The Spell in the Storm

1

I hate life. So fucking much.

I haven't slept since the incident. All the doctors and teachers and nurses and everyone has told me to. But I can't.

Because every time I close my eyes, I see them.

I don't want to see them. Not like that.

So, it's with bleary eyes and a broken heart that I walk into school on Monday. People stare and make way for me as I pass by. I can hear their whispers in my ears, feel their sympathy and contempt against my skin, see their barely concealed horror and slight excitement.

It all makes me sick.

So does the voice in my head whispering that these people don't even know the full story. I tell that voice to shut the hell up.

I sit down in my first class and try not to wince at the pain throbbing through my back. I slowly get out my stuff as the rest of the class trickles in. All of them quiet down as they pass me to get to their seats. I ignore them as I flip through my notebook to the last place my notes are.

I hear a thump, then feel a hand on my arm. I glance over to see Casey staring at me, his brown eyes full of concern.

"What happened, Jasira? Rumors are running wild already," my best friend says. I shake my head and look back to my notebook. I don't want to talk about it, because the memory is already too close to the surface for my liking.

Tell him, the voice in my mind whispers. I tell it to fuck off. It will help, it replies, infuriatingly calm. I don't give a fuck! I shout at it. The male voice makes a "hm" sound, but doesn't speak again.

Thank fucking God.

"Jasira, tell me. I'm your best friend. Please," Casey begs, pleading with his puppy dog eyes. I glance at him, but all I can see is Jackson's eyes widening as the bullet rips through his chest.

I flinch back, away from the memory. The gunshot rumbles through my mind, my body, shaking my eardrums. I feel a pulse of energy pass through my fingertips. Casey curses and pulls his hand off my arm.

The teacher walks in, says, "Mr. Riles, language!" The class laughs, but Casey is looking at his hand. I glance over, and see the strangest thing: frost. All across the area where Casey's hand was on my arm. His palm, fingers, the webbing between them. Covered in crystalline water, slowly melting, leaving red beneath it.

My friend meets my eyes, his eyes wide in fear and shock and confusion. I quickly look away, and curse to myself. The voice speaks up, saying, Anger and pain makes the power explode. You need to learn to control your emotions, and thus the power.

I don't tell it to shut up this time. I can feel myself breaking around the seams, splitting open on the inside. I'm caving in, tumbling down to that dark place where the incident lurks.

I can't go there, I wildly think. The voice speaks again, saying, Listen to me, Jasira. Just listen. Think of the ocean. The waves hitting the shore. The sand being wiped clean again and again and again. Think of the sound of the water. The roar of storms on the sea. How lightning flashing against the water looks beautiful. How when the clouds cover the sky, both look like a gray-blue-black blur that you wish you could paint. How the wet sand feels between your toes as you run towards the cliffs, climbing them to the top, to watch the storm settle over the water.

I listen to the voice and imagine it. I don't know how it knows my favorite thing: storms in the ocean. I love the chaos, the water against water, the way the lightning lights up the sky. My brothers and I used to go all the time, though our parents warned against it. But we were all wild and crazy. We wanted to see the world reflect us.