The Swift Anomaly

First Pulse: Taxi Gum

Under Phantasmal City: Arachnid's Bend

June 1st, 2030

2:30 A.M.

"She was like a bird for speed, an arrow for directness."

― Virginia Woolf

With her legs crisscrossed the startled brunette gnaws through her rouge-stained puffy lip. The force of the mustard yellow vehicle jostles her, ruffling the knee-length emerald tulle skirt of her satin gown. Technically, the force should thrust her off of the top of the vehicle, but the porcelain, doll-like, mannequin merely uncrosses her stick-thin legs. She then grasps the metal roof with outstretched fingers. Her fingers trail instinctively towards her heart: a slow beast that pulses only six times a day. She is abnormally strong despite her beating heart, and requires half the amount of oxygen a human would. Her fingers meander back towards the taxi roof.

The metal hums and resonates with the beat of her thrumming heartbeat- the first beat that day. A pulse unwelcome except in the case of those accepted by the senate bards, and only then if found in Anomalies. Theresa- the doll-like being lounging atop the monstrous yellow vehicle- certainly considers herself an Anomaly. She can pass for human, beast, or demon. In fact, she can conceal herself entirely, if necessary. But she has no actual ties to the ape-like homo sapiens, so she does not have to fear for her life. Those with human blood skulk about the Underworld Realm searching for solace, yet almost always detect Death lurking about each and every corridor. Theresa hastily clutches at the haphazardly tied, maroon bow made of satin that clings tightly to her neck. She considers the bow to be her security check: her entry pass into every nook and cranny of the Phantom Lands.

Theresa-that "tiny girl"- decidedly taps the trunk of the vehicle three times with her pinky, and the alarm sounds shrilly. She cups her pointed ears and waits for the vehicle to shiver uncontrollably. Then, five minutes later, the yellow taxi melts and contorts. Its red headlights and black-checked markings swirl and loose shape, until all that remains is a shiny yellow, red and black marble. The little girl purses her lips then pops the glass marble into her mouth. She swallows it whole and winces at the mechanical taste.

With a sigh, the tiny girl somersaults into the molten lava below. The gray, angry, and scorched appearance of the melted substance portrays its heat. Yet, Theresa is not concerned about the 4,000-degree Fahrenheit temperature of the lava. She merely fears developing the characteristic scars associated with the Phantasmic foot soldiers. She shudders, considering the thick, scaly patches of skin; oozing puss; and deformed toes of the soldiers. Every Anomaly of the Phantom Realm holds the duty of soldier. Over seven million beings (three-quarters of them Commons) inhabit the Phantom Realm: the large, craggy Underworld Realm continent that houses and cradles the Phantom Lands. Theresa has resided within the Phantom Realm for over fifty years, now. Yet, as Theresa surveys the pits for the shallowest lava pools, she recalls her vow: I will not become one of the foot soldiers- I will remain my own Anomaly.