The Normals | ✓

T W O

I don't remember much after seeing the boy on the train. I think I passed out again for some amount of time. When I woke up, I was in a completely different place. A blanket -- my blanket? -- had been put over me but the air was still cold. I didn't know where I was nor how I got there, but my first impulse was to spring to my feet. I was just about to do so when I heard the quietest movement from behind me, and froze.

And I'm still here, frozen. Have been for the past two minutes.

I can't decide whether I should just turn around and face whoever or whatever it is, or wait until it leaves. I don't want to wait, though. I want to get my bearings and be out of here as soon as possible. I could be in some sort of containment facility, or maybe even a prison.

I glance around as much as I can without turning my head. There's a window in the wall not far above my head, holding various pieces of stationery. I can probably touch it with my arm. Apart from that, I can't see much. I think there's some other light source in the room apart from the window, but it must be behind me.

Strangely, I don't feel bad. In fact, I feel like I've just woken up from a week-long nap. My shoulder and leg hurt a little, but it's more of a faint ache. Maybe it's something in the air making me feel so subdued, or the calming sounds of people going about their life outside.

Wait. People?

I sit straight up and then freeze, remembering there's something in the room with me. But nothing happens, so I grab the windowsill and pull a pair of scissors off of it before glancing behind me to see if anyone's there.

For a moment, I think something's wrong with my vision. The entire room has no colour. The walls are grey, as well as the chairs, the door, the picture hung up on the wall. But no, I can still see colour because there's a person, colourful as ever. He's sitting in one of the chairs, flipping through a book. My stomach leaps into my throat as I realize that I don't know where I am or who this boy is, so as quietly as I can, I crawl to the edge of the bed and hold the scissors at his neck.

"Who are you?" I ask, hoping that I still sound menacing even in my tired state.

He jumps and nearly drops the book. I don't flinch, but my heart is beating twice its usual speed. I want answers, and if they require me to hurt this guy, I will do so without remorse.

I don't think he was expecting me to wake up so soon, and he looks scared of me. Slowly, he puts the book down on the table in front of him and holds his hands up. "Put the scissors down and I'll explain."

My glance goes to the book on the table and I feel my chest contract. Sitting there is Sniper's sketchbook, looking just the same as when he would take it out during the quiet hours in the forest and sketch whatever was in front of us. The scissors fall out of my hand and I have to sit back on the bed and put my head between my knees to avoid breaking down.

The boy leans forward in the chair, kicking the pair of scissors across the floor away from me. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay to you?" I choke out, trying not to drown in the waves of sadness, anger, guilt, remorse, and just general bad feelings that wash over me. The boy gives me a few minutes to calm down, sitting back in his chair and studying me while I try not to cry in front of him.

After some time, I've managed to control my emotions and I look up at him properly, trying as best as I can to put on a mean face. Despite my efforts, it doesn't work, and when he gives me an encouraging smile I almost crumble again.

"Can we try this again?" he asks. "I don't have anywhere to be, but I'd rather not spend the rest of my evening trying to decipher you if you can just tell me who you are."

I sniff and wipe my nose. "Wait. If you don't know who I am then why did you kidnap me?"

He laughs. "Kidnap you? Please. When I found you, you were barely conscious and sitting in a cold metal compartment with blood smeared on the ground. You should be thankful that I didn't immediately bring you to the authorities or something!"

"If you didn't kidnap me, then why am I here and who are you?"

"My name is Arden. You're here because I felt bad for you and wanted to help."

"I don't need your help," I scoff. "Besides, you strike me as the goody-two-shoes type and you'll probably hand me over to the Masks as soon as you get whatever information you're looking for. Where's the exit?"

He makes an exaggerated sad face. "Aw, you hurt my feelings."

"Fine. If you won't tell me where the door is, I'll just go find it on my own." I touch my feet to the floor again and put my weight on them. My injured leg buckles under my weight and a searing pain shoots up it, but I bite back my yell and try to walk as normally as I can toward the room's exit.

Arden watches me as I hobble toward the door. "You're hurt."

"No shit."

"You know there's a city outside? With people who don't look like you? They'll stare. Some of them have power and could arrest you or something."

I turn, leaning against the door frame. "What do you mean, a city? Where am I?"

"You really don't know?" he sounds as if he's talking to a child who knows nothing. I decide I don't like this boy.

I roll my eyes. "No, I don't. Now tell me where I am or I'll find those scissors again."

"I'd be surprised if you could even get two more steps on that leg of yours," he replies. Irritated, I push off the door frame and start limping toward the scissors on the floor again when he emits a laugh that sounds slightly scared of me, and holds a hand out in my way. "Wait, wait. I'll explain everything. Just... just sit down."

I do, scooping up the scissors on my way.

"And let go of the scissors."

I drop them, scowling at him.

He sighs and slouches into the chair. "I don't really know how else to explain this, but that train you were on brought you to the place I call home. And this room you're in is one of the rooms in my house. And out there--" he points to the window above my head-- "Out there is a city. My city."