Usually when a story starts, it begins with something fast, something fast that pulls you out of your seat and makes your say something like, “Holy shit, this is great!” A story like this starts in a completely different manner. It begins in a dark room. Somewhere comfortable and warm with a comforting tingle that hangs in the air. Just two people. These people deeply in love, curled up in each other's arms. The two have had a past, and that is clear to see by the way their gazes hold appreciation. This is a moment of rest. Something that these two don’t get to appreciate often. Their names are Skyla and Kevin. Two people that come from pasts as different as can be, and yet they love each other. The kiss each other as they finally let the ever-relaxing presence of sleep envelope each other.

Trystan’s finger’s have always looked pale. And they always looked even paler as he pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. He wondered if it looked natural, because it was certainly starting to feel that way. He could still remember the first time he felt the too-smooth feeling of the light paper skin, how it seemed to radiate poisonous air. It’s not like Trystan was scared or anything. Going through life hearing rumours about those things just made it natural. To set the rumor straight, everyone was absolutely right. Trystan could still feel a little ping of fear in his chest every time he pulled out another.

Crash

Trystan immediately knew that it was Matthew who slammed into one of the lockers bordering the wall. The wall that was far too close to him for Trystan’s liking. Feigned and innocent, he looked at Trystan with true, undying fear. It made Trystan sick. All of it. That’s when he lost it, flicking open his lighter and finally going through with lighting his cigarette from where it limply hung out his lips.

The other boy widened his too-large green eyes and sputtered out something that vaguely resembles speech. Pathetic. Trystan took his time pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and deeply inhaled, and suddenly he remembered why he did it.

“Hello?”

Matthew shakily grinned and shook his head.

This had been happening more often as of late. Matthew crashing into his day, quite literally, like he could hardly walk in a straight line anymore. He was unsteady and everyone could see it, and Trystan knew that if something didn’t happen, he would break.

Maybe they could see eye-to-eye then. Trystan snorted at the thought of having anything in common with Matthew, the cutsie little sunshine child. All light and bright things. Everything bright and beautiful seems to reflect off of the boy, making everything brighter and bold. And yet Matthew still choose to stay idly in the background, not acknowledging the fact that he shakes up the room just by stepping inside.

Now, Trystan sighs at the boy. Maybe in another life he would have glared or glowered, but now he was simply too tired.

“Take your time.”

Matthew looked at him with caution, as he did with every other living thing, searching for the million and one ways that things could go wrong, as if anything could go wrong. This was nothing new to Trystan, an everyday occurrence at that. He’d probably just apologize and walk away, only to repeat the process in a day or so. It was customary. It was balanced. It was-

“Who’s your father, Trystan?”

-not what Trystan was expecting. His father? Now his father wasn’t the most innocent man in the world, but why would Matthew want anything to do with him? What has his blasted father done this time?

Matthew must have seen something unsightly on Matthew’s face, because he quickly adds, “It’s nothing, forget I said anything.”

Forget I said anything? How could he said that after proclaiming something like that? Trystan tried studying the boy, but he was locked tight.

“What? No! What do you want from my father?”

Trystan crushed the cigarette in his hand, ignoring the antagonising scorch it left on his palm.

Matthew squeaked, in quite a pathetic manner, but he was locked tight. What was odd was the fact that he looked like he didn’t want to be. Like he was held back by some invisible force. His fear perhaps? Ha, the whole thing was so cliche.

“Well?”

It came out impatiently, shakily, so not Trystan at all, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the impatience or the burning of the cigarette still in his hand. He opened his hand and let the ashes fall to the ground.

Matthew’s pupils must have shrunk to have their original size.”

“It’s nothing! It’s nothing, I swear!”

He sounded like I’d hit him, his voice ringing high.

Trystan glared annoyingly, this was a bad sign.

And soon enough, Matthew’s guardian angel was by his side, yelling at him, demanding to know exactly what he’d done and whether she’d have to fight him or not. It was honestly quite obnoxious. At an earlier point, Trystan might have cared about the situation, let himself get sucked into the drama, but at this point, all he felt was a numb, raging question. One he was too much of a coward to ask.

All he did was watch the thin sheens of smoke cloud the air. Smoke. Maybe sometimes smoke wasn’t a sign of danger, smoke in that moment was simply just too tired to continue burning.

Trystan walked away without a word.

The first thing I saw when I woke up was clouds. Lots and lots of floating, swirling clouds drifting in and out of vision. My head felt like it was full of clouds, a senseless space of fluff and numbness. Sitting up, I looked to the horizon, to be faced with a tall structure of unimaginable beauty.

The building was tall, spiralling high into the sky, starting from the ground and shooting upward with force. Turrets sprung out of the sturdy foundations. The castle itself looked like it was made of clouds. The castle was blue and wispy. It almost looked like a ghost; a shadow of a real castle vanished long ago.

I felt myself gasp in cool air. It felt to be sometime in the morning, because everything seemed to be waking up and alive.Birds screeched in the empty sky, echoing across the large terrain. I could feel the wind sweeping past my bare arms and ruffling the fabric of my soft white dress.

Another thing I could feel were my wings, drooping on the ground. The ticklish feathers fluttered in the wind, and the skin underneath prickled with cold and pain and old blood, pain I couldn’t bring myself to worry about in the current moment.

I could feel excitement bubbling in my chest, and for what, I did not know. What I did know was that I had a job to do. A sense of purpose in the depths of my very bones. I felt the the soft squish of dirt underneath my feet and I walked toward that castle. The castle of air and sky.

When People talk about their life flashing before their eyes

Many Recall Inportant moments

First Christmas

First Dates

When I think of it

I always think back to middle school Graduation

My parents dropping me off into that brightly lighted gym

"We'll meet you on the other side."

That's what they said.

Year One - What’s this? Why is everything so confusing?

Year Two - Woah, what’s that thing that looks like me?

Year Three - There’s another person in my house

Year Four - This fake Bear. I love this bear.

Year Five - Boys are incredible

Year Six - “Ha! You’re only three. The package says 3 plus!”

Year Seven - Everyone in first grade looks like a cartoon character

Year Eight - “He’s my original character, Supercat!”

Year Nine - Why does school make me tired?

Year Ten - Double digits! That has to mean something!

Year Eleven - Why does the thought of a penis sicken me?

Year Twelve - Theater! Why have I not heard of this sooner?

Year Thirteen - This is where my life begins, right?

Year Fourteen - Definitely. This is a beginning for sure.

Soft light filtered through the branches of several large oak trees, casting the perfect amount of dim light into the makeplay stadium. Tall bushes shrouded the area, as if it was hiding the secret within. Many children of all shapes and colors sat upon fallen trees, using them as chairs. A small girl sat next to her lighter brother, clinging to his arm in excitement. This was a joyous occasion after all. All of the children of the forest had come to witness a naming ceremony, chattering softly to each other, filling the nook with noise.

15 year old Swan stood elegant and graceful next to a sleek and dark 14 year old Raven at the front of a stadium. In front of them was a large assortment of twigs, rock, and an assortment of other things. All of the children had brought something upon coming into the alcove, building a human sized nest.

The crowd of kids instantly fell silent at the noise of footsteps. The first was easy to make out. Loud, thumping footsteps crunched dry leaves as it stepped. It sounded confident in a sense, powerful. A second step could be heard. This one was fainter. It seemed to skip along, walking in hops.

A tall boy with a broad chest appeared through the bramble. Blonde hair framed his face and gave him a majestic look. This is Eagle, the lead of the forest children. A shorter boy with rusty red hair and bright green eyes appeared next to him. The boy appeared to be around the age of 8. Freckles crested his face as he smiled wide.

The boy was assisted into the nest, so he could face his audience. Raven and Swan both got a good look before turning to face their superior. A soft murmur could be heard before they turned back. Swan flaunted over to the nest, falling onto her knees, her snow dress wrinkling around her knees. A pale hand reaches up to stroke the cheek of the newcomer, who flinched in return. Swan kissed the boy’s forehead, “You’re name is Fox, little one.”

Eagle turned to face the crown. He yelled, “Fox!” and the audience cheered. Hundreds of children stood, applauding. Bright smiles lit up the faces of every single one. Tiny Fox sitting in his tiny throne, looked up. The sun seemed to smile at him through the leaf rooftop and he felt something deep inside him that he knew he would never forget.

Every day was the same. I can’t even remember the last time I had enough time to think about the day. I can’t even remember a time when one of my whole wasn’t painfully filled. Ever since that first time I haven’t had a moment to think.

Every mourning after the “morning shift” ends (Kyle charging millions for a group of middle aged men to come pin me to a couch while I cry out in agony) he takes me… somewhere. I don’t know where exactly. Probably because I’m bound up and blindfolded. It’s a place full of yells and moans and shouts. I’m thrown into someone’s hands and my mind goes wonky. All I know is that I’m in pain. I must’ve stayed there for a while because by the time I can see again, the sky out the small window is dark. I’m always dizzy. That much is sure. Then I see him. He never liked using blindfolds. He liked making sure I saw every horrible thing he did.

Sometimes when I’m taken to the “place” I’ll be offered a drink. Those are the worst times. The drink will end up all over me and I’ll fall asleep dizzy. I’m the sorest on those days.

As I walk home on days like this, alone, upset, overall just unsettled, I can’t help but think. The wind is cool and refreshing against my arms. I look around the streets, seeing people milling about, doing their everyday normal things and suddenly I’m acutely aware of my short-sleeve dress. Then I realize that I’m not wearing leggings either. I think about what Skyla’s told me time after time. Bad things happen every day. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to snatch me up off the sidewalk. That thought alone sets off alarms in my head, a flurry of thoughts. Most of them scared or anxious.

The worst of the thoughts are the ones that aren’t. The small part of me that isn’t sane is hoping that I do get sweeped up. That I’m loaded into someone’s dingy white van and taken away to who knows where. I’d beg for mercy as I’m waiting for someone to come save me. A someone with crystalline green eyes and a mess of brown hair. The worst part is that I know he would. (He’s always had a kind of hero complex)  Matthew would save me over and over again. He’d look at me with worry and love and I’d smile tiredly and he’s take me home. I’d confess to him and he would accept with tears in his eyes. The simple thought of that makes me want to swoon.

But look at me, walking calmly in the streets, at a standstill. I could be at a standstill for the rest of my life. With Matthew distracted by his worries, never one looking in my direction.I sighed.

There was another way, wasn’t there? I could get him to look at me. Get his head out of his worries and onto me. That’d kill two birds with one stone, wouldn’t it? Maybe I could make a difference, get him to look my way. It’s possible.