but he had his few shares of wins.

Liam loved the sensation of flying into the clouds. This one was thick and voluminous, it was like taking a swim. Before long, he was drenched with moisture, inevitably slowing down. Liam found himself clenching his teeth to keep them from shattering. His senses were more acute. Navigating through this relied all upon his instincts as a flyer. There was no visibility—barely could he see his own arm.

To those who had never flown before, forget it. There was no hope of understanding. Flying was a hundred percent instinctual, and men were not exactly naturals. It was the way the wind shifted, how it reacted with his body, the pressure in his ears, how the clouds moved, every subtle detail had to be taken in while zipping past, faster than the speed of sound. This required years of experience.

This was boarding. It wasn't about maps or compasses; Liam could care less about what took place beneath his

feet. To him, this was it. This was all there was. Skies. Freedom. Most were attracted to the glamorous lifestyle of the boarders. Fame, riches, traveling and all that. But it was a lonely life. Liam loved it. The sky alone was enough to satisfy him. It was vast enough.

Before long, he had made it through the clouds.

The next few minutes passed by easily. It was only him and the winds. Bliss.

He was losing his standings and he knew it. His visor told him eighth place—but that wasn't something to fret over. In a previous race, he was clearly in last place, before overtaking all of his opponents in a single sweep. That was his secret. To explain it to someone was fruitless; talent, balls, that was about it.

The skies were clear. Friction was his only enemy here. He accelerated, leaving behind a blazing trail of condensed vapor. He heard nothing but the rush of the wind directly in his ears; he saw nothing but those amber dots amid blue sky.

But Liam didn't worry about something so inconsequential. A sailor could tell you better than a pilot could. All that mattered was the manner and direction of the wind. If there was no wind blowing, a boarder's job was to find it. Pilots didn't need it. Boards relied solely upon it.

Right now, it was resisting him, but soon...soon the currents will change. He could feel himself getting lighter,

the water had evaporated. His uniform drying. The tiniest of changes led him all the faster. This wasn't the work of simply weight alone.

The currents were picking up...

He could see the faint outline of his opponent not far ahead of him. There was no mistaking it for a bird or a craft. The amber pulse quickened. He was getting closer.

All in all, Liam had four years experience under his belt. Most boarders had at least ten, but his youth proved somewhat an advantage. The others were getting tired. They were flying lower. This was Liam's cue to go higher. And higher. He wanted them to see his shadow.

Then he felt it, the shift in the wind... the currents were on his side now, and he rode it with ease. He was swept away, accelerating at an alarming rate, his body went rigid as an arrow, and the wind slung him through, pushing against his back. Liam had to hold onto his board with both hands, his own head resting against wobbly knees.

He saw the finish line about ten miles ahead. The numbers in his helmet flashed violently. Second, third, second, third, second, third. First place was no where in sight.

Faster!

A warning symbol flashed inside his helmet. His engines were failing. His body lurched. There it was again. The shift in the air.

He felt himself weightless. Noted the amber dots at a complete stand still. The air felt heavy. It was darker. He saw it—a rain cloud. This was dangerous! But he finally understood—

The others were caught in a vacuum somehow. This was his chance!

Faster!

He propelled forwards. There was no slowing down now. The amber dots disappeared on his screen altogether. Liam struggled to smile, his cheeks sent flapping in the air.

The glass on his visor shattered. The pieces swept away by the wind. All he heard was a noise of white static. A malfunction. There was no knowing what was happening now. He was all alone.

He went faster, ignoring the protesting of his muscles. His body was completely numb. He saw only a tunnel, the edges of his vision blurring up. His senses felt cut off. Wrong, somehow. He felt the pulsing of his heartbeat and warmth, despite the bitter cold, as if his senses were confused, his brain no longer able to function properly. It was a wonderful sensation, an ultimate high.

It hardly lasted.

Struggling to keep his own balance, Liam pushed against the pain in his knees. He was going much too fast, borderline suicidal. With the reflexes of an expert boarder, he made a quick swerve, attempting to slow himself down. His board was out of control. The wind snatched at him, right and then left, and then spiraling him about. He was no match for the upcoming storm cloud!

The winds ripped him apart, he felt blood on his cheek. Agh! He had to get out of this. He rolled sideways, tucking his arms underneath him. The currents threw him about. He noted the hairs on his arm—they lay flat. There was still time. No electricity meant the air wasn't charged up yet. He could fly straight beneath like a knife!

The others flew above. Yes!

Another shift! No! A force pummeled him down, practically a punch to the gut. It was impossible to tell his direction, aside from the tight jolt of his stomach. It was as if all time had stopped.

He stood frozen, suspended almost a thousand feet up in the air. Then time sped up again.

Liam was plummeting. His engines stopped. There was only one way to go: rocketing and spiraling towards the ground!

His body trembled involuntarily. Pain shot up through his spinal cord. The exhilaration nearly chocked him. His chest felt as if it were about to pop. He felt his heart rate escalating! His muscles were tensing, his nerves numbing, his vision fading...

Then he remembered to breathe.

His limbs felt detached from his body. He could no longer hear his own breathing; he was no longer sure if he could. He had to mentally assert himself: inhale, exhale.

He opened his eyes, fighting against the wind. Everything was an overwhelming blur. Somehow he managed to angle his body at a sharp nosedive. He did everything he could to keep his limbs from flailing. A single bead of cold sweat ran up his brow...

No, don't give up on me, now.

He had to jumpstart it. He didn't think about it, didn't weigh his options, he just let go!

The emergency activation between the board and his boots did the rest. Instinct took hold of him, he saw his board flash before him, and like a magnet, he was back onto it, righting himself once more. He had to calculate his fall—if he was too late, he'd be a splattered mess of blood and guts.

The sudden force of the board's momentum propelled him upwards, the board began to vibrate as it got closer and closer to the ground.

Control it! He clenched his jaw. Pain! So much pain.

The kickoff seemed to do the trick. Keep focus. Inwardly, he was calculating his fall. He had to know exactly where he was going. The air was no longer heavy, he felt himself lightheaded. Somehow, he was held aloft. A sigh of relief. Tree!

He swerved. Another sigh.

Before he knew it, it was over.

His head was abuzz with that familiar sense of having defied all the gravitational laws. It was the intangible feeling that was the result of flying. He skimmed across the ground, the platform only a few kilometers ahead.

He was free.

Orion! Orion! Orion! The crowd was screaming for him beneath the platform. He looked around, searching for any familiar faces, but the race had yet to be won.

The finish line was in sight. He floated gently just above all their heads. He had no idea what he placed—but given the monstrous crowd of animated people....

Liam tore straight through the large ribbon that marked the finish of yet another win. A wall of sound erupted after him, exhilarating him. He hadn't expected so many fans. He jumped off his board and got to his feet. He was their legend—the most talented racer in the City.

Woah. And then he was jelly. There was not a single working bone in his body. Contact with the ground always left him like this. It was as if the body he had left stranded up somewhere in the heavens had finally caught up with him. He felt exhausted, hardly able to keep himself from standing upright.

It didn't go unnoticed. Immediately, his sponsors came to his side, holding him up and lifting him onto a stretcher

where they carried the great Orion into the awaiting emergency vehicle.

It was common for a racer to fall faint in fatigue. It was expected. Boarding placed great physical tension on the joints of the body, not to mention the tremendous air pressure thousands of feet above the ground, and all the disorientation and loss of equilibrium that resulted afterward. That was why boarding was such a popular sport in the City. Being able to stay on a jet board was difficult enough two feet in the air, let alone hundreds of feet, but the racers were very talented individuals. Orion even more so.

“What was my time?” He mumbled.

“What! Are you kidding—”

Liam didn't hear the rest. He saw his answer before him; he was standing at the highest precipice, overlooking the screens that recorded the entire race. He was a man clothed in purple gear with the golden crest of Aster City pinned to his chest. The Emperor held his gaze, as he did so many years ago, but this time it was Liam who refused to smile.

This time, it was Liam who approached him, his body wobbling, his face refusing to reveal a shred of what was to come. One slow, agonizing step after the other. The crowd cheered him on. The Emperor waited at the top to hand the racers their reward, as he is customary to do every four years. There were no guards close at hand. No security, but the eyes of a million witnesses. What a reward it will be...

“Hey—what is he doing?”

At the bottom of Liam's board was a hidden compartment that revealed a knife. With just one shift of his hand, and a leap that knew no bounds, he held it right up to the Emperor's neck—

The crowd fell frozen, silenced. Orion's face, his knife, the Emperor—all was being played back to them on the screens...