by Cassidy McGuire
Chapter 1
Life in Psioncia
In a society run by
psychics, immortals, clairvoyants, and more of the telepathic or telekinetic
nature, I’m not one of them. Instead, I’m labeled as a Trick. A Trick is a
person who doesn’t have a Talent. With a Talent, a person has a special skill
they hone until they can use it in a special job called a Sector. If they do
well in their Sector, they will be rewarded with riches befitting royalty.
Julian sits next to
me, a psychic. She looks at me knowingly, “You will get a Talent next month.
Not all skills are there when one is born.”
Oh, yeah, like the last time you told me I had to wait
how long?
I scowl. I highly doubt that.
“Don’t scowl at me
like that. I am really certain that they found a way next month to help Tricks
have Talents to integrate them into the Sectors, Aerona,” Julian soothes. “It
won’t be long now.”
Psioncia is notorious
for making up fake stuff to keep the psychics and clairvoyants satisfied from
time to time, but I am secretly interested in finally having a power I could
use. Tricks were not allowed a Sector, nor were they allowed to live on their
own without a Talent individual. I am stuck with Julian until the day I die,
unless I’m really a carrier for immortality. My mother and father, a
clairvoyant and an empath respectively, were a little disappointed when I
couldn’t read feelings or see the future—precognition happens with a cross
between the two Talents. They tried me on different Talents, but with little
success. I felt more and more like a Trick each time the tests failed. Parents
were supposed to test their children with different types of Talents to see
which ones stuck the most. If not, then The Center—which was like a doctor’s
office—would see if their child was either a late-starter—one that would later
show their powers in adolescence—or a Trick.
They took me to The Center to see what was
wrong with me. It wasn’t the news that Mom and Dad wanted. I was a
late-starter, but could very well tread the line to Trick territory. I call
myself a Trick because that’s what I feel like every day.
Julian elbows me. “Trust
me. It’ll be okay. Psioncia isn’t telling fibs this time.”
“I sure hope they
aren’t. I hate being unable to live alone.”
“They’re just worried
about you getting in danger with the Psyches.”
The Psyches are
anyone using their Talents for crime. Some of them are locked away, the
severest of crimes awaiting lethal extraction—the equivalent of the lethal
injection, but worse—but most of them are still out there and dangerous. They
will do anything from theft to murder. They can fool even the wisest in The
Centers and Sectors. Tricks were often the victims of their crimes until the
Sphere intervened and said for the Talented to live in their homes. Although
the Psyches have realized the Sphere hasn’t given up, they still commit crimes.
They just can’t enter a Trick’s house anymore. A Talented will always know that
they have unwanted company. The Sphere is always careful in tender situations
if the Psyches have enacted a potentially-lethal crime against a
Trick—attempted murder, rape (attempted or not), assault, or so on. They order
extra protection around the Trick until the Psych has been caught and brought
to justice.
It is good, I have to
admit, but it limits my independence. Julian likes to come with me to pick up
some more yarn for knitting. It gives me peace of mind. However, I sometimes
long for the day that I can run out and get something on my own. She is bubbly
when she isn’t getting a psychic vision, which tightens a piece of yarn around
my heart when I want some alone time. She isn’t annoying, but her unwillingness
to leave me alone for a second wore me thin.
She always is working
on one project or another for a “special someone,” but she never, ever tells me
who it is, not even when I asked.
“Oh, she’s someone special,”
she will redundantly tell me.
Whenever she is done
with a project, she will always take it to the post office, which is a block or
two away from my home lot. About a week later, I will get mysterious packages,
mostly without a return address, and although the contents look like Julian’s
work, I always think it is someone else’s work.
“I’m surprised that
they haven’t come out with it now,” she tiredly says, looking as though she
would faint on me, which happens six to seven times a day. Unlike some psychics
that come out of having a vision refreshed but confused, Julian always came out
of a vision tired, confused, and weak. I keep reminding her to eat something if
she went into vision mode, but she keeps insisting that eating makes her
visions go into a weird array—from seeing a dog riding on a unicycle in a
whale’s mouth to her visions gaining a color hue change. She still refuses to
eat, even if I force her to. The Center told me to leave it alone—each Talent
has a specific set of his or her own rules that he or she only can follow.
I wash the dishes. My
living quarter is a quaint two-bedroom, two-bathroom house with a small
entertainment area—a TV, one video game console with two controllers, and a
beat-up stereo that I hope to get fixed when I finally realize my Talent. It
also has a kitchen area that looks like it has been on the set of the old show
Friends.
All Tricks and
late-starters want to see if they are Talented. I really hope I get to see if
I’m either precognitive—I have been getting little visions, but they are too
intermittent to fully cement that I’m Talented—an empath, or immortal. If what
Julian says is true, I don’t want to lose my friendship with her if she leaves
when I do realize it—the Talented don’t have to leave when they find their
Trick was just a late-starter if they don’t want to. The Sphere is merciful on
that front.
Julian dries the
dishes. I’m still sure that there is more to her “special someone” than she is
saying, but say nothing. She will always know, even though she can’t read
minds.
I look at her and
marvel at how beautiful she is. She only moved in with me a few weeks ago when
I found the house. She’s blond with brown eyes and a bright smile that seems to
light up the room. She likes to do yoga and biking when she wants to leave me
alone on one of those rare occasions, but she always calls a Trick Sitter,
which is like having a babysitter, but this babysitter is a guard that stands
outside the house to watch for Psyches. She likes to color when she’s not
knitting. She makes me wonder if she’s supposed to watch me or if I’m supposed
to watch her. However, she reminds me when I ask that she is going to keep
watching me.
When she has a
vision, her eyes cloud white, and her long hair flies up everywhere. It’s not
deadly, but I do have to monitor her. That’s one of the rules of having a
psychic as a Talented. If she’s in a vision too long, she’ll pass out and have “a
power outage,” which involves uncomfortable twitching. The only way to recover
a person in one of those “outages” is to send her to The Center as soon as
possible.
She looks at me. “What?
Did I leave something in my teeth?”
I realize I’m staring
at her too long and say, “Sorry. You—I was about to say that you know how to
dry dishes,” I stammer awkwardly.
I think of her as one
of those perky friends that often left you feeling mighty exhausted when they
went home, except that she lives with me on a constant basis and needs me as
much as I need her. She often has “outages” due to her wanting to test her endurance,
which recurrently ran our bill up every Center visit. Luckily, she works for a
help line, and her superiors tell her to stop her visions when they notice
she’s about to enter outage mode, which hefts a major paycheck for us when we
need to pay The Center.
“It’s okay, Aerona.
You are pretty, too.”
I almost drop the
fork I was holding. “W- ¿Qué?”
“I could see the look
you were giving me, Aero. Don’t think I don’t know,” Julian teases.
“I don’t know what
you are talking about.”
She reaches into the
water, which is devoid of any dishes now, sans fork, and pulls out the plug. “Oh,
Aero…You think I’m pretty when you don’t realize you’re beautiful, too.” She
then gets out two towels, one for me, and one for her. “You don’t put on any of
Tina Power’s makeup and beauty products because you don’t need them. You don’t
listen to all those weight loss or gain ads because you are wonderfully trim.
Face it, Aero. You’re naturally gorgeous, and I’m surprised that no one has
come to sweep you off your feet yet.”
“You’re the one to
talk,” I banter. “You are brilliantly beautiful, yet you never tell me who your
‘special someone’ is.”
“That’s because I
believe you’ll find out sooner or later,” she winks. “She’s closer than you
think.”
I roll my eyes. “The
only female next-door neighbor is our 75 year old Pyrokinetic, and she is still
young after all this time.”
“She still knows how
to make an ice sculpture without melting the whole block of ice.”
“Yeah, and she does
bring us brownies every now and then.” We dry our hands. “That was a good
shrimp meal, by the way,” I say, brushing a strand of my brown hair away from
my face. “You have a great cooking skill.”
“I learned from my
uncle before he passed away. He was great, even though firm.”
I often forgot that
Julian’s parents had passed away before she was five, and that she was taken to
a relative her parents could trust. Her aunt and uncle were rumored to be
immortal when really they were telekinetic. They were bashful about their
talents and would only use their talents alone, which was a detriment to the
Sector. Finally, they found that if they wore a virtual reality device that
made them believe they were alone, they could work on what needed to be done,
helping both themselves and the Sector.
They were sweet,
according to Julian. But in their later years, when Julian was working in a
Sector, they were feeling strained beyond measure. When the Sphere saw that
they were, they were told to start retiring. It wouldn’t look good if they
worked themselves to death. However, she lost her uncle first from accidental
strain and exhaustion. Her aunt took a few years before she died from old age.
Julian and I rest on
the couch, watching You Know Cathy
Morrison on television. It is one of those dumb, boring talk shows, until
Julian changes the channel to something we both enjoy, an oldie from the 1950’s
called Gunsmoke. We both love to
watch it because of Festus Hagen. He would always come up with something grammatical
in the Old West times that would probably not make sense today.
We watch it until one
of us starts to nod off. I turn off the television and pick Julian up. She
weighs no more than I do, but with my exhaustion, she feels heavier. I don’t
know what it is about her, but she definitely lights up my world when I need
it. I carry her to her bed and set her stuffed animals—one of them, a pony by
the name of Featherweight—in her arms when she reaches out in her sleep. In her
mind, she told me, it would be considered a bit embarrassing if any other
Talented came here, so she hides them. However, I think she’s overreacting.
I shut off the light,
revealing those old, adhesive glow-in-the-dark stars, and leave the room. She
likes to keep her door open, because she sleepwalks, and will bump repeatedly
into the door of the room.
I go into my room, a
pink and purple room with a king-sized bed. Julian helped with the cost of the
bed, thanks to her Sector. I am asleep when I flop onto the bed, cuddling close
to my own stuffed animals—a bear named Benson, a pony of my own named Soarin’, and a sugar pink bear I call Amor.
Chapter 2
The Trick-Sitter
I feel Julian’s hand
shake me awake before I feel her elegant fingers comb through my hair. Once
upon a time, this was an annoying occurrence, but as time went on, I grew
comfortable with her. She told me that this was from when her aunt and uncle
adopted her. Her uncle would first gently shake her awake, and then comb his
fingers through her hair. That carried over even when she went into her Sector
as a helpline.
I open my eyes. “Mm…
What happened…?”
“We fell asleep. I
need to go to work now, but your Trick Sitter will come around shortly.” She
initiates our handshake as I groggily follow—a bird taking flight with short
whistles follows up with us singing oldies word-by-word backward—it varies by
the day which oldies song we sing, and we rarely sing the same song twice.
Today’s song is the second and first verses of Damn Yankees’ “High Enough.” We
don’t share it with anyone else. That would break our trust with each other.
She gives me a smile
as she gets ready to go to work and leaves. She means well.
I take a long shower
before my Trick Sitter gets here. She is a no-nonsense soldier lady. Many Trick
Sitters are. Don’t get me wrong, there are nice Trick Sitters. I just end up
with her.
She mostly stands
outside, eyes scanning for Psyches. She only comes inside to feed me. Trick
Sitter food is not as good as Talent food, but it is needed for our health. I
know this one’s story by now.
She was once a bright
and happy child until a Psych took her innocence away. Rumors flew that the
Psych was her father, but it turned out that her father was innocent, but her
older cousin—who was living with them after being laid off for tardiness—was
the Psych. He would dream walk into hers while asleep, lulling her into a false
sense of security. Once in the falseness, he snuck in and stole it. The Sphere
took him to justice and found him eligible for lethal extraction. She hardened
over the years and tried not to look back. The Sphere wanted to help her, but
she refused, thinking it was her fault.
“How’re you doing?”
she grumbles.
I almost choke on my
meal. She rarely speaks to me. “¿Qué?”
“That’s not an
answer! How’re you doing?” she
growls, standing up and spraying me with spit.
I pull myself
together. “I’m doing fine, ma’am.”
“That’s better.” She
relaxes her stance, but only a little. She knows a Psych might jump up and
attack me if she isn’t careful. “If you weren’t fine, I’d report this to the
Sphere and The Center.”
“But I’m just a
Trick. I don’t have any Talent, at least not yet. I think it’ll come next
month.”
She doesn’t reply,
but I have to admit. That is the first time she ever said anything to me.
“Don’t get used to me
talking just yet, Sweetheart.”
Her accent sounds
like it comes from New York, a state in the old United States. I roll it around
my head, mentally recording the sound. I’ll
have to bring it up with Julian later, I think. She’ll be so amazed.
She waves a
dismissive hand. Apparently, that means “Yeah, sure, go right ahead.”
I realized that she
had telepathy when she came in the second time. She was still quiet but any
time I made a motion to do something I considered fun, she automatically
pointed out what I should do first before doing what I wanted. We had some fun;
however, she still had a heart of stone from her past, so she didn’t smile
much.
She walks outside to
guard the house after I am done with my meal. She’s still showing the same
stone-faced expression from the time that Julian had to leave for work.
However, there is a slight shift in her demeanor. A tear, just one, falls down
her face. I wonder if today is the dark anniversary of the day her cousin
turned Psych.
I walk outside, to
which she almost blocks me with one motion of her arm. “Easy, ma’am. I’m only
out here for you.”
She gives me a look,
and then raises the arm. I look at her and give her a hug, feeling her stiffen
in my arms. I know she’s not touchy-feely, but I want her to know that I
understand her, even though I never had my innocence taken away from me.
When I release the
hug, she looks at me with a face that is a mixture of shock and anger. “W-WHAT
WAS THAT FOR? DO YOU WANT THE SPHERE TO THINK I’M WEAK?!”
I shrink from her
yell. Yelling always makes me do that. “N-no… I-I just…I saw your tear…”
“Tears are a sign of
weakness. A weakness I can’t have.”
“They aren’t a sign
of weakness to me. Dad always told me that they help your eyes…”
She glares daggers
into me. “Well that’s what your Dad
believes! I can’t afford to be weak!”
I shut up and walk
into the house. I watch some other oldies shows. It is a bit too quiet without
Julian with me, but I try to tough it out for the Trick Sitter’s sake. She is
tough as nails, and will not stand for me quivering like a baby because I miss
my designated housemate.
She comes in again to
make me supper. It doesn’t matter if a Trick is a natural cook; the Trick
Sitter always cooks the meals for them. Natural cooking is not a Talent, it’s a
skill. Skills don’t count as Talents. Now don’t get me wrong, we do have
cooking competitions—ranging from segregated contests to coed (between Tricks
and Talent Individuals)—but they are still skills. We do have a few cheaters in
contests here and there (a Talent puts an unfavorable ingredient in a Trick’s
brew, a Trick purposely drops the egg off the spoon in the antique egg and
spoon race, and so on), but we have fun for the most part.
She whips up my meal
and gives it to me. I try to swallow it down, even though it makes me gag.
She doesn’t blink to
react to me. I believe she thinks I’m a waste of her time and money when she
snaps her fingers in front of my face. That means, “No! Don’t you even dare
think that way ever again!”
She had me learn her
language early, non-verbally. She sat me down and used various signals to
indicate which signal meant which message. She got annoyed when I didn’t get
it, got angry if I mixed one of the messages for the wrong signal, but stare at
me if I got it right. It was a long, arduous process, but soon, I got what she
meant with her motions.
“Sorry.” I lower my
head and pick at a part of the meal.
She growls. She
really doesn’t want me to think that way again. I nod and finish my meal. She
indicates that I should wash the dishes before Julian comes home. I don’t
complain and obey.
Chapter 3
Julian Returns Home/Family Feud
Julian returns from
work, a bit weary, but not as weary as before. My eyes widen in surprise.
Usually she’s wobbly—it’s a wonder that she knows how to drive in that
condition—and needs me to help her stand before she gets her bearings. She
tries to use energy pills, enhancers, patches, and drinks, but they just don’t
work on her. This time she looks sturdier.
“Were you sent home
early?” I ask.
“Nope. I worked the
full shift.”
If she has an “outage”
at work and has to go to The Center, she’s then marked as “sent home early.” If
she’s marked as that, she brings home a smaller payload. Her being able to work
the full shift makes me both proud and surprised.
“No near outages,
this time?”
“Not once, Aero.
Relax…” She smiles and comes close to me. She’s one-eighth—or is it sixteenth?
I can never read a family tree right—empath due to one of her
great-grandparents being one. Only an empath and an aura reader can churn out a
psychic, like a pyro and a glaciem can get together and churn out a terra.
However, how those two have sex is, to me, a bit difficult to explain without
grossing myself out.
She has me lie down
on the couch on my belly, but not before she dismisses my Trick Sitter and pays
her for her time. My Trick Sitter coolly accepts the cash and leaves. Then
Julian starts to unzip my shirt from Tara Harper’s fashion line and rub my back
and shoulders. “You stress about me too much. I think it’s time for your
monthly massage from yours truly today.”
I don’t complain. She
has magical fingers that help me relax. I often tell her that her Sector should
be a masseuse, but she doesn’t want to. Right away, her fingers start at my
knots. “Maybe we should do this weekly instead. You really stress so much.”
There’s a flirtatious tone in her voice, but I think she’s joking. She has
joked before.
It isn’t long until
she cracks her knuckles. A few seconds later, I feel something cold and wet
smooth over the skin on my back. The lavender scent indicates what the
substance is instantly—lotion. The lotion spreads all over my back.
She’s so gentle that
I sigh and coo, feeling more and more relaxed. Eventually, she finishes, giving
small giggles. “You’re so cute when you coo.”
I feel my cheeks heat
up. “I bet it would be the same if I were doing it to you.”
“You’ll get the
chance to do so tomorrow,” she says. “I can’t wait, Aero.”
I smile, “I can’t
wait either.”
“Your brother is
going to call,” she giggles.
He and I hadn’t
talked in years. The last time we did, we dissolved into an argument about my
lack of Talent. Unfortunately, I was the one who ended up in tears. His words
cut into me. Mom sat in my room and held me while Dad chewed my brother out for
what he did to me. Then the two switched rooms so my mother could rip him a new
one and my father could comfort me. It was one of their tried and true methods,
and it worked off well.
Like clockwork, my
Trick Watch rings. I only need to look at the screen and a holographic
projection of my brother appears. “Hi,
Trick-sister!” he spits, or would, if the projection is real enough. It’s
not.
“It’s Aerona, Troy!”
I spit back. “And no amount of the nickname will change that.”
He ignores me, as
always. “I just want you to know that I
found a lovely Talent wife. Too bad I didn’t invite my traitorous sister!”
If I am not still in
the massage daze, I will have let him have it. “I was born without Talent,
remember?”
“Still a traitor to our family,” sings he.
“Mom and Dad don’t
think I’m a traitor to the family.” It’s true. Mom and Dad tell me countless
times that I am not a traitor when Troy manipulates me hard enough. Troy
doesn’t understand me because, unlike me—where I am not Talented—, he inherited
precognition from the mixture of Talent genes. He is older than me, making me
the baby of the family.
He tried to push more
tests when he found out that his baby sister was either a Trick or a
late-starter when I was eight. Mom and Dad shook their heads. The Center was
dead serious about me finding my power on my own instead of having more tests
pushed upon me. Outraged, he cursed me and called me his traitorous
Trick-sister. I didn’t know the meaning of his words back then, but as I got
older, they hurt.
“You there?” Troy sneers. “Or are you trapped in your own Trick-sister world?”
I shake my head. “No!
I just…was thinking of Julian.”
“You suck at lying and you know it.”
I don’t respond. He
wins if I do. The best way for me to deal with him is to ignore him when he
tries to rile me up. Instead, I glare at him. It works every time.
“Want to know how the wedding went, my traitor?”
I shrug, my glare
going dry. “Okay, why not? What do I have to lose? After all, you know it
better than I do.”
“Well, my turncoat, it was a large wedding, filled with
900 people, all Talents. We wedded at sunset and it was so romantic. Our
honeymoon was filled with all sorts of activities that you probably would’ve
enjoyed if you weren’t a Trick-sister. We even have a daughter on the way. Her
name will be Carrie.”
It hurt that he got
married without me being there. I always wanted to be his flower girl, his
bridesmaid, or his woman of honor, whichever he wanted. This was before he
found I was a Trick. He chuckled and ruffled my hair. “Maybe when we find out
you are a Talent.”
However, he denounced
me when they found me as either a Trick or a late-starter, declaring, “You are
not welcome to the wedding!” Mom and Dad tried to change his mind, but he
refused. “I have no sister!”
“Well, I better help
Holly—my wife—by feeding her cravings. Bye!” Troy disappears from my watch.
“He’s still a jerk,”
I tell Julian.
She scoffs with a
smile. “He’ll warm up to you again in two months.”
“Ain’t that the
truth?” I sigh. “He disowned me when I was nine.”
She sighs back and
pats my shoulder. “I know. You told me when we were just starting out—I mean
when I moved in with you. You were so emotional about it.”
“I know I was.” Then
I realize something that sticks out in Julian’s second sentence. Unfortunately,
I am too relaxed to ask what the heck she meant. I sit up and stretch. Maybe
I’m overthinking what she just said. She will tell me in her own time.
Chapter 4
Nerves
It is the day before
I am due to go to The Center. My nerves are super high, making me not want to
eat. Julian tries to make me eat, but to no avail. However, my
Trick-Sitter—throughout the month—gives me the eye and I eat.
“It’ll be okay, Aero.
I’ll be sitting in the hall next to the room waiting for you,” Julian reassures
for the hundredth time. “I can’t tell you what will happen in there, because
the Sphere won’t allow me to.”
“I’d rather be
surprised,” I try to lie. Despite Troy rejecting me as part of his family, he
is right about one thing: I am a horrible liar. I am often found out.
“You’re lying, Aero.
You want me to spoil, like I would about an episode of Gunsmoke. The Sphere would label me a Psych if I did.”
I give up. She’s
loyal to both the Sphere and me. I can see she doesn’t want to commit treason.
It isn’t so much as selfish as it is torn loyalty.
My heart is still
racing. I try to utilize Julian’s yoga moves that she has taught me. It works
for two-and-a-half hours, however.
I pace when I’m not
doing yoga, unable to sit down for more than a minute. The butterflies in my
stomach make me squirm if I sit down too long.
My Trick-Sitter stops
by, even though today is Julian’s day off. I ask, “Ma’am, what’s going on?
Today’s Julian’s day off.”
She looks me dead in
the eye. Then she blinks and then claps her hands once. Throughout this, she
doesn’t smile. This new message apparently means, “I came only to make sure you
eat.”
“Eat?!” I scoff
hysterically. “That’s a laugh!” My insides rattle.
She grabs hold of my
shoulders and, in front of Julian for the first time, says, “AERONA! Calm down!
Getting all worked up over this will harm you in the long run! Now calm down
and eat!”
I swear, back in the
ancient United States, she would be a good drill instructor. She had the
makings of a Sergeant Major in the currently-historical Marines. She was strong
when she wanted. However, she needed to know that it was okay to cry. Julian
sometimes did it when she felt a wave of sadness put a damper in her powers.
Since we rarely got visitors, the only person who could help her landed on my
shoulders.
In the corner of my
eye, I see Julian’s jaw drop. Since she is at work most of the time when I’m
with my Trick-Sitter, she never has the chance to hear her speak. I understand
where she is coming from.
“Julian, are you
okay?” I ask.
My Trick-Sitter waves
her hand in front of her face. “Did I scare her?” For once, she sounds very
concerned. Maybe talking has freaked Julian out.
“You probably did,” I
say. “But it’s okay. You didn’t know.”
“Well, for one thing,
at least you are calm, now.”
I look at her. I
guess I haven’t realized it now. She does have a point. I am calmer, thanks to
her. Now, all I need is to find someone to do that again, so I could be calm
for The Center. But I know it won’t work. Julian said it herself. She’ll be
sitting outside the hall while I’m in The Center’s room. I know I won’t be
alone, but it sends shivers down and up my spine and wiggles in my heart.
Slowly, ever so
slowly, Julian comes around. Suddenly, she yells, “I DIDN’T KNOW THAT YOU COULD
SPEAK!”
My Trick-Sitter looks
to me as if in a harsh glare. I shrink. “Perhaps, I have forgotten to tell her?”
“FORGOTTEN?! HOW COULD YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN
TO TELL ME ABOUT THIS?!”
My Trick-Sitter
intervenes. “It’s not as much as forgotten, Julian. She may have neglected to tell you. It happens all
the time; people forget or neglect to tell people. It’s nothing to worry about.
In fact, it probably only crossed her mind once. I surprised her as well when I
spoke to her the first time.”
I sheepishly walk
away, but Julian pulls me close, preventing an escape. “You are a crazy friend
of mine.” Then she says something that I don’t hear. I scratch the inside of my
ear to figure out what she has just said.
“I’m sorry, what was
that?” I didn’t hear it quite clearly.
She looks away,
blushing. “Oh, nothing, nothing… Just think of new knitting patterns I could
do…”
“You’re lying,” my
Trick-Sitter says.
Julian shakes her
head. “I am not.” I can feel her fingers tremble. Is there something Julian is
hiding? I want to know someday, but for now, I’ll just let it rest. “I love to
knit. It’s one of the things I am good at. I also like to give massages every
now and then. Aerona like them a lot, don’t you, Aerona?”
I nod. “It’s true.
She does give good massages.”
My Trick-Sitter
shrugs and gives up. “Maybe I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe
you’re not thinking about—” Julian covers her mouth with her hands. Then she
hisses something into her ear. Unfortunately, I can’t hear it, so I don’t know
what they’re saying.
She removes Julian’s
hands and gives her a death glare. “Don’t you ever do that to me again! That
was gross. About as gross as…my past…” She trails off, as though haunted by her
past. She doesn’t wish to remember it. It’s what makes her hardened in the
first place. She hates it; she doesn’t hate me or Julian. That much is clear.
“Is it about the
Psych of a cousin you had?” I ask out of concern. I hate to bring it up, but
she mean so much to me just as Julian is to me, too.
Throughout the month
of March, she began to open up to me more while Julian was at work in her
Sector. There was more to the story that I originally had thought: Even worse
still, her father didn’t even notice it was happening at first. Then one day
while she was at school, the school nurses began to notice that she was
starting to fear boys and men more and more. They had no idea if it was her
uncle or her cousin, so they called up The Sphere and had her placed into the
protective custody of The Sphere’s legal system. Her mother and father were
furious as Hell when they found out that their daughter had been put into
custody. However, they had to wait until the investigation was completed.
It wasn’t fun for my
Trick-Sitter, either. The other kids and protective custody of The Sphere’s
legal system tormented her, calling her dirty names, saying that they would
never allow her to fit in with their group, ever. The Sphere took notice of
that, and isolated her, giving her friendly treatment while at the same time
slowly figuring out what happened that caused her to be fearful of boys and
men. At first, she refused, thinking that she would be in trouble; however, The
Sphere told her that no one was going to harm her. When she refused to open up,
they called an aura reader to read her aura. The aura reader took one step into
the room but instantly balked, saying, “This child’s aura has been tainted with
the evil one…”
The Sphere had no
idea who she meant. She was vague, and would not give any other clues. They
then labeled her as superstitious for good reason. However, she did give a
little tidbit: “I cannot tell you who it is, but I do know that the bad seed is
within the family…”
Next, they assigned a
masterful hypnotist, who then put her into a deep trance and immediately found
out who it was who stole her innocence. “It is who I feared. My Talent may be
hypnotism, but I’m also part psychic. However, I did not want to know that it
was her cousin that did this. Her mother and father will be very much in tears,”
she told the investigators. “Just give her time to…recuperate from all this,
because she needs it more than anything. If you have to, I implanted a special
trigger that should help if she doesn’t recover from this. But it can only be
used in the event of an emergency. You can’t just put her to sleep any time you
darned want.”
The Sphere
understood, and she gave them the trigger word. Then she packed up her
equipment and left without a trace. However, as the days went by, it weakened
every time The Sphere tried to use it with her, so it was useless. They were so
disappointed. Unfortunately, they couldn’t take away a Talent’s gift; it was
unorthodox and illegal, and it would leave many lasting impressions for their
life on in. In fact, the last time they tried it, a Talent died for giving out
false reading to the Trick that they were protecting. They vowed never to do it
again, for if they do they knew that it would lead to the Talents’ doom.
She nods, her eyes
clouded with immense and lasting pain. “It hurts me more than I know.” She
looks at me again. “Sorry for yelling at you earlier.”
“Hey, I needed it. If
it wasn’t for you, I would still be hysterical and not want to eat. So, in a
way, you saved my life.”
Julian nods in
understanding. “I would do same if it weren’t for you… Um… I didn’t catch your
name.”
I suddenly agree. “Yeah…what
is your name? I never heard you say it aloud before, and it would be nice to
know, it’s just us.”
She thinks it over,
as if her name is a secret from all of us. Then she says, “It’s…Rowena.”
I roll it over and
over in my head, mentally recording the sound of it. I love the name. “Rowena…yeah.
It’s super pretty. And I love it all the same.”
Julian nods, a smile
on her face. “It reminds me of those Harry
Potter novels. I’m in love with Ginny and Harry being together as well as
Ron and Hermione being together. J. K. Rowling didn’t make a mistake when she
shipped Ron and Hermione together. Instead, she made a miracle”
Rowena almost
chuckles. “Yeah. But my last name isn’t Ravenclaw. However, sometimes I almost
wish it was.”
“Ah, well… At least
we got Aerona calm now,” Julian says.
I smile wider. “That’s
true.”
We eat a French
dinner in peace, enjoying each other’s company. Rowena leaves after dinner,
after we ask her to stay, but she tells us she’ll accompany us tomorrow. Julian
and I try to get some sleep before the procedure. However, our nerves are shot.
Eventually, we settle
down and fall asleep.
Chapter 5
The Procedure, Part 1
I hold Julian’s hand, trembling. “Even though it was nice
to see Rowena last night, I’m still nervous about what’s going to happen at The
Center.”
Julian gives me one of those trademark smiles she always
has. “Oh, relax, Aerona. You’re going to be all right, and that’s all what
matters,” she sings.
I giggle, relaxing as she sings a song from a movie that
I like. “You sure know how to cheer someone up, and relax them without even
using a massage.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for. They pick you up when
you fall down. They can help soothe your nerves, ring the bell when they count
you out, and they risk their own lives to rescue you when you need it.” She
then cries out from a sharp jab in her ribs.
Rowena draws her fingers back. “She doesn’t need to be
hysterical before she goes in to see The Center! The Center abhors it if they
have a hysterical patient to deal with. I know, because I was once a patient
here. I was so panic-stricken, that they had to sedate me before they could
test what had happened.” She sighs. “At least they – at least they didn’t find
that I was pregnant, because I wasn’t. And at least they didn’t find any STDs.
That would’ve been real bad.”
“You almost sound as bad as Aerona when she’s paranoid,”
Julian says, bored out of her mind.
“Yes, I know,” she sighs.
We enjoy the rest of the trip in silence, which is
strange because Julian likes to talk about random subjects as we go along. I
guess she is jittery about what my outcome will be. I can’t blame her; I am,
too, but I try to keep myself busy as much as possible. Otherwise, I’d go crazy
and hysterical to the point where I can’t recognize myself anymore. I keep
myself busy with the daily crossword. Hmm… A seven letter word for madness. Oh,
I know! Insanity! I fill the word in. It matches up with the words nest (with
the s), incomprehensible (with the n; the longest word in the crossword so
far), and yelp. Now I am 22 answers away from finishing the crossword.
“We’re almost there,” Julian whispers in my ear, almost
jolting me from my crossword thoughts. Someone drops something fuzzy into my
hands. It makes me feel warm. I look down to see what it was, but Julian’s
hands redirect my head, so I’m staring up at her.
“I want it to be a surprise for when your procedure is
done,” she whispers, rubbing my shoulders. “You’ll love it. It’ll all make
sense in the end, after we get done.”
“Since when do you get all cryptic, huh?” I jab after
stuffing the object in my pocket, giving a small elbow to her arm. “Usually,
you aren’t that way. Usually, you give me the fullest description.”
She giggles. It’s like a tingling feeling when I hear her
laugh. It is almost like broken glass that tinkles musical sounds on the
ground. I can listen to her laugh all day. It fills my heart with glee,
especially when I’m having a day where I'm ticked off. I don’t think I can last
a day without her laughing.
In the beginning, it was annoying, mainly because I
didn’t want it to be that way. I tried to ask my Trick Counselor to have
another Talent living in my house. To the contrary, the law states that only
one Talent can live in the house with their assigned Trick. Julian had a cow
when she heard that she would be staying from now on. I, however, felt internal
conflict about this. Here I had an overactive, over-excitable Talent in my
house. Yet, I was quick to learn that she had a mind of her own. I know, I
know, that was how all humans work.
They had minds of their own until the nuclear war
happened. It drove people insane with their nuclear warfare. When it happened,
their minds began to change. Those with psychic abilities became stronger in
their psychic abilities. Those without ended up with rudimentary Talents. With
those rudimentary Talents, the skeptics became believers and the believers
finally found faith. It was then that The Sphere rose up and called our land
Psioncia. Why didn’t I explain that earlier? I’d rather not think about the past
and think about the future. To me, history was boring. It was a wonder that I
passed the course.
All that aside, however, the bus comes to a halt at The
Center entrance. My stomach is swirling with nervousness as I take the first
steps off the bus. The weather is nippy, and I pull my loose sweater over my
black shirt. The Center advises us to wear only loose clothing so they could
work on us. That means we cannot wear anything that will be difficult for The
Center to get us out of. Prom dresses are super difficult to get out of for one
thing. We also cannot wear jewelry either. Yet, it’s okay, because I don’t wear
jewelry anyway.
Julian and Rowena take my hands and lead me into The
Center. It’s a grandiose building, not like any of the hospitals of old. There
are several handicap ramps, a mercy to some of those who still use wheelchairs
and walkers. There aren’t any stairs to use--it’s illegal to have one of The
Centers built with stairs. So we walk up one of the ramps, and then walk onto a
platform. Once there, we an overhead eye scans us from head to foot. It’s
imperative that patients in The Center have been scanned. If you don’t get
scanned, you can’t go in. The only exceptions to this rule are power outages
and other emergencies. Examples include heart attacks, strokes, and
appendicitis. Once the scan is over, we hear a female robotic voice say, “Come
in, Julian Pegasus, Aerona Absentia, and Rowena Crawford. The Center wishes the
best.”
The interior looks as if someone took tips from royalty.
It has plush seating, enough to fit more than nineteen people. The reading
material has improved from the old United States—where only magazines sat in
holders or on the tables. There are books from the past—Harry Potter, still a great classic, Deadly Heat, and The Bar Code
Tattoo, to name a few. The atmosphere is welcoming, despite the song
“Pegasus Device” playing on the radio right now. It's playing on loop. It seems
that one of the employees is still an old-time brony—or, fan of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
We walk up to the elegant receptionist’s desk, the tile
clicking under our shoes. A man is sitting in the desk. He has a small build
and brown eyes. He doesn’t have hair, but I don’t mind that. The name tag on
his desk reads “Slyph Quantum.” “Hi,” I say to him. “Aerona Absentia to see the
Trick Specialist.”
Slyph smiles, a warm glint in his eye. “Okay, let me
see.” He types at the keys. Then he nods, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yes.
Amelia will see you in a moment. Just sit down in the waiting room and she’ll
call you later on. She is still with another patient.”
I nod in understanding. “Thank you, Mr. Quantum.”
“Please, call me Slyph, Miss Absentia.” It makes sense. I
have been here before and again because Julian often comes here. I shouldn’t
use formalities like I did before. I could call him Slyph.
I give him an apologetic look, then go to sit down next
to Rowena and Julian. Julian isn’t giggling at the fact that we found out
Rowena’s last name. It’s unusual, even for her. In fact, she’s acting as if the
name is nothing to laugh at.
She laughed when she found out my last name. The initials
reminded her of “Alcoholics Anonymous.” In the old United States,
"Alcoholics Anonymous" was group therapy that was used to help stop
drinking. In Psioncia, we served alcohol only to those who could handle it.
Anyone that couldn’t was immediately kicked out of the bars and pubs. Kids who
came to the bars were served soda, milk, hot chocolate, tea, or water,
depending on their tastes.
“I know what you’re thinking, Aerona,” Rowena says.
“She’s only taking my last name in stride. She doesn’t think Crawford is funny.
It’s only your last name that made her laugh.”
I scoff a little with a small smile. “Thanks, Rowena.”
“Now sit up nice and straight! You are a lady and should
look beautiful,” she orders.
I obey, waiting for Amelia. She and I speak on the Trick
Watch every now and then. Amelia and I went to school together until they found
I was either a late starter or a Trick. I remember telling Amelia everything
about what the officials found. Her arms wrapped around me as I cried to the
high heavens screaming one word: Why? I
still remember her telling me it’d be alright as her fingers stroked my back
and her fighting back the urge to cry with me. We were excited about us going
into a Sector, and we were both hurt when we found that one of us couldn’t go.
She matured into The Center Officials while I was held back. We cried before
she went in to hone her skills. We didn't want to leave each other. We were
best friends. We tried to keep in touch as best as we could. But her mentors
kept her busy and our communications became shorter and shorter with each
passing day. We kept trying, although we thought we were deluding ourselves
even further.
It's not long until I hear a sweet, bell-like voice say,
“Aerona Absentia?”
I look up from the Harry
Potter book I am reading. It's Amelia. Her shimmery, red hair is curled in
beautiful wisps. Her clear blue eyes, behind glasses—because she tells me she
has farsightedness—, beckons me into a safe place. Her uniform is typical of a
nurse's, but sewn on the left breast is the symbol of a rainbow with a stork
flying above it. That's The Center's symbol on all employees’ shirts.
“Hello, Amelia.” I get up to follow her, smiling.
She giggles, the bell-like sound of her voice making it
sound as though she is made of wind chimes. Her arms wrap around me. She
remembers that I love it when she and I get to see each other on these rare
occasions. I never want to let go, but know that we have a procedure to do. I
take in the scent of her deodorant—motion activated, but sweet smelling, like a
flowery garden.
We hold it for a few seconds until she and I let go. We
smile before I follow her into the building. I hear Julian follow. “I’ll sit
outside and not disturb,” I hear her say to Amelia.
“It’s fine. Just remember: Only one at a time,” she tells
her.
From the corner of my eye, Julian is shaking. I whisper, “Creo que
todo va a estar bien.”
Right away, she relaxes. Was it something I said? She
walks without any need for hysteria.
Amelia and I walk inside the room. It’s almost like a
doctor’s ultrasound checkup room. The bed's to a far wall and the monitoring
equipment is next to the bed. However, instead of the gel and the transducer,
there are electrodes, wires, and an I.V. drip. Having gone through different
tests as a child, I know what the electrodes and wires are for, but the I.V. is
new to me.
Amelia draws a curtain around me, separating us.
“Please strip off everything, including your bra and panties,
and put on the gown that you see on the bed.”
I do as she tells me to. No need to anger the best friend
I had before they held me back and removed from school. The gown is purple with
darker purple paw prints. I put my clothes in the sack to signal to Amelia that
I’ve done what she asked. “Is it okay if you help me tie up, Amelia?” I suck at
tying my back.
She opens the curtain. “Sure.” She helps tie my back.
“Anything for my friend, I will do.”
The tiles warm up automatically under my feet. That’s another
thing they do differently around here than when the United States was here.
They made thermal tiles. No more cold feet—if you pardon the expression.
Amelia takes my height and weight into account. It’s
still necessary, I think. She then takes my temperature and asks the usual
questions like my last cycle or if I’m pregnant. I answer to the best of my
abilities. I lay on the bed, and she orders some warm blankets—standard
procedure at The Center.
“What’s the I.V. for?” I ask, curious. Outside, I hear
soft giggles. Julian is either having fun, or just thinks my curiosity is funny.
I’ll check with her later.
Amelia doesn’t even blink. “For this, we need to use a
sedative, but you’ll be okay.” She attaches the first electrode onto my head
and connects the wire. “That’s the only painful part of the procedure. After that,
it’ll be smooth sailing.”
“Thank you, Amelia.”
“You’re welcome. This will take only a few minutes to
find your innermost Talent.”
“And if it doesn’t…?” I can’t help be worried.
“If it doesn’t, we’ll just try a bit harder. Not all
Tricks are the same. For you, it could take a few minutes or up to an hour,”
she breathlessly says, adding a second electrode to my head.
“I can handle that long. By the way, do you think you can
swing by later on so we could catch up?”
“I will check my schedule, but if I can’t this week, I’ll
check in next week.” She continues the electrode-wire process until the last
one is secure. “Okay, we’re all set!” she cheerily announces. “How are you
feeling right now?”
“Pun-wise, wired; outside the pun world, I am a bit
nervous, but I’m fine,” I report as honestly as possible.
She giggles at the pun. “That’s why we’re still friends.”
Then she produces a needle. “Give me your arm, please?”
I obey, wrapping my other arm around the bear I came
with—Amor, not Benson. The Center, like the ancient hospitals, allows us to
bring a stuffed animal with us. I try to keep my arm relaxed for Amelia while I
face her face, not trying to make her feel guilty for having to do this. There
is some minor discomfort as the needle goes in my arm and finds a vein to work
with. I see some tears well up in her eyes. I let go of Amor and gently wipe
them away. “Todo va a estar bien.”
She gives a gentle
smile. “You know how to make
me feel better. When I heard that they assigned me to you, I felt both
excited—since it’s been a while since we last saw each other—and nervous. I
guess my nervousness is taking precedence over my earlier excitement.” She
gives it a final push, and the shunt is in. It is one of the weirdest feelings
in the world to have something to feed into your veins. She tapes it down so it
doesn’t come out.
I feel an all-familiar buzz in the back of my head. The
machines have just kicked. “Is zz—it okay if you ch-change the tune?” I ask,
the buzz making me sound weird, hearing another round of “Pegasus Device”
playing.
“Oh—yes. John must’ve played it on YouTube and forgot to
turn it off after the first round. He likes those over an hour videos. He once
played ‘Awoken’ for ten hours straight. He almost made me quit this Sector,
even though I didn’t want to.” She walks out of the room, saying something to
Julian before taking a right down the hall.
Julian walks in. “So far, so good. The vision is coming
true so far.”
“You knew this zz—part would happen?” I ask, curious.
“Yeah. Plus this song made me addicted a week before we
got up to this point,” she cheerily smiles.
I can’t help but smile again. Something about her smile
is contagious. Yet, I wonder how she remains so cheerful. Even after all that
has happened to her, like her parents’ death, and then her aunt and uncle’s
deaths she remains so vivacious. She must be hurting deep inside, or on the
outside, she must be hardened, like Rowena. Instead, she’s bubbly and zany.
I see Julian’s smile turn into a curious frown. “What are
you thinking about?”
“How do you zz—remain so…animated?” I ask.
“Oh…Aero, you already know the answer,” she giggles and
rubs my arm, careful not to dislodge the shunt. “I would ruffle your hair, but
that’s not allowed for the moment.”
“Yeah, I know. Even my parents knew to leave it be.”
She kisses my hand—something even I don’t know she’s
capable of doing. “You’ll be okay. I’ll be out in the hall when you are done.”
I nod, blushing and smiling. “Thank zz—you, Julian.”
The music changes to a mixed bag of genres. I sigh in
relief. “Thank you, Amelia Heartstrings.”
Julian giggles. “I know.”
A short amount of time later, Amelia returns. Julian
returns to her spot outside the hall. “There we go. That better?”
I nod. “Aw, Naw” is playing. “Let’s hope zz—that John zz—character
d-doesn’t change it.”
“His shift ended five minutes ago. He won’t change it
again until his shift tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Amelia.”
She types on the keys. “The machine is ready.”
“I zz—know…” The buzzing makes my speech sound like a
spastic robot.
“It’s time.” She sighs, eyes darkening. I frown in
understanding. She doesn’t want to do this, but she has to. She picks up the
I.V. tubing. Regret is drawing lines in her usually peppy face. Her entire body
trembles as she gently grasps my arm. She’s whispering to herself, and I don’t
pick up the words. She doesn’t have to repeat it. She’s trying hard not to
break down and cry.
I look into her dull eyes. “No llores tú, por
favor.”
She gives a small squeak before wiping her eyes.
“S-sorry…”
“It’s okay, Amelia,” I say. “It’ll be zz—okay. Julian says zz—so.”
She nods, taking a shuddering breath before she starts to
calm down. “Thank you, Aerona.” Her professional attitude takes over as she
puts the bright blue-colored liquid in
the shunt.
The fluid feels like fire in my veins. It’s as if it will
incinerate me from the inside out, but I know it’s for the best. I keep a hold
on Amor, feeling my strength decrease by the second. The buzzing on my head
intensifies. My thoughts start to diminish one by one as my vision clocks out
for the day. I mumble something incomprehensible before everything goes black.
Chapter 6
The Procedure, Part 2
In the
drugged-slumber, I dream. I know some people do that, but the sedative has
something that makes us do this in Psioncia more often than not. It is dark,
but not dark enough that I can’t see my body. In spite of myself knowing that
no one is with me, I say, “Hello? Is—is anybody here?”
Nothing is there.
Suddenly, a flash of
lightning—or what I think is lightning—splits the black. I look around, ears
pricked for the sudden clap of thunder. “No trueno,” I note, thinking it
strange. The flash hasn’t gone away, and I’m hearing a soft hiss. Instead, it
seems to be attracted to me! My heart hammering, I do what any person in those
action films, minus that one film with the word “despicable” in the title,
against heat-seeking missiles or the like do—run like hell and hope it avoids
me. I scramble to find that my feet are kicking up dirt. “Why am I in a hole?”
I assume, but when I realize I haven’t hit a dirt wall, I take it back.
Suddenly I stop,
feeling something hit me from behind like a snake. I feel my body drop to the
ground, jerking in all directions. I try to force out a scream, but it sounds
like I’m gargling Shiny White mouthwash. My body is paralyzed. Once the
numbness passes and my body seems to be in my control, I turn on the ground,
seeing the lightning has not dissipated. It turns around, as if someone is
calling it to the sky, but it whips around and charges after me. I scream,
“Amelia! Wake me up! Hurry!”
The lightning strikes
me again, and I give out a strangled whimper. What did Minute Earth tell me? I
should crouch low and keep my feet together? It leaves once again as I weakly
scramble to my feet. “Amelia, I think the procedure is finished…”
I see that it hasn’t
yet finished what it wants to do. “Amelia, what are you doing?” I know it’s
pointless to ask her while I’m in a dream. No one can hear me scream. Screaming
is useless, but I did it twice.
It swirls and charges
me again. I try to crouch, but it’s too late. In real life, I’ll be super
crispy bacon. But in the dream, it hits me with enough force that I confuse
lightning strike with car wreck. I’m flung back several feet into something
hard. I try to use it to prop up, but feel splinters in my hands. Looking
behind me, I see a tree. “T-thank you, tree…” I pant.
I try to search for
the lightning again, but it’s gone. There isn’t a spark in the dark sky now.
Did it do its job? Am I safe now? What just happened?
The sky starts to
dissolve to white. My whole world is shifting. The ground underneath me began
to tremble as I suddenly see some wildlife shoot out from the trees that I have
taken cover in. What is going on? Is it time for me to stop dreaming? Am I
going to die in the dream? Despite the shaking, I begin to shiver myself. This
is scary, even for me. My arms wrap around myself. I lose all sense of balance
as I fall into the dirt.
Suddenly, I hear a
voice. “Aerona? Aerona, it’s time to get up. It’s over now.” It’s Amelia’s
voice.
I wake up with a
startled gasp, clutching my chest and breathing hard. Amelia looks at me in
concern and asks, “Are you okay, Aerona? Did something happen?”
“I—I don’t know,” I
say, clutching to Amor so hard that I fear her head would pop off its
stitching.
Her eyes turn to the
computer screen, a concerned look crossing them. “This is really weird! I don’t
understand this at all. Something must’ve gone wrong, I don’t understand.”
I tremble on the bed
as she hurries to remove the electrodes from my head. “Amelia, what is going
on?”
She quickly turns to
me. “Nothing! Nothing is wrong. I must have made a mistake!” She’s shaking, a
sign that I know is wrong. Either she’s lying or she is trying to hide
something. Her mannerisms are nothing I’ve ever seen from her.
“Amelia? Are you
okay? What’s going on? Did the procedure fail?”
She shook her head
rapidly. “No, if the procedure failed, you would have been brain-dead or
worse.”
“What could be worse
than being brain-dead?” I whimper.
She doesn’t say, but
takes out my I.V. instead. “The only thing that we can do right now is to wait
and see what develops.”
“You’re probably
right. I’m not feeling any different right now.”
“It’ll be useless to
tell Rowena a lie since she can read minds.” She prints out something on her
computer, folds the paper up before I could see it, and stuffs it in her breast
pocket. “Technically, the procedure is a success, but right now, the best
course of action is to find out what you have developed. If anything unusual
happens, call Slyph. He’ll set up an appointment for you and we’ll go on from
there.”
I nod, trying to
shake the heaviness from my legs.
She gasps. “I’ll get
you a wheelchair.” Hurriedly, her long legs race out of the room.
“Thank you, Amelia.”
Is she okay? She’s acting as if she just exposed something powerful to the Isle
of Span-Fran.
The nuclear war
didn’t just affect the United States. It went everywhere. Spain and France were
separate countries. When the nuclear war happened, Spain went to France. There
was a squabble amongst the two. Spain’s king at the time pleaded to France’s president
to let them stay. Reluctantly, the president allowed them on the condition that
they go home once the war ceased. When the people of Spain thought that the war
was over, they took up their end of the deal only to find that their land was
thick with the nuclear waste. No one could step foot in Spain. The waste made
them dizzy. It was a mess. France’s president saw this and had mercy. Spain and
France joined forces, making them into Span-Fran.
She returns with the
wheelchair. The results from the procedure are gone from her pocket. Is she
trying to hide something? Amelia isn’t usually that way.
I heavily sit myself
in the chair, my mind heavy all of a sudden.
“It’s normal, Aerona.
You’re experiencing what is typical of this new procedure.”
“You’ve done this
type of thing before?” I ask, letting my head fall back.
She then gives a
small gasp. “I’m such a Talent Dork! I forgot to give you something to perk up
and get you dressed! No wonder you’re heavy.” She then has me lay back down on
the bed. “I’m so sorry.”
I am so glad to be on
something level. Sitting right now makes me think I’ll fall off the chair and
hurt myself even further. Amelia opens the door, giving Julian a message in
haste, and leaves the room. It seems my results are a spectacle.
Julian walks in, and
I smile weakly. “Hey…”
She sits next to me,
taking my hand in hers. “Hi.”
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