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helium lost

Author’s Notes: The setting of this fic is in an area populated by colored mages. What that means is that each class of mage has a distinct color with their own distinct powers. For example, red mages control fire, green mages control earth and other organic things, yellow mages control air and electricity, silver mages control metal, purple mages control sound, etc. The orange mages, who control time, have been persecuted by the government because they’re seen as a threat. Therefore, the few of them that remain are in hiding and must be careful to conceal their identity.

Now, on with the show.

Part I
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First, there was the pounding on the door that shook the dust from the ceiling. The windows rattled as the lamps swayed. They were as quiet as they could be, hiding in the darkest corner, praying that they wouldn’t be found.

“We’ll be okay, right? We’ll be okay?”

She gulped and nodded, face rigid, eyes darting around. There was nothing else she could tell him, and she couldn’t say anything, even if she tried—her voice seemed to have left her. Her mother was weeping silently beside her, and that, more than anything, tore her. Imminent death only served to frighten and freeze her to the spot, but the sight of the tears dripping unceremoniously down her mother’s face was too much for her to bear.

She turned away.

She saw the curtains left wide open, the darkness of the outside world creeping in past the uncovered window frame. Her eyes widened as her heart stopped.

“We left the windows open,” she whispered, disbelievingly.

“What?”

She was bound to the spot, a debate raging inside her: should she close the curtains, or run the risk of being seen by a passing policeman just as they were about to leave, believing no one to be home? Was it worth the risk? Were they hidden well enough; would people be able to see them if they peered in the window? She held her breath as the turmoil continued inside her, tugging her in one direction, then dragging her in the other.

Her mother sobbed. In that moment, something took hold of her inside, dragged her up from her stationary spot on the ground, and forced her to dash across the room to the window, leaving her mother and brother behind. She knocked over a small, antique table, and left a broken vase in her wake. She yanked the curtains so ferociously that a couple of the rings holding them up broke, ricocheting off the walls. She fumbled with the fabric, desperately trying to cover every bit of glass.

A face appeared in the window. She screamed and scampered back, hitting the chair behind her and collapsing into it. A shocked expression passed across the face of the man looking inside; it was soon replaced with a determined look as he motioned to someone behind him, then called out to someone she couldn’t see.

Her heart was pounding. This was the end of it, she knew. Everything seemed to pass by her now as if it were a dream: the crack of the splintering door, the shattering of glass, the stomping of the secret police force entering their house . . . She sprinted back to the closet and grabbed her brother, slinging him onto her back with some sort of inhuman strength, she tried to pull her mother up, but she sat there resolutely, resigned to her fate.

“Mom!” she screamed. “Mom, get up! They’re going to kill us, they’re going to kill us, they’re not going to leave anything behind . . . . Get up! We have to go, now!”

Her mother shook her head as the police closed in around them, the tears still rolling down her cheeks. She screamed in frustration as she began to sob as well, holding on so tightly to her brother that his wrists began to redden. She freed one hand and dragged her mother out of the closet, trying desperately to pass the police, pass the danger . . . . They were ripped from her hands as she was pushed aside; she collapsed to her knees as she watched helplessly through her orange eyes as the policeman with the silver eyes unclipped a silver ball from his belt. In his hands, it melted into a shimmering mass, then reformed itself into a gun.

He jerked her brother up by the collar of his shirt, then shot him through the head.

There was nothing left in her to scream, nothing left in her to rage at her mother as she just turned away as her child’s warm blood splattered over her. The policeman then turned the cold barrel of the gun to her mother, then unmercifully shot the woman crippled by the death of her husband, crippled by his sudden flight after a troop of black mages marched into his workplace and destroyed the whole place in a second, stole the lives of all of the people just as one would breathe.

The blood of her mother and brother trickled over to her, lumps of flesh pushed by the red stream. The pain welled up inside her as she rose to her feet and pushed past the men, bullets whizzing past her as she sprinted with all her might to the front door, out to the fresh, cool breeze, out past the death wafting up from what used to be her home . . . . She pushed past the men, tumbling between them, darting past them, somehow freeing herself from the wretched, red hell. Time somehow stopped as she ran down the streets of her village, her black hair streaming behind her, blood staining her clothes.

Behind her, in the devastation of her home, policemen were frozen mid-step; bullets were left hanging in the air. Nothing moved. The radiant light of the television set declared the results of a poll in bold, white letters against a dark blue background:

Do you think that the persecution of orange mages is wrong?

Yes: 17 percent
No: 83 percent

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She hated having to tie the strip of black fabric around her head, like a blindfold. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see through it—in fact, she could see perfectly fine; everything was just a few shades darker. No, it was that the infernal fabric was itchy and didn’t breathe at all, so she had to cope with the band of sweat dripping into her eyes. But it was the only fabric she’d found that allowed her to see through it decently, so she had to deal with it.

No one looked at her strangely for it, either. This district of Senteno—District 42—was filled with young people donning the latest fashion trends. One could walk down the street wearing the most outrageous outfit, and hardly anyone would bat an eye. In fact, her blindfold of sorts was fairly normal compared to the crowds prancing about in costumes imitating those of their favorite TV character, and the rest of her outfit—black, fingerless gloves, a black tank top, camouflage pants, and black combat boots—was relatively plain.

Life had been surprisingly normal after the incident three years ago. It was as if two lives had barely left a dent in the flow of time; it continued on, oblivious to individuals and their problems. Her mother and brother were in a better place now, she was sure; recovery from the grief of their deaths had been long and difficult, but she’d managed to pull through. But she’d never forgive the secret police for what they did, nor would she ever forgive the government for condoning such a practice. It was because of them that she had to continue to live in fear and anxiety; even though active prosecution had lessened with the diminishing of the orange mage population, the secret police would still jump up at the chance to kill one.

She sighed as she jabbed at the air. She’d taken up martial arts and other self-defensive maneuvers since that day, and she felt that she’d be able to fend off any members of the secret police if they were after her. She’d never been able to freeze time so effectively since that day, and she decided to forsake her ability, keeping it suppressed. Besides, it was better for her to keep a low profile; she didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention to herself.

She continued kicking and jabbing, oblivious to the people around her. There were others practicing similarly; District 42 had one of the largest parks out of all of Senteno. Some practiced a calm form of martial arts developed by blue mage clans; others practiced a more aggressive form of martial arts developed by red mage factions. Still others meditated according to life philosophies of the green mage tribes. She herself was practicing martial arts developed by yellow mage rings, a form of martial arts that emphasized speed, agility, and quick victories.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and released an explosive punch. Before she could stop herself, she felt her punch connect with soft flesh. She snapped open her eyes and saw a man in about his mid-twenties kneeling on the ground, clutching his side.

“Sorry,” she muttered, offering him a hand up.

“Powerful, aren’t you?” he gasped, a weak smile on his face. “I managed to dodge the most of your blow, and it’s lucky I did, or I’d be rolling around on the ground from pain.” He took a hold of her hand and pulled himself up.

“Well,” she said, shrugging, “should’ve looked where you were going, hmm? It’s a bit foolish to go walking around this area, what with all the people practicing their martial arts.”

“Spunky, aren’t you?” he said, a grin spreading over his face. “Name’s Ambrose. You?” He held out his hand for her to shake; she looked at him suspiciously. She wasn’t sure whether or not to trust him; he seemed a little too eager to make friends with her. But he seemed to be harmless, with a warm smile . . . .

“Zach,” she said at last, shaking his hand.

“Zach,” he repeated, as if tasting the name. “Boy’s name, isn’t it?”

“That’s what you think,” she retorted. “Ambrose is a pretty girly name, but you don’t hear me asking if it’s a girl’s name.”

He laughed. “You just can’t lose, hmm?”

She fixed him with a stony glare; even though he couldn’t see the intensity radiating from her eyes because of the blindfold, he could still tell from her body language that she wasn’t amused.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asked. He thought for a moment, looking around and putting his hands in his pockets.

“Nope,” he said finally. “Nowhere at all.”

She frowned and crossed her arms. “Nothing better to do than harass me and suck away my precious time?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

She smiled in spite of herself. His entire manner was just so easygoing, so carefree, that it began to rub off on her.

“Are you usually here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe we’ll see each other again. I should get going now.”

“Hah!”

He jumped. “What?”

“You liar, you do have somewhere to go!”

He grinned again and raised his hands in defeat. “All right, you caught me. Will you throw me in jail now, mistress?”

“Just go,” she said, smiling. He smiled and waved, then left, hands in his pockets. She tried to resume her practice, but found that she couldn’t concentrate. She sighed, took a drink of water, then decided to call it a day.

Ambrose, she thought. It wasn’t that girly of a name.

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Author’s Notes: I’d intended this to be a one-shot, but it turned out to be a bit longer than I thought. That and Ambrose is telling me a little about his past, as well, which always helps my writing. I’d started the fic with my characters relatively quiet, but they gradually gained a voice along the way. :)

Reviews, comments, and constructive criticism are all welcome. However, the key word is ‘constructive’. If you think that something could have been written better, or if something doesn’t quite make sense, don’t hesitate to tell me (but please, provide examples—I don’t like vague reviews).

Meanwhile, if you have nothing better to do than flail around, flaming fics, go waste your brain cells somewhere else. I don’t really have the time to read asinine lines of caps declaring how my mother is of a specific gender of dogs, or that she’s a gardening tool. Thanks.