Young Writers Society

I knew I was in trouble the moment I saw her stroll down the centre aisle headed my way. My head bowed when she approached, and I shifted in my chair to silence the growing desire to flee. I felt her gaze heavy on me when she came to a halt, and for a heartbeat wondered if this was truly the end.

“Mind if I sit here?” she said and I inhaled, subtly, for I realized I had been holding my breath.

“Sure…” I uttered, slipping a single glance at the dozens of other empty tables.

She was testing waters, which meant she wasn’t sure if it was me yet. I wasn’t surprised. After so many lifetimes, even if similar, my appearance was different. My eyes were a warmer, bluer shade of gray, and my hair was a lighter brown. I was shorter too, for my dismay, but you lived with what you were given.

And she… She was just the same. From the tanned hue of her skin, through the depth of her blue eyes and to the glossy black of her hair.

She folded her skirt as she sat into the seat across from me, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than what I would consider harmless. I refused to give her a sign of recognition, leaning back into my chair, all attention fixed on the windows. Her inquisitive eyes, however, remained locked on me in the reflection and my breath stilled despite all conscious attempts to keep it even.

“It’s nice out isn't it.” she said, nodding at the happy people who strolled across the grassy courtyard of the academy under the rare autumn sun.

The weather? She was seriously opening this with the weather?

“I guess…” I said after I plucked the headphones from my ears. Not that I had been following the songs since she entered the cafeteria.

“Too bad it will rain.” she said, her dark blue eyes holding mine.

I didn’t answer. What could I say? I knew what she was getting at perfectly, and I wouldn’t risk slipping up with an ill-thought answer. So I just gazed at her, my feign confusion brief before I looked down to fiddle with my player.

I knew why she was here of course. They were looking for me. I just hadn’t expected them so soon.

It all started few weeks back when I felt something. Something I hadn’t felt in ages. One morning as I walked down the familiar sidewalk, the wind swayed with me, its caress leaving prickling sparks upon my skin. And no, it didn’t just brush past me as I moved, but with me, shifting as I did, rising with my excitement, stirring with my panic, and calming when I told myself it was just another dream.

Only it wasn’t. For it happened again, and again, and soon the feeling I had long forgotten pulsed through me with new familiarity. It almost seemed unreal. How much time had passed. And back then. All those years, lifetimes ago, I never found out what happened. I don’t think anyone did. It just happened. One day it was all normal, and the next we’d lost it. All of our power. It felt as if I had forgotten how to breathe. And for years after, I’d reach out my hand almost upon instinct and hope the wind would stir. Just once. The way it used to. But it never did, and I never forgot, how it had felt. I never forgot, but I grew accustomed to the numbness. And now, everything changed again. It was back, the whole range of sensations, as suddenly as it had gone.

My kind did not believe in deities, but it certainly felt as we were under the whims of one.

And now, that my long held desires had come true, now that the dream became reality, I didn’t really… feel anything. My powers were back and so what? My world had died a long time ago, so what difference did it make? What was I supposed to do with them? Become a professional athlete by exploiting an unfair advantage over the rest of humanity?

Well most of humanity. If I had my powers, others probably did too. As her appearance testified.

It was my fault really. That they had found me. When I had realized my influence over the wind was back, I had firmly decided to do exactly nothing. But just a few days later I awoke with the insatiable itch to learn more about this new situation. Curse my curiosity for it never led me to a good place.

What didn’t help, was that a new kind of feeling carried through the air. Through the wind, the trees, through everything. A kind of silence, when life was always unbelievably noisy. Buzzing, bursting, quieting, then ringing again as the energies swirled around us. Yet, that day, when I walked out onto my balcony, it felt still. The world felt still despite the static of the city. And this new calm, this silence, was unnerving, driving my need to know over the edge.

And so I left extra early that morning, just to jog. Meditate maybe. Listen to the not so natural forests of the local park, for nature always had a way of telling you if something was off. Just run, sniff around, nothing more. And then one thing left to another, and I climbed right up the hill and to the spot where two major energy streams crossed.

I spent no more than a minute, feeling through the streams for clues, and that’s why they were here now. That’s why they were looking for me. Because I couldn’t have done a better job of announcing my presence to the world. Or at least to whoever was listening, and I had no doubts they were snooping around for what the other side was doing.

To top it all up, my search had turned up nothing. The streams were normal and flowing with no fluctuations to cause a silence. In fact, they felt better than ever, clearer, smoother, happier. Perhaps it was just me rediscovering my senses.

So, in a way, I had brought this upon myself, and unless I found a way to slip off their radar, I was in for a whole load of trouble.

“So what program are you in?” she spoke and I looked up to blink her way.

“Sorry?”

“Program.” she repeated. “I take it you study here?” Her eyes circled the expanse of the cafeteria.

“Fine arts.” I said. “You?” I added after a moment of awkward silence.

“I’m just visiting.” She tugged a lock of short black hair behind an ear.

Of course she was. “I see.” I said as my gaze trailed past her to take note of the big hand of the clock. “Oh shi-” I almost let slip as I shot up from my seat. Her eyes rose with me, questioning. “Nice meeting you,” I said, “but I gotta run.” I added with a forced smile.

I was so late for class and it was all her fault.

It rained all night that day, with thunders and howling winds that calmed only in the early hours of the morning. I listened through it all for sleep was hard to come by. The few times I did close my eyes I was visited by nightmares until I gave up on rest completely, gaze locking onto the fluorescent stars above. I had made the patterns myself, but after so many sleepless nights their unchanging constellations and artificial glow had become dreary.

With so much going on, I expected to have a lot to think about, plans to come up with, things to recall, but my mind was empty, as empty as the dark sky I could see through the gap between the curtains. Somewhere out there, under the starless gray, a lone bird was trying to break through the veil of silence. Its song was quiet, often fading, but for no more than a moment before resuming, continuing, and as morning approached becoming louder, more cheerful, until it turned into a choir to welcome the newborn sun.

Too bad I couldn't share the birds’ delight.

Groaning, I reached for the clock on my nightstand only to confirm it was way too early for anything. I rolled out of bed anyway, my legs were itching to move.

A blurry image of misery greeted me in the bathroom mirror. The deep dark circles under my eyes had become quite prominent, and my frizzy brown hair was beyond salvation.

I tried to patch things up with a warm drink, though I kept getting the wrong package as I fumbled through the cupboard in the darkness. And then the lights flashed on and I was completely blinded by the splitting pain in my head.

"Why're you standing in the dark?" My mother's voice sounded from the other side of the kitchen.

Why indeed… "Good morning..." I muttered, still squinting to refocus.

Silent in her soft slippers she approached, and I moved aside so she could get her coffee. But instead, she reached to sort through my unruly locks. “Oh honey,” she said, “you’ve got to do something about that hair.”

With a forced smile I gently pushed her hand aside. “You’re up early.” I said as she turned for the cupboard.

“Got a deadline.” Yawning, she fluffed her blond curls and slowly reached for the coffee jar on the top shelf.

Just as the kettle clicked to signal that the water was ready.

“A lot left?”

"Mhm," she struggled with the jar lid, "still have that charity event to cover.” she said dumping a spoonful of instant coffee into her cup. My mother wrote articles for a small local magazine. It wasn’t much, but it kept her busy.

“Good luck with that.” I said and poured the hot water over the teabag before I handed her the kettle.

“Thanks sweety.” she said, her arm coming around my shoulders for a sideways hug. Once the kettle was back into its spot she picked up her coffee and headed for the door.

“Don't be late.” she called out as her pink robe slipped behind the corner.

The faint aroma of the strong black tea brought a weak smile to my face. I inhaled again, letting the steam warm my lungs. With that, I was almost ready to face the day.

Or so I thought until my father walked into the kitchen, morning newspaper in hand. “Finally up?" he said as he fitted himself into his seat.

Finally up? I was always up early. Extra early even to avoid these very encounters.

"Morning." I greeted, stuffing bread into the toaster and hoping the damn thing popped out fast enough.

"How's school?" he asked, his brown eyes scanning the front page.

"Fine." I murmured.

He leaned back, gazing in my general direction. "Enjoying your classes?"

"Yup." I said, still waiting for the toaster. He quiet for a moment, his eyes tracing my every movement from behind his thin-framed glasses as shifted about to make my toast.

No more than a few moments later, breakfast in hands, I strolled for the door. But not fast enough, apparently, for before I reached it, he cleared his throat, gaze pointing to the seat across. Our eyes met in short confrontation, and I walked over, carefully placing my dishes on the table before I slid into the chair.

“I have a friend,” he began, “he needs an assistant.” he said and my fingers froze on the handle of the cup. I looked up, knowing all too well what he was getting at. “It’s a good position,” he continued, “pays well.”

“I’m still studying.” I said.

“You can start part time.” he retorted.

“Look, we’ve talked about this.” Many, many times before.

He gazed at me for a silent moment from under his eyebrows. “Tell me honestly,” he began the well known song, “do you think there’s future in your chosen… occupation."

"If you want me to find a job, I'll get one."

"You don't have to ‘find a job’,” he said calmly, “but such an opportunity doesn't come often. You should take it while you still can.” Didn’t come often indeed. And his friend just happened to have it lying around. With me, no previous experience or skill on office work, heading the list. He sure had nothing to do with all that.

"My answer is no." I said, picking my plate to carry to the sink. Never had I stuffed toast in my mouth, and chugged down hot tea quite so fast.

"You'll like marketing.” He continued, trying to sell his proposition over the sound of running water.

“No, I won’t.” I muttered aware he would hear me.

“You can’t know until you try.” he said. "I'm not asking you to give up art. You can always draw in your free time."

Closing the tap, I turned to face him, arms crossed. "Was that all?"

"I'll talk to my friend. I want you to try the position." he stated.

I frowned, clenching my teeth so that the words swarming my mind wouldn’t make it to my tongue. I had enough issues as it was, and no desire to deal with another senseless quarrel.

Only once the door of my room closed securely behind me, could I relax. I remained there for a brief moment as the fresh touch of air drifted to me from the open window. My skin prickled and the curtains stirred as I released the repressed energy built up in my body. Thankfully before it caused any unfortunate incidents around me. Too much time had passed indeed. I was no better than a newborn, barely able to keep it under control. It would get better, I told myself, eventually…

My mood improved by noon, partially because I was out of the house and as far from him as possible, and partly because I was recruited to help with the student gallery. Arranging the new exhibits had a calming quality to it, though before we got to that, we had to take care of the dirty work, remove the old paintings and prepare the new to hang.

I carefully lifted the painting, fighting with its frame for a short moment before I let it sink back down. The wire had caught on something and the sheer size of the canvas didn’t make my job any easier. Sighting, I gripped at the frame, pushing it up again.

“Hold on,” someone said before the canvas had successfully toppled me, “let me help you with that.” And then the weight of the canvas lifted away and off the hook.

He gently set it to lean against the wall and I mustered a small smile of gratitude when his eyes rose to meet mine. “Thanks.” I said and then internally froze when I saw her standing behind him.

“Hi.” she said cheerfully.

I answered with a guarded, “Hello,” before I ran my eyes over him again. Not too tall, definitely in need of an extra muffin, with dark hair and skin tone that looked almost ghostly next to hers. And that haunting shade of blue eyes. Of course. Wherever she went, he went.

“We met in the cafeteria the other day, remember.” she said and I realized I had been staring for too long.

My gaze drifted her way. “Yes, I remember.” I said with a polite smile I hoped didn't look too blatantly fake. “Sorry there isn’t much to see.” I gestured at our makeshift gallery. Most of the paintings were already down, and the new were yet to arrive. “So,” I said when the awkward silence had dragged for a while, “what leads you here?”

“Well, you know,” she spoke before he could, “looking around.” She was looking at me, her gaze heavy, piercing. I forced my muscles to relax, praying I wouldn’t flinch next time she took a half step. It was hard, impossible even, with the two figures of similar heights, with similar eyes, boring into me, probing, waiting till I slipped up.

And if this wasn’t the highlight of my day…

“Then go ahead,” I said inviting them to our gallery with a wave of my hand. My smile had become so artificial by this point I could feel it in the wrinkles of my cheeks.

“Any of them yours?” he asked, a teasing note to his voice.

“Two.” I said, hoping he would leave it at that. But he just had to ask which. I gave him my best crooked grin. “Why don’t you try and guess.” I said and his brow arched.

Before he could respond with a no doubt witty comeback a classmate popped out of somewhere calling me over with a brooding glance. I managed another fake smile as I excused myself, but the classmate only wanted to tell me a helper was MIA and the new paintings would be delayed. And with that, I was left alone again, with the two of them prowling about me. I was starting to feel like a gazelle with the wild beasts clearly in my sight, but doing nothing, only to make my heart race before the chase had even began.

I knew, of course, that they wouldn’t leave before they got what they came for. Namely me. Or something they wanted from me.

“You strike me as a colourful person,” he said from across, “so something like this?” he pointed at a mess of a colour blob trying to pass for abstract art. Though, to be fair, I couldn’t really judge.

“Nope.” I said lips curving into a genuine smirk. “Better luck next time.”

If his brow was slightly arched before, it was fully up now. He prowled on, hands in pockets, eyes circling the canvases. At least one person off my case. Though I worried about her more. The intent was hidden a little bit too well behind her marble face. And that unwavering stare sent chills down my spine, as it followed me while I moved about to check for loose hooks and generally look busy.

Time had never dragged quite this slow. Not even in the middle ages.

“I’m Rain by the way,” he said not really looking at me as he inspected another painting, “and that’s Maya.” He pointed to her and she waved a small wave.

I answered with a fleeting glance, pretending to be particularly interested in a patch of loose plaster by one of the hanging spots. He was following me now, looking over the canvases as I passed them. “I take it you don't study here either.” I said. He looked up, and then my way from behind the bangs hanging over his eyes.

“Just visiting.” he said with a shrug.

“I see.” Of course he was.

“Don’t I get a hint?” he asked.

A sideways smile curved over my lips. “It’s called After Apocalypse.”

“I don’t see any tags.”

“We took those down first.” my eyes lingered on him with a smirk as I passed him by.

“That’s not much of a hint.” he said, pouting.

“It tells you more than you need to know.” I said. “Try to think creatively.” I added, halting before the next spot.

“So it has to be something,” he said, still following me, “somber?”

“You can say that.” I answered, the smile no longer amused on my face.

“So something like,” he pointed to a canvas across, of a city covered by a mist, with its gray buildings barely a shape over the clouds. The sky above was bright, though it held a hint of eerie red.

“Bingo.” I forced another teasing smile. “See, I knew you had it in you.”

“And the second one?” Maya inquired from behind. I hadn’t even noticed her sneak up on me.

I tossed her a glance over my shoulder. “Somewhere out here.”

But she was looking past me, and at the painting. “Ciel. That’s an interesting signature.”

Oh crap. Stupid, stupid, stupid, so damn stupid. What idiot signed her work with her actual element name. Even if it were in French. Granted, I hadn’t exactly expected them to be looking for me, like ever.

But I contained my internal wince, the poker face remaining intact.“It’s French.” I said. “Nothing sells quite as a painting signed in French.” I could still play the dumb card. And hope my stubbornness alone made them give up on smoking me out. “You two looking to buy something to hang on your wall?” I continued. “We sell cheap.” As cheap as amateurish student paintings went.

She didn’t answer, gazing at me with that knowing half-smile. I wouldn’t give in either, looking her straight in the eyes with not as much as a nervous wrinkle to my forehead. I knew this game well.

And then as if salvation from the heavens of redemption the first round of new paintings arrived, along with the teacher, classmates, and helpers and people in general. I had never liked people quite as much as in that very moment.

I turned full attention to my work, trying, hoping I seemed as dumb and ordinary as possible. When I did glance back, eventually, they were gone. A sigh of relief escaped me, though the tension wouldn’t leave. They still didn’t have enough on me. A guess at most. Nothing that would put me in immediate danger. But a guess was more than enough of a reason to keep snooping. I knew how they worked. This was far from over and as much as I didn’t want to participate in this game, I had no intention of losing.

Else I’d have to pack my bags and disappear. Which didn’t seem all that horrible when I returned home to a house full of yelling.

Well not yelling, arguing. But to my tired eardrums it was hell.

I sneaked past the living room, running straight up to my bedroom without as little as a greeting. Even through the closed door I could still hear them. Loud and clear. Courtesy of my recently regained senses, which I still struggled to tune out of. At least it wasn’t as bad as a crowded lunch room. Now that, had almost made me faint the first time.

"Damn it, Helena, you promised!” my father's voice boomed once more. “You know how important this dinner is." he added in a softer voice.

“I’m sorry honey,” my mother said in her most apologetic tone, “I have a deadline. I can’t make it." I could vividly imagine her wide green puppy eyed stare.

"I can’t believe you would do this to me." he uttered.

A few more muffled lines were exchanged and no resolution reached. Why couldn’t he just go alone? It was only a business dinner. Granted one he had been harping on and on about for months, but still... So of course, it wasn’t long before the expected call sounded. I pretended not to hear when he called my name again, pulling the headphones tighter over my ears when his steps neared.

Not a moment later, my door swung open, revealing my father in the threshold. He was still in his suit, minus the necktie, with the sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons of his shirt loosened. Tired, though demanding eyes landed on me from across the room. I peered at him as dumbly innocent as I could, my fingers creeping to the headphones to remove them. The heavy creases on his face relaxed.

"You know the firm is having a dinner," he began, "it seems like your mother can't accompany me." he said jaw ever so lightly tensing. "I hope you don't have anything planned for tomorrow because I want you to come instead."

A small sigh escaped my lips. So many lifetimes later, I still couldn’t escape the plague of political dinners.