Author: Starlight Rain PM
Storm has always seen the world differently from most. Maybe she's just different, and maybe it's because she's not entirely human. It's not just her violet eyes, either--Storm was born from a mirror shard from long ago...Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Fantasy - Chapters: 5 - Words: 5,606 - Reviews: 22 - Favs: 2 - Published: 10-14-02 - id: 1013590
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Breast-length fluffy blonde hair. Sparkling blue eyes that made me suspect colored contacts. Glowing white skin. Short, fringed jeans. Baby blue top-slightly skimpy. Obvious make-up.
Yup. Just like I had pictured her.
I don't think I could have counted to three before the magnificent Angel Esmeraude was completely ignoring Mr. Meisur, and making flirty gestures to all the boys. All but a couple of the most studious ones were lapping it up disgustingly.
Can you sense the dripping sarcasm of my voice as I say "magnificent"?
I do believe that all the boys' eyes (and, yes, this, quite sadly, does include Mr. Meisur) were on Angel as she strutted like a model to her seat, showing off her oh-so-tight jeans.
As she walked by me, he look of confidence did halt for one-less than brief-second. The look I read upon her face was of absolute astonishment.
...She was looking at my eyes.
As she took he seat (behind me, and next to Nicole), I sent the message to her: "Yes, I am a freak. Don't mind your precious eyelids over it." I doubt if she heard me. Only those who have the sense to hear that which is not spoken could have.
Obviously, that meant that I had wasted my effort.
I pulled back out my drawing of the warrior-girl (as I had gotten to calling her). I traced over it onto a new sheet of paper, and once more attempted to draw in the eyes. I'm not sure why it was so important to me. Her gaze had been forever branded into my memory-so why did I feel the desperate need to draw her? It was as if I was worried that I would one day need it as...evidence of my past.
Hmph. I laughed at myself for my bit of fantasy-tale foreshadowing. What did I think I was? Some kind of seer who receives premonitions of the future? Ha. I had a different sort of power-one which I had not yet learned to harness.
Yeah. I'm some sort of abnormal fantasy creature, and yet, I don't believe in any of those tales which grandchildren listen to and grow up on, while nestled snug into their beds. Those of witches and dragons, and whatnot. Or...maybe I believe in my own sort of fantasy. The creation of true magick brought simply from life itself? Something which cannot be fully explained, considering the fact that I do not fully understand it...?
It simply seems as though there is no longer anything out there but "poof-I'm-going-to-turn-you-into-a-frog-and-fly-away-on-my-magickal-unicorn" fantasy. Then, once one outgrows that...they think that there is nothing.
"Fantasy"-or so it is dubbed-it true faith in the little bit of magick left in the world. It's not raising little children's hopes as high as possible, just to let them shatter into even thinner shards once they finally hit the ground. It's not making a bunch of money off what sells. It's seeing the truth past the truth.
...It's the few abnormal people who can see past the veil which hinders the view of the true world from most.
Deciding that I rant to myself too much, I put all of my concentration back into my drawing.
"She was not meant to be captured by ink." I think that the thought which crossed my mind-though not through my own voice-was meant to soothe my frusteration.
Instead, it sent a reeling feeling of nausea.
I clutched onto my desk so hard that my knuckles showed beneath the white flesh, as to keep myself from toppling over. I closed my eyes tightly, even after they became horridly sore, and various colors began to swim beneath my lids.
I would have asked why.
Why she couldn't be bound to this earth by my paper and pen. Why I had to have anything to do with her. (Well, honestly, withen my heart-of-hearts, I knew at least half of the answer to that question.) Why...why...I was the way I was. You know what I mean.
But, facts were facts, and the fact was that I couldn't do a thing until the nauseous sensation passed. I could barely think, save for, "Damn it, leave me alone," through pulsed breath and clenched teeth.
As quickly as the wave had come, it washed over me, and left me be...a clammy shell. I abruptly opened my eyes-nobody seemed to have noticed what had happened. No, I shouldn't have expected them to. Too lost in their own worlds.
-The perimeter of which only extends to the tips of their eyelashes.
I don't mean to sound as if I'd bash the whole of humanity with my endless rantings. Maybe I've just had bad experience, and maybe I'm...maybe I'm just another one of them, thinking I can see things others can't (as I'm sure they all do)... I...I think I'm just going to stop right there.
I took a longer time than normal packing up after class that day. Who would have thought there was such a thing as "slowly stuffing"? Presuming that there is, and that that isn't some "illegal" grammar oxymoron, it would certainly describe the way I put my things into my backpack that afternoon. My picture I folded and stuck into my jean pocket.
As I slung my backpack over my shoulder and onto my back, I noticed that Nicole wasn't there. I must have been extremely preoccupied not to have noticed her departure. It wasn't normal for my senses to be so unacute. I think I was still reeling...tipping slightly.
I wondered where she might have left to in such a hurry (completely forgetting at the time her obligation to Angel), sighed, and trudged out of the classroom beneath the weight of my backpack.
It had rained earlier that day, and the street was lined with puddles up either side, where it tilted downwards from it's raise in the center. The leaves on the oak trees still dripped casually with the remaining water droplettes.
"Hey," a male voice didn't surprise me in the least bit (or, at least, I wasn't about to show it) as its owner sauntered towards me.
"Leave me alone, you jerk. And, yes, I do mean the dictionary definition, meaning a, and I quote, 'stupid or naive person'," I said hottily, continuing to stare straight ahead of me as I walked steadily faster.
"Hm." It was actually more of a grunt. With that, Nathaniel Searing stepped directly in front of me.
...And a tad too close, because I smacked right into him in my hurried walk.
I glared up at him. He raked his hand backwards through his hair-more out of habit, I believe, than to push his long, blonde bangs out of his violet eyes, because that is where they fell immediately back to.
"Look," I said, pushing my way around him. "I've been learning to manipulate my power. I'm hoping that by sharpening it, I will be able to understand to what use it can be put to. ...Can you say as much?" I spun around on my heel and glowered at him, my eyes accentuating my point.
"Who needs to practice when their skill has already been perfected?" It's an odd thing to watch a boy flip his hair. Nearly laughable.
That was Nathaniel Searing for you. He may have been... I hate to use the term "one and the same" in describing the two of us, but, I guess that truthfully... It's true. After all, we are both part of the same mirror, in techniquality.
"Look. I hold grudges. You are far from forgiven for what you did...back then."
"Aw.." he wore a sarcastically pouty face. "You don't forgive me?"
"No." Short. Honest.
Keep walking, Storm. Keep walking. Ignore him to the best of your ability. (Yes, I do talk to myself in the third person-quite frequently, too.)
With that comment I spun around so fast, I near whacked my head on his chest. I cut him off with a shock from my eyes. There was nothing I disliked so much as his mocking nicknames-and he knew it, too. Maybe it would seem ridiculous to anybody else to get so worked up over a little bit of child-like teasing, but, Nathaniel had pushed me over the edge, so to speak, long, long ago.
"Stormina," he continued, repeating the name despite my glare, "we've been at separate schools for nearing on four years. It's enough time to have found what we must. Can't we move on? Maybe this next place...we can conquer together?"
He seemed...different from before. He was still jerky Nathaniel Searing...but he had also grown.
I felt something wet upon my face. Was it raining again? The world swirled before me, as I reeled backwards. I forced myself to steady-not about to give the blonde fool any satisfaction-and looked up to the sky as quickly as utterly possible. So that...just incase I was wrong...just incase it wasn't rain, but...a teardrop...so that he wouldn't know...