Auras

Auras

Created February 18th 2021-April 8th 2021

By Gwendolyn Gilmer

PROLOGUE

"Sigmund Freud once said that the goal of all life is death." I paused from getting into the now-empty hearse, looking from the black-gloved hand gripping my arm, to the woman who'd spoken the depressing words. She wore a frumpy hat with white feathers and small red balls reminding me of cranberries. I tore my eyes away from the feathery concoction and stared at her. Like a typical adult speaking to a teenager, she most likely thought her words profound—a small, passed-on piece of wisdom to make me feel less miserable about suddenly becoming an orphan. "What are you saying?" I asked, wiping my wet, snow-colored hair away from my cheek. Rain at a funeral meant something, but I couldn't remember what. The woman tilted her head and gave me a sympathetic smile as if my simple brain couldn't reason. In actuality, I knew full well what Freud meant, but I simply thought it was a stupid comment. Why would life's goal be death? Unless life was on Prozac and lying in bed all day watching the Soap Network, I highly doubted life's goal included death. Anyone living life shouldn't be concerned with death at all. My mother had taught me that. Sure her life ended tragically, just like my father's, but all those who knew her, knew that dying was the last thing on her mind. Maybe that was the problem—and the problem with my father, too. The woman began speaking again, no doubt explaining the rationale behind the lame quote, but I wasn't listening. I wasn't even staring at her cranberry hat anymore. I looked beyond it, back where my father lay stuffed in a casket. Only my Uncle Jake remained, staring into my dad's grave. He would be like the rest of my family and wouldn't avoid death if it came for him. But I would. I made up my mind right then and there, while fruit-head rattled on about the necessity of death. Death would never claim me. I would blend in with society, and not try to stand out as others of my kind always did. Inevitably, that is always what got them killed. Even my mother, who insisted she was safe, died in spite of the fierce, almost obsessive protection of my father. She could've lived a lot longer if she hadn't been so boisterous and colorful. Of course, that is why everyone loved her. She brought joy to their normally depressed lives. This, she told me, is the Aura's purpose: to use our gift to comfort the heavy hearted and provide light to those who are lost. At the time she told me this, it sounded as wonderful as pink lemonade and cotton candy in summer, but now the thought of being someone's raggedy Kleenex was unbearable. I ignored the lecturing woman and jumped into the front seat of the hearse, shutting the door behind me. The driver asked, "Did you want to wait for your uncle, Llona?" "No, he'll come when he's ready. Please just take me home." As we pulled away from the cemetery, I didn't look back. My mind was on the future and on my survival.

CHAPTER 1

"Every living thing will fight for its place on earth," Mr. Yazzie, my science teacher, said. He stood in front of the class, chalk dust smeared on the front of his blue polo shirt. The blackboard behind him contrasted with the yellow walls, but his polyester pants matched the mustard color perfectly. I leaned forward, chewing on my pen while he continued. "But if their environment changes and they don't learn to adapt, then they will inevitably die. Nothing can save them." I lowered my gaze to the desk, wondering if I'd done enough to adapt. I hoped so because I was sick of moving. Since my father's funeral five years ago, my Uncle Jake and I had moved four times, finally settling in Wildemoor. I liked Wildemoor. It had a rural feeling to it and lots of tall, mountainous trees, but at the same time had all the amenities of a big city. I couldn't complain about the weather, either. Wildemoor wasn't as cold as Coast City. Gratefully, I only had to endure the cold of Coast City for a few months before I decided it was time to move again. A bell sounded, interrupting my biology teacher just as he was about to reveal who he thought would win in a cage fight—protozoa or flagella. His face fell when students jumped up and rushed to the door. "Don't forget about the assembly," he called after them. I let the classroom empty before I stood to relieve my stiff joints. Because of my delay, I caught Mr. Yazzie contorting his body into what looked like a dance position—elbows bent, hands outstretched. He shuffled his feet a few times before he finally thrust his hips forward and left the room. I felt confident he wouldn't have done such an uncharacteristic move if he had realized I was still in the room, but alas, I often went unnoticed. Being invisible is, after all, my priority. I gathered my books and followed Mr. Yazzie out the door. He didn't attempt the awkward jig again, but I had to wonder what caused this sudden break of character. Perhaps he had a hot date tonight, a lady friend he had met on the Internet. Walking in front of me, Mr. Yazzie reached behind his back and tugged at invisible material stuck deep inside his butt crack. Okay, so maybe not a hot date. Maybe it was the season premiere of some new sci-fi series involving flagella and protozoa battling one another to the death. This theory made much more sense. I veered to the left and down a long hallway to my locker, where I dropped off my books. I considered skipping the morning assembly. It was just a mini pep rally put on by the principal to get us excited for the new school year. Behind me, other seniors had the same idea, but they bravely acted upon their desire and disappeared out a nearby door. I decided not to follow in case someone saw me. I might be considered "cool" if caught and thereby labeled. I was comfortable with my current label of "weird-girl" or "who?", and I didn't want that to change. I followed the sounds of noisy students down the hall and toward the gym. Highland High was like every other school I'd been to: light tan brick exterior, white interior walls, and short-weave blue-speckled carpet. The schools even smelled the same: sweat and chemicals, masked occasionally by a squirt of fruity perfume. I moved into the gym and was about to cross to the other side when I heard, "Llona! Up here!" May was sitting at the top of the bleachers holding a bag of chips. Today she sat with the stoners. Even though I knew she didn't get high, she blended in with them well. She wore a baggy, black sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. Her dark, shoulder-length black hair may have been combed earlier, but now looked a mess. Her whole appearance looked unnatural, masking her true beauty. I maneuvered my way up to her, careful to avoid stepping on anyone. About halfway, two freshman guys began wrestling. One of them bumped into me and knocked me off balance. Afraid to reach out, I fell forward toward a girl with red hair. She had a metal clip of a grasshopper or a dragonfly—I couldn't be sure—sticking out of her hair. I closed my eyes and waited to feel the bug's sting when arms encircled my waist and pulled me back up. The grip was strong, the motion skilled. I sucked in a breath and turned to thank my hero, but when I looked into his eyes, I couldn't speak. They were the color of the sky after a spring thunderstorm and were filled with as much calm. "It's Llona, right?" the boy asked, smiling. I flinched when he said my name. How did he know it? As far as I knew only one person knew my name—May. I immediately prickled, brought up walls with mental ten-inch spikes. "How do you know my name?" He frowned, legit lines creasing his forehead. "Doesn't everyone?" I searched his blue eyes, wondering what he meant. His tone wasn't insulting and yet, how else would he and others know my name unless word spread of how strange I was? It couldn't have been anything else. I wasn't popular, that much I was certain. I gurgled something unintelligible, making his frown deepen. The expression looked wrong on him, unlike his smile. I wished I could've told him so, but I suddenly became aware of his hands still touching my waist. The heat from his touch burned into me, made my heart pound in ways it never had before. "Hey, Llona! You coming up here or what?" May barked from above. I looked past my hero. Behind him, May stood, hands on hips. "Gotta go." I slid past him and took the next step up the bleachers, barely finding room for my big foot between two students. Finally, I sat next to May, my head down. I didn't dare look up for fear of meeting the strange boy's eyes again. "What was that all about?" May asked. "I almost fell. That guy saved me." "Who is he?" "Is he looking?" "He's way good looking." I elbowed her. "Is he looking at me?" "Um . . . nope. Who is he?" "I don't know." "Give me to the end of the day. I'll find out everything there is to know about him." May sucked a chip into her mouth. I risked a glance upward. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he turned and stared at me with those intense blue eyes. Knowledge lurked beyond those glossy orbs, the kind that frightened me. A cold chill walked its way up my spine and exploded on my arms in the form of goosebumps. May noticed. "You good?" I averted my gaze and rubbed at my arms. "Cold is all." From the center of the gym floor, the principal, Mr. Wilcox, bellowed into a microphone. "Welcome students. Thank you for coming to this exciting assembly this morning. We have a great program today and a wonderful speaker who will share her valuable experiences with us." He pulled up his pants—his signature move. He had an oddly large belly resting on top of exceptionally small legs. This odd combination must've made wearing pants extremely difficult. Mr. Wilcox opened his mouth to speak again, but a sound to his left distracted him. On the far end of the bleachers, two boys argued, their voices growing louder with each passing second. A few teachers hurried over to break it up, but before they could, the taller of the two boys shoved the other into a group of nearby students. One of them shoved back, and soon everyone was pushing and fighting. May stood, taking me with her. "Sweet. A fight. We should totally join." Teachers swarmed the area to take control of the situation, but because of all the students, they couldn't get up the bleachers. All they could do was yell, which was as effective as a soccer coach for three-year-old's. The mayhem slowly spread across the gym, and fights broke out everywhere. May moved to join a nearby one, a grin splitting her face, but I held her back. "Don't go. You know what might happen if you do." Her expression fell, and she slumped back into her seat, realizing I was right. And I hated that for her, but her secret had to be protected. From the corner of my eye, I saw a girl get punched in the face. She screamed as blood spurted from her nose. I covered my mouth with my hand, my heart thundering within my chest. More people were getting hurt. I glanced up at the wide, circular fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. I could end this fight, but should I? A teacher fell to the ground and cried for help. More shouting, more crying. There was only one way to end this brawl quickly and safely. Staring at the lights, I concentrated hard. It was a lot to manipulate, but I felt confident I could do it. Turning lights on and off was the only part of my abilities I could reliably control. Lame, I know. My vision burrowed into the light above us until my consciousness connected to it. That's when I felt the burning inside me, rising from the shadows of the deepest part of my mind. It coated my muscles and bones, raced through my blood in a fevered heat. The First Magic, a power I barely understood. Sweat broke on my forehead, and my jaw clamped shut as I tried to control the Light. Turn off. Turn off. Turn off. My insides rattled making my bones aches. So much power. I gave one final mental push. Turn off! A burst of energy exploded from me like juice squeezed from a lemon. Then there was darkness.