| |
I’m running down brightly lit, empty corridors. My panting and rushed footsteps are echoing along the walls. I’m desperate as I scan the white stone walls and cobblestone floor, looking for some route to divert to, a niche to hide in. I know they are after me and I’m being hunted like an animal.
A brighter light is spilling through the wall on the right and a memory of the room down there sends me into a sprinting rush, but as soon as I turn the corner, I halt, as if hitting an invisible wall, losing my footing on the corner of a stone, and trip.
I scramble to my feet, but it’s too late. I’ve been spotted. I’ve landed smack in the middle of the vipers’ nest.
A group of beautiful angels in red clothes under their sparkling armour are just as surprised as I am, but as I take a step back, the heavy doors boom shut behind my back with the finality of a coffin lid.
The shock wears off their faces as the menacing light ignites behind their eyes and creepy smiles spread over their lips. This bunch can’t believe their luck.
The white walls of the grand cathedral hall shoot high and disappear in the piercing depth of a crisp blue sky. There’s no ceiling in this room – only the open dazzling blue sky above. The monumental hall is filled with warm, incandescent sunlight and the breezy summer smells of the ocean, ripe fruits and the sun. This room usually feels and smells like happiness.
But not today.
An overwhelming sense of dread and fear pushes adrenaline around my body. One by one, they draw their weapons, surrounding me, ready to pounce – I’m the obstacle for them, the risk they are no longer willing to take, and now they just need me dead.
Only a few in this lethal crowd have swords while the rest of them are wielding medieval weapons. Some women are holding or flexing long-tailed whips, which are glowing with a bright white light with tails of fiery flames, while men are balancing in their hands long poles with spiky, heavy metal balls attached to both ends, or poles with curved blades and sharp tips at each end.
The sharp crack of a whip slaps behind me, and with the next one an agonising pain rips at the back of my legs, sending me down on my knees.
The next crack of a whip brings burning, scream wrenching pain to the side of my body. Like the predators they are, my enemies stalk closer, closing the circle tighter around me. Defiance and anger have replaced the weakening fear in my veins, brought by a sickening sense of betrayal.
My pure-white armour is a sparkling heap a few yards away from me, with my sword resting on top of it. My sword is liquid fire, moulded into the shape of a wide and long blade, with the blue of the flame next to the sparkling white hilt, radiating orange and reds into the tip.
The fire in my sword is alive. Its colours ripple along the blade and the shape of the blade shifts, changing ever so slightly, as if it’s breathing. My sword is alive and it’s calling to me, it wants me, but I’m afraid it’s too far out of my reach.
But as I try to get up, another flex of the whip sends me back to my knees, with the pain erupting wide across my back. The group isn’t laughing with every strike, not taunting me, not even talking to each other. The complete silence of the assault feels like an execution.
A sudden hush rises like a tide. It stirs amongst them, moving from the outskirts to the centre where I kneel, like a ripple in the water in reverse, and slowly the crowd parts, giving way to a large man with piercing blue eyes who strides through the mob towards me. His pearly white blonde hair is long, braided and pinned on top of his head, like a crown. It’s hard to tell how old he is, he looks ageless.
His sword of liquid fire is drawn at the ready as he slowly, without a rush, without a word, without even acknowledging me, walks around me, and with one swift move, he plunges his sword of fire into my back.
And again I scream. I scream until my lungs are sore, until they burn inside and I want to crack my chest in two, just to let them out, to ease the pain and let them have some air.
I gulp down the water from the glass on my night stand in a vain hope to wash away all my craziness and to forget all that just had happened to me.
But I know better than to hope for miracles or anything good. Nothing good ever happens to me. I know that by now.
I force myself back into bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep, but my mind is busy, churning away at the new details of my dream.
With a heavy boom, the door shuts behind me, cutting the last chance of escape, trapping me in that bright, open-sky room. I know that pleading with them will not achieve anything. I know that I’ll not change anyone’s mind and this is the end.
Their faces are more defined, and somehow clearer today.
I have the time to look at each one of them in turn. I slowly scan their gorgeous faces. Faces of the executors, the murderers, one by one.
I jump upright in my bed with the shock of realisation. I know those sapphire blue eyes, framed by those black and long lashes and those blonde, glossy curls.
I must be going insane. I must be.
No. Let’s think rationally for a moment. It was a busy day today. Let’s face it, three new faces in our school is extraordinary. As extraordinary as the school itself winning the UK Establishment of the Year award, bloody unheard of. So naturally my mind took that shit to heart and decided to cook up something exciting (like I need any more of it!), and hey presto, one of the people, who hunts me down and then executes me in my nightly dreams is the new girl.
And like a mantra I start to repeat to myself the words, which the therapist feeds me every session: “It’s time for us to recognise where the dream stops and reality begins”.
I’m already exhausted and scared and no matter how hard I repeat these words, I struggle to distract myself from the possibility of encroaching schizophrenia, so I reach with a shaking hand for the book on my night stand, afraid to go back to sleep.
✽✽✽
The morning bus ride is a carbon copy of yesterday.
I spend most of the ride rummaging through my backpack, praying I have everything I need for today. I feel tired and exhausted.
On laden legs, I plod through the school and down the always busy and bustling corridors, unwillingly colliding with misfortunate students. My mind is foggy and disjointed.
I yank the music studio door open with only a minute to spare and I almost trip over my own feet again when I see Rafe, reclined casually behind the desk at the end of the room.
Dropping my gaze to the floor, I scurry to my own desk, carefully avoiding eye contact with him, cursing the sudden influx of new students in our school and their gravitation towards drama, nicknames and lunch table choices.
“Afternoon everyone”, Mrs Farley hurries in with a stack of books in her arms, accompanied by the rustle of her long gypsy skirt. “Today we’ll continue our compositions. Remember that most of the techniques we are using here should be in your exam pieces. The more expression and dynamics shown, the higher the mark”.
With a thud which sends a mild shock wave through the floor, she drops the books on her desk and turns towards our group.
“Mel, Emma, Olivia, Ariel. I would like you to include Rafe in your group. Although you’ve progressed further than others in your composition, I think you will be able to assist him on his quest to find his musical path”, she says in a sing-a-song voice, clasping her hands over her chest. Mrs Farley is a good teacher, nice and calm, but she does like flowery phrases.
On cue, Rafe gets up, slings his bag strap over his shoulder and strides towards our long table. The oxygen count drops in the room, as my female only music class inhales as one, watching Rafe’s fluid, confident strides, the swing of his hair, and the flexing of his muscles as he makes his way to our desk.
Rafe stops at the end of our long desk, expectantly looking at the four of us with a bright, mesmerising smile. I feel, rather than see, the stupid smiles spread over my teammates’ faces as they exhale with little whimpers around me, almost sliding off their chairs.
I roll my eyes.
Oh, for god’s sake!
And when my eyes return to their natural position, I notice him looking directly at me with a mocking grin, stretching his lips even further. Of course he saw my eyes rolling, but quite frankly, I don’t care, and the girls need to get a grip.
I lift my butt slightly, grabbing the sides of my chair with my clammy hands and with a noise, I drag my chair along the discoloured, vinyl floor, making space at the end of the table for our new study partner.
“Thank you, girls”, says ‘Prince Charming’ with a smile. “I hope I’ll be able to contribute to your team and not keep you behind.” His charming smile is off the charts.
“Oh, no, don’t worry”.
“You’ll be fine”.
“We didn’t get that far”.
My teammates gush at once, chirping like spring birds on a sunny morning.
I hold a steady gaze ahead of me, pinned to the whiteboard on the wall, ignoring all the commotion of mating and the effect his voice has on me.
“I hope it’s ok with you, Ariel”.
I jerk my head as I hear my name spoken in Rafe’s melodic voice, which sends a zap of electric tingles through my body.
“Yeah, that’s fine”, I try to sound as casual as possible, attempting to disperse the glowing heat enveloping me, to stomp on the goose bumps raising the hair on my arms from hearing him say my name.
Pink heat swaddles my cheeks as Rafe takes a seat next to me and the crisp smell of ocean with its ozone and salt fills my head.
I can practically hear the waves crashing around me and I can smell the succulent fruits in the air, and at that piercing moment, I feel like I know this smell. There’s something familiar, comfortable and reassuring about it. I hold it in my lungs while marvelling in this new feeling of safety. For the first time in my life, I feel balanced and grounded. I feel like there’s a power within me, stirring, trying to unfurl, to show me what I can do, and I desperately ransack through my brain, trying to place it, but my mind’s coming up blank.
The pull of his scent and his voice is so strong that I can’t help myself, as my head snaps up and our eyes meet. His warm, hazelnut brown eyes gaze at me with earnest, not a gleam of a smile left in those soft eyes.
The draw is so intense and mesmerising that I feel like I’m being dragged into a vortex.
I’m hooked, like a fish at the end of a fisherman’s line, like a butterfly in a child’s net, and I cannot find the strength in me to pull my gaze away from his, or even blink.
This vortex is speaking to me. It whispers stories of trust and honour, of harmony and love, of the universe and God. It vibrates in my head with a kaleidoscope of images, none that I’ve seen before yet all strangely familiar. I hear Mrs Farley’s voice in the distance, rumbling like the sound of a faraway motorway.
“Ariel! Ariel!”
And like that I’m released from the vortex. I slowly turn my head to the teacher, only to find every pair of eyes on me.
Shit. How long has she been calling for?
“Ariel. Can you please play to the class a piano solo that you’ve included in your composition?” Mrs Farley asks.
I fumble with my fingers on the keyboard and eventually my piece flows through the room, but I my fingers slip as I feel unsettled, lost, confused and too exposed. I need some air.
“Mrs Farley, I need to go to the bathroom please”, I raise my hand as the last chords of my piece subside into silence.
“Yes, of course. But please don’t be too long”. I’m dismissed.
I fight out of my chair and through the narrow space behind Rafe’s seat, away from my desk as fast as possible, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs.
I practically run into the bathroom. Once inside, I stop in the middle of the room, unsure what to do now. I stand there, commanding my flimsy, overreacting heart to resume its normal pace, but it’s all futile.
I’m hyperventilating, struggling for each breath as the metallic taste of panic scratches on my tongue, filling my mouth, spreading numbness to my limbs.
I’m afraid to move, to spill my panic for everyone to see. I plead with myself to get a grip, desperately trying to gather my thoughts, which have scattered like frightened rabbits.
I double over, trembling, covering my head with my arms, trying to breathe. My legs give way and I collapse in a pile on the sticky bathroom floor.
My dreams have spilled into my waking life. I’m having psychotic episodes now. No! Oh god, no!
I cry. I sit there and cry, rocking myself, mourning my short and broken life which insanity has taken away from me. I sit on the grubby bathroom floor for a while, but I don’t know for how long, and eventually my tears dry out.
I rise unsteadily as the end of lesson bell screeches in the bathroom. I get myself up, rinsing my hands and face before plodding back to music class. I hope everyone will be gone by then.
But Rafe is still there, sitting at our desk, gazing into space. He turns his head to me as I step into the room. I plod to the desk and grab my bag, laying my hand on the books.
“Ariel, can we please talk?” he asks, sounding serious, even grave, with no sign of ‘Prince Charming’ left as he places his warm hand over mine.
I wish he would stop saying my name and standing so close.
Anger rises inside me with pulsing tides, replacing the vulnerability of my fear. With each heart beat anger releases a flock of vultures inside me, clouding the world, demanding blood.
I spin to face him. Anger contorts my features and I can only imagine how I must look.
“Listen, mate. Enough is enough. I told you before to leave me alone. I’m telling you again and it’s the last time. Stay away”, I hiss at him.
I slam my fist on his wrist and he releases me with a shocked and surprised look. Not losing a second, I’m out of the door.