Shattered ✓ (BxB)

Twenty-Six: Olislavia

Once again, another day had passed.

My thirteen year old mind had pondered on the day’s events.

Each event had been rather great.

Doing this made me think of the future.

By future, I thought about the Sixteenth Ceremony.

Each time a child turns sixteen in Daskanalasć, they are assigned a job, a house, and a spouse.

But, is it wrong I don’t want a spouse?

I feel like they’d just be holding me back.

I’d never get anything done.

I stared at the popcorn ceiling.

No spouse...wasn’t that against Daskanalasć's customs?

Probably, was the answer I was looking for.

I adjust myself on my bed.

Something that I had noticed is that even though they would have a life of their own, the sixteen year olds would still visit or call or at least write their families.

But, both Obsidian and Sam didn’t do any of that.

Strange, I begin to think. Maybe I should pay them a visit.

I don’t remember hearing Sam’s address. But, I did hear Obsidian’s—No. 1134, New Minsk Drive, Sector Two.

I sit up. “This will do just nicely,” I begin.

I know Obsidian will be happy to see me.

But, I don’t know about Anastasia.

Matter of fact, I don’t really know anything about her.

No matter.

The back of my mind suggests, maybe I could get to know her.

I swiftly change back into this day’s earlier clothes. I pull on a fleece jacket over it all.

I creep slowly down the hall and down past my parents room.

I stop to peer into Sam’s room.

She’s got nothing left in there.

Wow, she managed to take it all, I think.

Then, I pass by Obsidian’s old room.

I glance in.

There’s still stuff in there.

I creep slowly and quietly into the room.

His bed is nicely made.

His desk is cleaned out.

Around his room are bookshelves that line the wall.

I run my index finger over the spines of the books.

Then I pull my finger back.

Dust lines my finger.

So, it’s safe to say Obsidian hasn’t read some of these in years.

As I pass the books, one of them catches my eye.

I pull it off the shelf.

It’s not dusty, so it was used more recently.

I open it to the page that was dog-eared.

It reads, ‘Gay Pride and the Stonewall Riots’.

I skim the pages.

I catch names such as Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, but go on.

I look at the note that Obsidian left in the margins.

It reads, ‘I’m just like them. I love men. There’s nothing wrong with me. Eat that Maximoff!’

I gasp, closing the book.

“He’s in danger,” I whisper.

I knew I had to act fast.

I run down the hallway and out the door.

I sprint down the quiet, asleep streets of Daskanalasć. I dash to Sector two. I run down New Minsk Drive. I skid to a halt at number 1134. I then knock on the door. “Obsidian! Obsidian! Hey Obsidian! Do you here me?”

No response.

So I try something else.

“Anastasia? Anastasia, Obsidian is danger!” I bang on the door with the side of my fist.

Someone behind me taps me on the shoulder.

I feel dread weigh down in my stomach. I slowly turn around.

There’s a guard. He laughs on sight of me as if I’m a deer caught in headlights. He says, “Yes, he is in danger. And you Missy are coming with me.”