Times of the Immortals

Chapter 2 Aurora

    The ink pen I used to write this letter slips from my fingers and falls in a semicircle on the table. I don't rush to pick it up. I just sit there motionless, thinking about a man who may never have existed. The urge to write came out of nowhere, like an obsession. It happened when Athena and I visited him at Paris' invitation.

Athena told me at the time that Paris was doing something completely unique, and I fainted with amazement. Of course, I was excited and agreed to go with her (little did I know that he would soon ask me out and I, to my own surprise, would refuse).

After class, we got into Athena's magmobile and she raced down the thirteenth roundabout to the top of the Liberty Building, where Paris' apartments were located. Actually, it's not realistic to accelerate too fast in magnetomobiles, but crazy rich kids like my Athena illegally install a nitrous-oxide-powered engine that makes the peacefully moving mobile begin to sprint down the street.

We were going so fast that I thought our magnetomobile was about to skid off the road and plunge down from its monstrous height. I wished the Sentinels would finally stop us and my heart would stop pounding in my chest.

I was terrified, but at the same time I felt a sense of freedom and flight that I had never felt before. It was as if the familiar world I lived in had been stripped of its boundaries for a few moments and I was learning something entirely new.

As we flew onto the platform of the parking lot and the traffic finally stopped, Athena looked at me with a smile, and I just sat there with my mouth open, tears of admiration in my eyes, my fingers digging into the dashboard. The magnetomobile sensor that monitored the physical parameters of the driver and passengers triggered immediately. It must have been worried about my heartbeat and suggested that I call for medical help. I laughed, now somewhat recovered from the crazy ride.

- No way! Never ever! Don't ever, ever do that again! - Hiding my flushed face in my hands, I ordered Athena. Her friend switched the cell phone to offline mode and turned the white leather upholstered driver's seat to face me.

- Come on, Rory, I've seen the faces of people who have a fetish for driving fast, and you're one of them. Damn, you're a buzzkill! - She talks so funny sometimes, like she's playing the part of a badass gangster from old movies who wore headbands and had dozens of tattoos on his skin. When she's flirting with guys, she's different, all pussycat-like, but with me she can stop pretending and just goof off whenever she wants.

It'll be a shame when it's all gone.

- I didn't get high at all - I tried to imitate her speech, but it wasn't very good - I thought one more round and I'd pee in my pants.

- Rory! You're twenty, you're going to be immortal, you know, Immortal, which is unreal cool when you think about it, and you're still acting like you're thirteen! You're just a wretch, put out the light, as they say! - Athena waved her hand at me and grabbed her exceptionally divine designer purse decorated with white stones from the back seat.

She was joking, of course. She didn't mean anything by calling me a wretch (you'd have to know Athena very well to understand that), but I was hurt anyway. Not because of the word itself or the arrogance with which she said it...just...it seemed true to me. I'm a wretch. I'm just a completely unkempt, unsympathetic, stupid girl who's scared to death of a fast ride.

- I don't know if I should show you what Paris is doing now. - Athena threw the words back into her gangster persona, towering over me as if about to strike.

- I can go home if you want," I suggested quietly, dragging myself behind her.

My friend made a strange gesture with her hand without even turning around, as if to make it clear that she did not really care. We walked all the way to the elevator without speaking, the clatter of Athena's sharp heels breaking the silence of the empty parking lot. I watched her from behind and felt jealousy stir inside me, knowing that with every casual move she made, she was better. Prettier. Funnier. Braver. I know I shouldn't feel this way, or at least try not to think this way, but it only made my self-loathing grow.