Brave Fear (boyxboy)

Chapter 23

After a set of brief orders from Mallory, she darted off down a dark side street, and Zane couldn't help but picture her in ragged clothes, making off with some rich person's wallet. He felt a rush of feeling rise up, blunt emotions forcing a single tear from his eye. He turned away from her swinging ponytail and walked back out onto the now-empty street.

He righted his stride, a sudden rush of memory flashing across his eyelids. He flinched away at the vividness of it.

He was twelve, wearing a too-big suit newly given to him, standing on the slippery polished floor of his old home. His mother and father stood at his sides, disinterestedness painted across their faces. He was their requirement, their negotiation with the governors. They'd never appreciated him or praised him, only critiqued and reprimanded.

All this flew through Zane's brain in a matter of milliseconds. He shook his head, but it would not clear. It only persisted viciously, demanding his full attention.

His parents were looking at him with stern gazes, and they appeared to be saying something, but it was as if Zane was floating formless in his cloud of particles, absorbing everything about the memory; the perfectly folded blanket over the back of the sofa, the blemish-less wood floor. The lovely stained glass over the window, casting rainbow shadows over anything and everything.

He saw his younger self, a stripe of blue light thrown over his face. His hair was regulation length, swept to the side, not a strand astray. His bright green eyes were hesitant, watching the cuffs of the pants curve around his ankles and rest on the floor. His arms were hanging at his sides, his younger self unsure what to do with the awkward appendages.

With a sudden and obtuse popping noise, sound ripped through the memory, revealing a whole new dimension of his thoughts he never knew was accessible. He tried to close his eyes, but, although he felt the sensation of his eyes closing, he still saw the memory. It was inside his mind: it wasn't something he could choose not to see.

Young Zane took a halting step forward, his heel brushing the floor, creating an ominous scraping noise. He winced and tensed, as if expecting a hit. Zane himself winced as if he were reliving the event instead of just watching it.

His parents' mouths were grim lines of displeasure. His father pursed his lips and pushed his hands into his pockets. Zane's mother stepped forward, grabbing him by the upper arm. She leaned down. "Never scrape your foot along the ground," she whispered hoarsely. "You'll be looked down upon. Lift your feet, Zane. "Fit in. Don't stand out. Be one with everybody and everything. You'll never be disappointed that way."

Zane snapped from the memory and found his physical body stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

The rush of remembrance had been completely unexpected. Why would his brain choose now to relive moments from his past? He hadn't remembered a single thing until then. Where had the memory came from? Why had it surfaced only then? These were questions Zane could not yet answer, for he did not yet have explanations for either.

He threw the concerns over his shoulder (his left shoulder, thank you Marcus) and strode off down the side of the street, ignoring the cameras glaring down at him with their beady red eyes.

Despite the prejudice he obtained against the memory, he found his feet lifting higher than usual, obeying the words he'd heard his mother speak. He cursed himself for retaining this shred of his former obedience, and he made a point from then on to scrape his heels against the stone, grating his stolen shoes and creating shrieking noises that echoed off the metal all around him.

He continued walking, never slowing as the crowds thickened and he became a part of the entity again, blending into New Vancouver without plausible distinction. He kept his head levelled and his eyes straight forward. He needed only to wait for Mallory's signal.