Young Writers Society

“What the hell are you doing to my equipment?”

All eyes turned toward her, Sarah. She was dressed in tight black shirt and pants, which brought out her olive complexion and rich, soot-brown hair. Her sea-green eyes seemed darker, like a violent crashing wave in the darkest part of the night. Even with her exotic, almost cat like eyes, Sarah could still pass for human. One that people looked at—gawked at—and thought that she must have had extensive surgery because there is no way anyone, anyone, could be that beautiful, that...

perfect.

She stood tall, sweeping over the scene with a slightly detached expression, as though the room was only one of million images also swimming before her.

There were times, like now—when she seemed to radiate power—that I found it easier to believe she was the last of one of the oldest and most powerful races in existence.

They all looked at me—the traitors—though Sarah knew had me written all over it to begin with. I attempted an innocent expression that was probably drowned out by my complete discomfort.

“Well, actually...” I started, she held up a hand. “Don’t.” She was using her, “I should be queen of the universe” voice. I hated it when she used that voice, it made her seem less human, I mean, and I know she isn’t human, but still...

“Come.” she said, before turning and striding away. We exchanged glances. I was borderline freak out because I was so excited, but they all looked—apprehensive at the most. We followed, for once no one daring to challenge her.

She’d led us to the dining area of all places. At first I thought she was going to request we have some sort of community breakfast, since we never ate at the same time. I immediately made my way over to the dispenser.

“Sara!”, she said sharply. I turned, slowly.

“But, but food...” I stammered, giving the dispenser another longing, almost mournful look.

“You haven’t eaten yet?” She phrased it like a question, but didn’t say it like one.

“No, but they all haven’t either.” They all looked at me again—I swear they practiced doing this in sync when I wasn't around—and their expressions said most clearly that yes, yes they had.

I sighed, Sara gave me another look. “What exactly did you do between the time that I woke you up and now?”

I opened my mouth, but she turned away, lips twisted into an exasperated line.

“Never mind, Damnit Sara, I told you needed to eat within a half-hour of getting up.”

Right, that stupid diet that was supposed to help me regain all the weight I’d lost in that prison camp. I gave her a sheepish look.

Sarah sighed, running her hand through her hair. “Just sit.”

I gave the dispenser one last, martyred glance before heading towards my seat. Sarah didn’t move, but I heard a resounding click behind me. I whirled around, just in time to keep an apple from smacking into my face. I stared at it, before whirling around to face her—an exaggerated look of wonder on my face. I could only see her profile, but I swear she was smiling slightly.

It was only after I’d sat down that she explained that—we couldn’t leave the ship again until she said so. That was when I had spoken out. But I couldn’t believe it? How could she do this to us? That much must have been on my face as I folded my arms across my chest and glared at her with all the venomous indignation I could muster. Someone snorted to my left—Zack— so I turned it on him. But now I was just so frustrated with the both of them, and myself, that I’d lost any and all intimidation I might have had—ever. He knew this, which is why his lips spread into a small, wicked grin that briefly illuminated his dark skin and eyes. With his arms folded across his chest and his dark hair spilling rock-starishly into his eyes, he looked like a seductive demon straight from Lucifer’s liar. A really, really, sexy seductor—which is why I snapped my eyes away, mumbling under my breath. Sarah gave me a small, triumphant smile before crossing to the other end of the room. I threw my hands up, clearly displaying my distaste with the way they all seemed to using me as a way to avoid analyzing the total outrage of what Sarah had just done to us. I mean really, whose side were they on? Chris patted my head, which—while not doing much to make me feel like I wasn’t a rabbit amongst a bunch of foxes—was a nice gesture. I could usually count on Chris for pity points in almost any situation.

“So what? We’re just supposed to sit here, still?” Not only had I gotten all our hopes up for no reason because of her, but she’d also taken away our plan B.

She turned and looked at me, smiling. Gah, I hated her sometimes. Or a lot of times, or...

“Oh, and here I thought you were perfectly thrilled about making childish drawings of scribbled rainbow dragons come to life.” I gave her a withering look, not only had she insulted my idea but she hadn’t even gotten it right. It was an orange dragon, not a rainbow one, there was a big difference.

Then suddenly it was gone, replaced by something, softer. A smile, but an ancient smile, tinged at the corners with a sorrow that came with ages, a sorrow I couldn’t begin to understand however long Sarah and my years together might be. The look she gave me it, it gave me chills. It was like she looking past me, inside me. She was searching for something, reluctantly, but as to whether or not she had found it...

She sighed and continued on her way, but not before she said, “enjoy the dragon,” almost like she meant it.