Sentiment of a Witness

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚒𝚡, 𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

We ran and we ran, as fast as we could. I wasn't sure if we were going to make it. I steal a glance over my shoulder. Our pursuers were hot on our tails, nearly close enough to grab Benjamin's satchel. As I turn my gaze back ahead, I saw that the tunnel splits into four, and an idea suddenly hit me. There were four of us... but also four of them. It was risky, but it was all we had.

"Split!" I yelled over my shoulder, hoping that the others would get it.

They did.

We each ran into a tunnel, each with one of the men still following behind.

After what felt like hours of running, I saw a piercing white light at the end of the tunnel. I held up a hand to shade my eyes and, with no hesitation, ran through it, to the other side... only to find myself falling in a mass of darkness.

Chapter 24

The Rising Fall

When I landed, I found myself surrounded by a-

"Breakfast is ready!" a voice came from downstairs, dragging me out of my book.

Most five-and-three-quarters-year-olds don't read books... particularly long novels. But then again, I wasn't exactly a normal five-and-three-quarters-year-old – when you lived in a family such as mine, barely anything is exactly 'normal'. My parents were a part of a 'rich peoples club' called The Sophisticated Upper-Class of the Nevermoorian Rights Party, and they had intended for me to follow in their footsteps. To achieve greatness. And I wanted nothing more than to do so and make them proud. Back then, I wanted to be the perfect son that everyone expected me to be.

I descended the stairs of our many-storied house, trying my best not to fall – I was relatively small for my age and living in such a big house wasn't exactly ideal -, and made my way to the dining room.

"Good morning, Mum!" I said as I clambered onto my chair.

"Morning, Sweetie. Did you sleep well?"

My mother was a lovely woman. Average height, deep light brown skin, waist-length, dark chocolate curls cascading down her back. But it was her eyes that I remember most. They were the only physical trait I had inherited from her. They were roundish-almond shaped with cognac-amber brown irises.

"Yeah," I replied as she placed a plate of pancakes down in front of me, kissing the top of my head.

She sat down next to me after setting down her and my father's plates. My dad was nearly always last down for meals, usually due to work – he was either up or out late, which meant he slept-in in the morning, or was preoccupied with it during the morning. It was a rare occasion that he would be home all day. Back then, I didn't mind – I knew he had loved me. Besides, we always did family things on the weekends.

We waited a few minutes for him to come down. Once he did, he gave my mum a quick kiss and petted my head before sitting down across from me.

We ate in a comfortable silence until our maid, Alicea, came in with the mail. As usual, there were at least three letters for my parents from The Sophisticated Upper-Class of the Nevermoorian Rights Party. My father read them first then handed them to my mother. After they had read the third letter, they glanced at each other and then at me. I got the message and left them to discuss whatever business they had. Besides, I needed to find out what was happening in that book!

Around an hour and a half later, my parents came into my room to find me.

"John, we need to talk about something," my father said, looking down at me.

I remember thinking, oh no... what have I done this time? But my mother smiled at me and said, "you're not in trouble, Love. We just want to talk about something coming up in a few months, on your birthday."

I looked at them, quizzically. What in the Seven Pockets would be happening on my birthday? Would my parents be away for it?

"There is a protest happening on your birthday this year. Your mother and I must join in as it is for The Sophisticated Upper-Class of the Nevermoorian Rights Party," my father explained, "and," he looked at my mother, "we think it's time for you to see what happens at a protest, Son."

"..okay? What's the protest for?"

"Well, Arjuna, there's a particular knack that... well," my mother started, looking at the ground, "they see things. Things that we can't, but it's things about us. They are nosy people who mess around in other people's business. We call them Witnesses."

"And our protest is for the future of the Free State. We are trying to get the Witnesses to either give up their knacks or go live in isolation. It will be better for everyone."

That was the day I first began to question my parents' intentions. They had always taught me not to discriminate, no matter what a person might look like, sound like, act like or, especially, no matter their knack. So why should Witnesses be any different?

Written - 24 April, 2021

Published - 25 April, 2021