A Small Black World
I stood hesitantly before him, trying to ignore the frantic whispers of my friends and my curious classmates behind me, trying to be brave, for once. I could almost taste the bile resting like a beast in my throat.
Why was I here? He looked at me then, lifting his rarely seen face up from his arms to stare at me. I almost felt like laughing when I actually saw him. He had light blue eyes, which many of us had admired more than once; from afar. However, they blinked a bit stupidly in the light of the classroom right then,, and the fact that “stupid” could have been applied to this boy at all was hilariously funny. I stood silent for a few abnormal beats, trying to control my sudden amusement. The whisperings filled the air of our stale math room. I concentrated on them, on the now, so that I wouldn't lose control and burst out into laughter. Although I had only a few short minutes before class started, I concentrated on him as well before daring to broach into conversation. It was a rare opportunity after all. I thought back to all I knew of this boy, and if his appearance truly justified the rumors. He always sat in the back by the window, in a way that screamed “gloomy teenager”, and his heavy black hair and lanky frame just contributed to it all the more. That also amused me, ultimately not helping my situation. Trying to reign in my thoughts, I calculatingly reasoned that at least his closet did not consist solely of black clothes; which was a plus. I finally spoke. “Um, John?” I said, like he wasn't already looking at me. He didn't return to his endless slumber at my words, which was another plus. “C-can I talk to you outside for a little bit?” He stared blankly at my request, and I really could not blame him. Miraculously, he only hesitated a few seconds before answering with a casual, “Sure.” I had to struggle not to smile as his chair scraped noisily back, causing a sudden silence to fall like an anvil in the classroom. I walked out confidently, as if I couldn't feel the shocked stares of 38 eyeballs following us like hawks. It felt weird, having John Black part of that “us”. Once we found ourselves in the field of lockers, I turned around. I saw he looked a bit wary in that small moment it took for us to face each other. He quickly hid it, but it was almost a relief to see that a person existed behind his haze of gloomy aloofness. “So, what did you want to talk about?” he said, crossing his arms – the perennial sign for “back off”. Undaunted, I pushed forward in a rush. “I'm not sure how to ask this, and this might sound a bit odd, or weird, or both, so I'm just going to say it, or ask it, rather.” Taking a mental deep breath, so that my next words came out steady, I finally asked him. “Are you a Tracker?” His eyes looked amused at the question. I knew his answer before he spoke it, but in the second between my questioning and his answering, I couldn't help but hope, hope, hope. “No,” he said confidently, and I felt like dropping to the floor. Why? I thought, why... Nothing ever works out for me. “Are you sure?” I had to ask just as he said, “Why?” He gave me a look. “Gee, I don't know,” he said, mercilessly answering my idiotic question, “But you obviously think I am, so I guess I must be.” I glared at his attitude. I was a little more than upset that the conversation I had envisioned was now nothing more than shattered pieces pounded into dust, and he was definitely not helping. “I just-” I started, embarrassed and annoyed, “You're not lying, right?” He laughed, actually laughed, and said, “Really? That's the best you can do?” I gaped. I could not believe this. Tall, dark, and handsome had turned out to be tall, dark, and douchebag. “Just answer the question,” I said icily. “How about you answer my question first,” he countered, completely ignoring my rapidly budding dislike for him. “What made you want to talk to a Tracker so bad that you'd talk to me?” “Unless you actually are a Tracker, it's none of your business,” I shot back, wishing I could disappear. It would be beyond perfect if he actually was one though, I thought bitterly, and I knew it wouldn't be for the first time. If he wasn't one, then who was? Was there even one in the school? Thinking this, I resolved to ask anyone and everyone. I didn't have a choice. Staring at John Black, I thought gloomily that, before I went out on my second attempt, I definitely needed to improve my interrogating techniques. “Okay,” he said, pulling me out of my musings. “You caught me. I am a Tracker. So can you please tell me?” “Really?!” I couldn't help but blurt out. For a millisecond, I believed him. I did. I really couldn't help it, though. I was so desperate; desperate enough to place my faith in an asshat of a stranger. However, it was only for a millisecond, and then reason caught up with me. Along with a flashing wave of utmost embarrassment. He looked a bit awkward at my outburst, and I felt like a complete idiot for about the tenth time so far. “Yup,” he said casually, brushing it off. “So you'll tell me, right?” |
Of course, I immediately noticed her: it's my job. She had a little nose, wide brown eyes, a small face, small mouth, and messy brown hair. Nya Smalls. How fitting. She stood literally trembling, right in front of me. I looked up lazily. Truth was, she annoyed me. I had no idea why anyone would suddenly approach me, and the not knowing was a serious anomaly in the normal working of things. I mean, what the hell? Of course, she peaked my interest at the same time, but that also annoyed me. I wasn't supposed to be interested. Not in humans. I suppose I'm now obligated to tell you that I'm not human. I'm not that different from humans, really; I just live ten times longer. I can't even say I'm from a different dimension, since I'm a bona fide second generation “alien” race, or Luyrian American. I had been passing off as 14 then, which I had been doing for about six years before I first talked to Nya. Six years as a freshman. Tell me you sympathize. It had actually been the third time I'd been assigned to an American high school. It annoyed me to no end. I mean, it wasn't as if I couldn't speak other languages, or that I was incapable of taking on greater tasks. I had before hadn't I? They had been babying me ever since him. There was no time to think about it, anyway. Nya started talking. She said she wanted to talk to me, which was pretty much a waste of breath. I mean, no kidding. But as for talking outside, those words flashed DANGER, DANGER. Could she really be one of them, though? I thought, studying her for any of the tell-tale signs. As far as I knew, Nya Smalls was completely ordinary. Her boyfriend had been severely injured in a car accident last week, but that had been the only change of pace in her life for the past month. I periodically checked up on everyone in my school, and really Nya Smalls was the smallest blip on my radar. I made a split-second field decision as I stared at her trembling hands and her bambi eyes. “Sure,” I said. She stiffened, as if she hadn't expected me to agree in a million years. I secretly smirked, but made sure to keep my face blank as we walked out of the classroom. In the few minutes it took for us to reach a deserted hallway, I wondered again if she could be one. You know, a lost one. Okay, maybe you don't know. First off, there are these things we call demons, and they're parasites from another dimension. They can morph to look like humans, or even plants if they wanted to, which is, of course, problematic. They can live for a few years like that, but only with a periodic supply of human meat. Which is even more problematic. But the most problematic of all is that they can live ten times longer, and with much less hassle, if they take over a human body. As a Lyran, I have practically the same type of body as humans, so I, along with the rest of my race, have shared the title of Class A meat with them ever since their existence. Except, our ridiculously long lives also give demons longer lives, so I guess we'd be considered Class A+ meat. Demons have other prey too, since intelligent organisms tend to be made of the same stuff even across dimensions, but they tend to cluster around Lyra and Earth the most. Of course, we have a secret organization whose sole mission in life is to root out and kill demons. Humans call them Trackers. We also have a secret organization that is actually secret whose sole reason for existence is to root out the lost and kill them. The “lost” are what we call humans who've been taken over, or consumed. They're harder to pick out, since they had actually once been human, but like I said, they have their tell-tale signs just like the rest of them. As you could probably tell, I'm part of the actually secret group. We jokingly call ourselves the Dark Trackers, but it's kind of fitting. We're basically the underbelly of the Tracker organization, since every organization needs one, I guess. So, when Nya finally asked me her question, I answered her with a lazy (but truthful), “No.” Her face fell, almost comically. “Why?” I asked, forgetting to think for once. Her reaction was too interesting. Unfortunately, she asked me a stupid question at the same time, which threw me off guard long enough for her to learn to hate me. I really shouldn't have been continuing the conversation, but I justified my curiosity in thinking that if anything smelled even remotely of demon business in the school right then, it was the girl standing in front of me. “Okay,” I said, throwing caution to the winds, “You caught me. I am a Tracker. So can you please tell me?” “Really?” she said, her eyes lighting up like flashlights. I – what? Don't tell me she believed it. That's the last time I throw caution to the winds. Inwardly, I cringed, since I really hadn't meant to be that much of an asshat. It was just a default response to humans, I suppose. It was easier than killing a friend-turned-demon, trying to block out his laughter mixed with yours as you riddled him with bullets. Right? |