vengeful youths [ongoing]

VIII ; Sprout's Lament

Written on February 1, 2022

VIII ; Sprout's Lament

The mechanical boom of the underground station pounded through my ears as I approached it. I could feel small rocks in my pink tennis sneakers, tickling my feet as I walked on the grainy pathway. My stomach rumbled, making me instinctively grab for my plantain chips, but no. 

Not yet, Vanilla.

I realized that I must keep my provisions untouched, in fear that there would be no munches on the godforsaken train ride. I knew not how long and treacherous the terrain to the safe-house would be, only that my parents had trusted in its curators. 

Ma, I trust you, I really do, but where am I going? 

Begotten questions filled my train of thought, being my only accompaniment to the boarding platform. As I traversed the rocky path, I started noticing other kids, some of my tween age and some a bit older, but all noticeably under twenty years. They emerged from the fog and the neon splashes, summoning like an array of heavenly figures manifesting themselves to share spaces with me. I dared not to speak to a single one.

It was then when I saw a dark, khaki flag. It flew fascinatingly above a rusting passage in a nearby building. 

A rotting humanoid head lay menacingly at the base of the door, eyes flickering on-and-off in a white-red pattern. My father had told me that brown signage was evidence of rebirth, so, guided by the hive-mind of those children around me, I knew that all of us were headed to that passage.

Toeing above the humanoid corpse and flinching instinctively at it's terror, I stepped into the dirt. 

The way was narrow, with us youngsters perambulating almost robotically, one-by-one, clutching our beambags with trembling arms. For what felt like a solid 15 minutes we marched.

We marched until a light shone, blinding us as the mechanical booms got even louder. 

There it is. 

I exhaled through my nose sharply, watching the colossal train come into view.

The next hour was a blur. I followed the crude instructions of an overhead voice, stating my name profusely to a tall, full-bodied guard who then led me to my cabin, 86-B. 

I am Vanilla, daughter of Mayra Terra and Incent Sun Yukima. 

My name was commotion in poetry, evidence of my familial love and my yearning for the sweetness of perseverance. I held my name with confidence, as it may have been my last true possession, the one thing that could never be ripped from me, never repossessed in vain.

Luminescent lanterns lit the four corners of my cabin, each one a different colour. Despite this, the room itself shone in a soft baby-blue hue, calming me like the whispers of the Feyler-clock and holding me close. I sat down onto one of the dozen seats in 86-B, my back facing a wide, star-ridden window to the beyond. The only other people in this almost sacred place were two young, blonde kids, perhaps a year younger than me. They were very alike, but not mime enough to be twins. 

Cousins, maybe siblings, travelling like lore. 

I smiled at them with sympathetic eyes before throwing my head back, eyes closing as my scalp touched the freezing surface of the window.

I had almost drifted away when the train started moving, marking the start of a journey. It was this vibration beneath my feet, married to the rising sun and pulling-feeling of rebirth that lulled me into reminiscing, thinking of what I was leaving behind in my home city of Keremalie. 

Sprout Jóguas. 

A boy in my class at the local academy, who lived two floors above me before I moved into the infamous dorm. My childhood neighbourhood was un-fancy yet ripe with imaginative bliss, playthings scattered, voices joyful. 

But Sprout. 

Truly the first and only real crush I have ever had.

Countless nights I had pined for him, the way he looked at me while we chattered during the academy's recess stamped in the chasms of my brain. His full, dark-bronze cheeks and chestnut eyes, height slightly taller than me and hair curling at the edges. He loved sneakers, having a collection that he flaunted well. His favourite pair was one covered in sketches of vintage Earthen superheroes. 

When he ran through the academy's halls, the other fourth-years gawked at his kicks. My eyes filled with hearts, feet almost floating off the ground when he would speak to me. 

"Nilla, let's meet up on the play-floor after school today!"

My cheeks blushed shyly as my memories ran, thinking of the past three years, a true infatuation with Sprout. I still dreamed of him, despite knowing that I'd probably never see him again. 

If it were possible for a girl as small as me to be in love, that would be the perfect word to describe the way I felt. 

In my head, countless scenarios rushed in, like waves of motion caressing me in that cold cabin.

 I imagined a future with my Sprout and me. 

When we both become adults, he will meet me. In a long cyber-hall, at a fantastic, elemental party, with modernist favours being passed around, he will traverse the crowds, tall and handsome. He will not be accompanied, but everyone will know him. When he spots me, I will be wearing a toucan-yellow dress, wrapped around my mature figure gracefully. My hair will be the length of my shoulder blades, falling like a waterfall behind my deeply-tanned neck. When he sees me, his eyes will stutter, expanding wide open in shock at how beautiful I had become. He would greet me, and I would remember him. A thousand planets would crash in a magnetically blissful explosion as we begin to dance, falling back in love as if our childhood was just yesterday. At the end of the moment, we would share a kiss; and a new life just for us both would start, free from any chains of sorrow or falseness in hope. 

In this hazy, day-dreaming state, I fell asleep.

Author's Note — We all had such immense imaginations at age 12, didn't we?