The Opposite

Chapter 26

PC; weheartit // unknown

1:14 AM

Focusing my attention on the chronograph hovering on a single imperceptible string, the coordinated hands self-evidently indicated the current hour and minute accurately. Although the accentuated ticking noise of the second-hand was alleged to be faint and consoling, it seemed to be the polar opposite, producing a ringing disharmonious noise to reverberate into my sensitive eardrums.

Chewing on my tasteless bottom lip, I lowered my eyes to scrutinise my profile, the thin fabric itching against my bare skin. The long-sleeved tunic shared the same pigments as a filthy sheep, with patches of grey cloth sewn on clumsily to repair rips and tears. But what ensnared my blue-grey eyes to stare at was the flashing emerald light against my ankle.

Lifting the tunic up to analyse the mechanical device, it unveiled an anklet-like gadget with a single beam of luminescence glowing repetitively. It was uncomfortably tight, restricting any movement to be performed on my ankle.

The blinking rapidly increased in momentum, as a series of fragile footsteps approached me. It was as if it was invented to detect whether a human was physically present or simply a twisted hologram to draw you into a traumatising ambush. Either way, it was scintillating at the intruder, and that was bound to have a hidden meaning.

I was completely unaware of how I ended up in an enclosed chamber of nothing but the pounding intolerable ticking of the clock, which its existence was obviously causing me to fall deeper into an illusion seeming as though it was floating in the atmosphere as if the world was lacking gravity.

"Ebony? Is that you?"

I elevated my eyes to confront the unidentified deep voice with a face. I instantaneously felt light-headed the very second our eyes locked in position for the first time in three years. I began drowning in a pool of his sapphire blue eyes, as I examined his towering physique.

He was cleanly shaven - the way I had spent a few minutes persuading him into doing. Although his inky black hair was thrown backwards in a carefree disordered matter, it still managed to look soft to the touch. But there was something about his solemn expression that seemed abnormal. Something was definitely wrong.

"It is, Daddy."

Instead of standing with open arms, preparing to lift me in the air whilst we reunited, he released his pair of dark wings as if he were an angel in disguise. To be frank, I was quite jealous of that fact that he possessed a device of flight, whereas I remained draped in rags, staring with disbelief written all over my face.

"Come with me. To Melbourne where we can both pursuit our dreams of dance. We can leave all this rubbish behind us, and start fresh. Together."

He was lacking something in his suggestion, as I racked up my brain for the answer. Of course! He neglected the sense of visual love and reason, which made me over-think the situation. It was all hard to believe. My father would never possess a pair of dark wings, and he would never force me into following in his footsteps.

"You know that Cat is probably making love to that Steve bloke, and you know that Connor is developing feelings for Ivory Dixon. And yes, I know about Connor Anderson's whereabouts in the Gold Coast, and your upcoming dance competition with him."

A familiar salty substance formed against the brim of my eyes, fogging my vision of my father. This was not him. He would never discourage anyone - especially his beloved wife or someone he knew I genuinely liked as a trusted friend.