Very few can find comfort and safety in a society divided into classes where the rich just become more prosperous.
Only the most exceptional fighters and thinkers are accepted in the Sixlogy, an asylum for the Gifted, making it one of Oakland's mos...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A Germinated Sprout
I sprinted through the enclosed gap as dust particles met the cobblestone grey grounds. I could hear the sound of crushed nuts at each step as though my feet were grinders. I swerved my way past the thin walls and lifted my gown from the floor to keep it from picking up dirt. I knew I needed to get out of here as quickly as possible.
A light glimmer of light was distinguishable at the end of the tunnel. I picked up the pace and carried my feet as far as they would take me. My steps echoed soundly against the broad walls. There was seemingly no ceiling to the tunnel, like an empty, dark hole at the top of my head. I knew not what could hide within its darkness.
I couldn't hear the ladies' voices afar anymore; no plates nor glasses rattling against one another, and no more women chattering simultaneously. Instead, all I could hear was the sound of my plastic heels against the floor and my mind gushing with dark thoughts and ideas. Ideas like what if it all ended here? What if I just brought myself into a trap? Will I ever get to see Alec and Dash again?
Dash. My friend, my companion and my accomplice. The boy who showed up in jeans at a royal dance training. The boy with eyes of salt and honey-blond hair. The boy for whom I would steal.
He would sometimes bring his Yamaha guitar to late jam nights and perform for a small public at our local cafe. I saw him play once and saw how much passion he had for playing the guitar. He'd play with his eyes closed, and when I'd ask him why he did so, he'd say;
"It allows me to bond more profoundly with the music and instrument." And then I'd tease him about it. He always had unique ways of expressing his passions. So that made me dive into this sea of a quest to learn more about him.
The tiny beep of my mic pulled me out of my rain of thoughts. I ran a hand over my forehead. It was getting hot in this gown. I would change whenever I'd get the opportunity.
"Gwen, can you hear me?" Alec's voice buzzed through the little sound wire.
"Loud and clear," I replied, a little out of breath. "What is it?" I inquired.
"Dash got into trouble at the cellars. We have the keys to the royal garden, but we're stuck fighting off some troublesome guards. So, it's better if we meet at the main entrance of the palace...." Alec hesitated. "Despite the risk of getting slaughtered by the guards."
"No, you guys are not taking that risk, Alec. We're meeting in the lobby, and that's it. I'll be right there."
"Fine. I'll let Dash know, but he won't like that idea."
Alec shut off his mic. Alec had a short temper and liked it when others followed his example, even when he didn't have the best ideas. Alec wanted to speak out his opinions and thoughts for others to listen. Dash and I don't mind him much, primarily because with time, it becomes a habit of listening to him rant about how he thinks deforestation was an event meant to be. I smiled. I loved that about Alec. He could be so random and imposing, but deep down, he was full of lovely ideas and meaningful thoughts.
Metal swords clanging against one another tore me away from my thoughts. The light at the end of the tunnel was now a canopy of rainbow colours. I stepped out of the dark pathway as a soft breeze swept my face to the side. I withdrew my hair between my lips and observed the space I had just hopped into.
The place looked like a hall where multiple paintings of the royal family stood on the walls: the king Eric, the queen Eves and her four children. The eldest was an heir to the throne. All the town knew that. However, something seemed off with the portrait. As I slowly peeled the painting from the young boy's face, the image of a woman with delicate and youthful features was discoverable.
I observed the painting closer and noticed that the hair of the young prince was straitly sitting on the top of his head, compared to its natural bump in the previous pictures. So I looked closely at the other images until I found the answer. Beneath my fingers, the old painting lifted, allowing me to peel it up.
What I saw left me as pale as chalk.
Around twenty men in armour were fighting from the other side of the hall. They hadn't seen me come in, so I crept low, hoping the men would not notice me. I thought I'd be stuck here for a while, having to lay down beneath the flower pots until the number of men diminished, but instead, I distinguished Dash's black uniform among the fighting men, his sword defensively pointed out in front of him.
Three guards charged at him all at once, with angry looks on their faces. I could hear their swords slashing the air around them and metal clinging and scraping against metal. From behind him, Dash tackled the big guard with his foot, who fell hard on the floor. one guard was left standing, the buffest.
The guard tied his mud-brown hair in a bun at the crook of his neck. He seemed to blow steam out his nostrils, as a bull would. This man seemed to be fighting to kill, unlike any other guards Dash had faced. He held his sword by his abdomen and uttered.
"Guards in the West wing. We've got some intruders in the castle."
Shit. The guard alerted the rest of the castle. It would only be a matter of seconds before the others would arrive. And, we'd have no chance of escaping.
"You asshole." Dash attacked the guard swiftly. He got a hold of one of his daggers from the belt of weapons tied across his abdomen and threw it towards the guard. The dagger fell behind him with a light clink. However, nothing happened. The guard chuckled, clicking his tongue at his opponent.
"Boy, can't even aim properly." He ran his tongue over his teeth.
Dashiell revealed his sword and adopted a confident stance.
"Let's get this over with."
That's when I knew Dashiell had noticed my presence in the room. Somehow, he'd always manage to sense the company of others, as if he had a built-in sensor implanted in his brain.
Without hesitation, I leaped out of the bushy flowers and stretched out my bow with a roaring arrow ready to fire. The guard slowly turned and looked at me as my heels emitted a subtle echo against the marble floor after my leap. Instead of aiming at him, I quickly aimed at the daggers lying stationarily at the man's feet.
Time seemed to stop for a brief instant. I closed my eyes slowly.
Inhale, exhale, I said to myself.
I let go of the arrow, flying with a soft hiss towards the fellow. At the slightest contact with the blade, the minuscule mechanism went off with a loud cry.
