Prologue

I remember Jingis’ funeral crystally, as though it was still going on, like I was still there and watching it at this very moment. The predicted weather was hot and dry but, per usual, the machines had malfunctioned, and the weather was cool and humid. The sky was a light gray, with a heavy dash of clouds. The threat of bursting open any minute was eminent, and the ground was already wet with last night’s rain.

I stood there, numbed with shock and fury, my ankle-high boots sinking slowly into the mud, the lacy black umbrella shaking in my hands. The fitted, plain black dress rustled in the wind, but I didn’t make any effort to still it. The hem settled down around my knees again; I rubbed my forearms, wishing I had worn longer sleeves. The ones on this dress only went a bit past my elbows.

My hand then traveled to my throat, where a shimmering, almost translucent black opal rested from a silver chain. I looked up at the sky, wondering if it was going to rain soon.

The graveyard was not big, nor was it grand or well-tended to. Weeds were embracing the gravestones, intertwining with one another. The stones themselves were crumbling and not cared for; the only flowers in sight were the dying store-bought ones, brought by relatives of the deceased. I look around at the sea of mournful faces, all there for Jingis, but not one matched mine. Not remotely. No other being shared a DNA sequence with me.

“Hey, J,” said a voice at my elbow. I looked down to see Hank, with his wide eyes and long, narrow face, tugging on my sleeve. His hair was getting longer, and there was stubble on his chin. His green eyes were rimmed with lack of sleep, and he, too, was stylishly tailored in black. “J,” he held onto my sleeve, “we ought to get you going. You’ve been here too long; it’s dangerous. People…might see.”

People. What a dumb word. Gozhon, that was what he meant. A translation would be useless; it could not hold all the hatred that backed it up, that was inflected in it when spoken.

“Right,” I muttered, looking around at the crowd again. Olastrons, plumeriae, hadus – but I was the only human. “Come on, Hankie. Let’s go.”

The plumeria winced at the sound of the nickname I had used, but escorted me from the graveyard all the same. I liked Hank: he’s always been sort of a “big brother” to me, looking after me and making sure I wasn’t seen by other humans.

“The gozhon are really gonna get it for this,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Did they honestly think they’d get away with killing Jingis?”

“He’s a hadu,” replied Hank simply. “It’s not like the…people will do much about his death, will they? No one did anything about Ippoa Kurt’s death. We had to.”

People. People, people, people. Hank would never use that word if I wasn’t around. He seems almost afraid to use “gozhon”; I freely use that racial slur, directed at my race, but he never can say it. Why can’t he just man up and cuss out a gozhon? I’ve heard him talking with other plumeriae about wanting to, but he never has.

“Ah. It’s raining,” he noted dully, delicately wiping a water droplet from his pixyish nose. I opened up my umbrella and held it above the two of us. He smiled at me gratefully, then looked up at the sky. “Ha. For once, nature’s on our side.” I gave him a questioning look, and he explained wryly: “The sky.” He gestured. “It’s crying for us.”

“Tears could not sum up the loss we feel,” I said tersely, pulling my boots through the mud as we squelched through the graveyard.

Hank nodded, agreeing with what I had said, but, both he and I knew that I felt it most of all.

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This is my newest story. It's different than Mirror Imagine, but I hope you enjoy it. If not, then skip along away. Thanks :)