King of My Heart.

burn out.

Dystopia was an only child to two individuals who were not relevant enough to mention, and unlike normal kids, she was born feet first and was then tagged as "freakishly odd." She was banished from her home because of it and thrown down the bottom of an empty water well by her own family. She fell alongside a pool of glowing sapphire jewels, the jewels that opened the first portal to Astoria, the jewels she sacrificed, although it was the only thing keeping her alive, to spread immortality among fellow sovians - creating the first citizens of Astoria. The fraternization with sovians happens more often than you would think but is heavily frowned upon . My father's mother was a sovian. It is because of who she truly is that we have suffered. We were mad a fool of. We were looked down on. I feel no remorse for her tragic fate. I was lucky Mere was the only one who inherently developed that weakness. I still have a chance. I empower every characteristic. I embodied every strength. Except one. Waterbending. Cable and I were not exactly on the best terms, I could not ask for a favor now. Colette is my last hope. Colette was a close of my belated sister and is my future queen. Like Cable, she is a water bender. She can open the portals to Boston. It sounds easy. It is not. It was especially easy to leave Boston. To leave Astoria was a chore. It was sort of metaphorical if you thought about it that way. The sand fell stiff. The sun must be setting. Did I have time for Colette? The sanctuary is always an option, too. I hold my hand up. The sand in my hand is rotating in a glowing globe figure. It is a golden pigment. I have time. I bolt down the Tivoli bridge and toward Finley. Finley is what a trailer park is to sovians. Not as low maintained but just as undervalued. Approaching Colette's hut, I swing my arm about, whipping an arrangement of allium out of thin air. Colette stands before me, out shining every last allium in my hand. She seems to have been expecting me by the way she smiles. "Collie." I bow. "Your majesty." She teases, responding to my bow with a curtesy. "What do I owe this pleasure." She holds the arrangement to her nose. "I have a favor to ask of you." I watch that soft, gentle smile of hers. "Anything." She says, and I do not doubt her as I am certain she will do anything for me. "I ask of a portal. Is that possible?" I present the opportunity of declination. Her demeanor changes. "No." She places the arrangement back into my arms. I do not understand what it is that is upsetting her in that moment, but the second she opens her mouth again, I am reminded that she lives under a rock - and not just literally. "What could you possibly want from there that you do not have here." She is persistent. There are a million answers I can come up with, but only one matters. "I need to save Astoria. Without it, you are not my queen. And I am nobody's king." I try to flatter her, convinced it would make her give in. "We both know what Astoria needs." She stands tall. I tense. "Can you not save it from here?" She remains hostile. I do not want to be the one to tell her about Dystopia's jewels. I am one of the very few who do not shield her from the brutal realities of our world. But I could not tell her. I could not kill her spirit. I suddenly understand it, why they try to protect her from such things. She did not have the heart for it. "Locustious. I demand you speak." She stomps, tightening her grip around the arrangement. Her eyes stare into me, enflamed. I stand upon her, wondering how I will talk my way out of this. How I will prevent the shattering of her innocence. But by the way, her eyes are sculpting my face, I can tell she will hear nothing but the truth. "I can not be king." I say. "Why not?" She is drowned with more anger than I am. "Your father's declared you worthy. You have completed your quest. What else is there?" Her voice sending waves into the darkening sand. As it echoes around us, her eyes dullen. "Collie." She chucks the arrangement to our feet. "The staff of kwami. Why do you not have it? Why do you insist on asking to be banished to hell rather than my hand in marriage?" She swims her way into my presence. "I must retrieve the last of Dystopia's lost jewels in order to recharge the staff of kwami. I must! To save my city!" I am enraged with her. Something I never imagined occurring, next to being king. But times change. "No. You shall not go! I forbid you!" Colette throws her hand at me, scrunching her palm. Real mature. "I am not asking for permission." I try to release myself from her grip. "I refuse to unfreeze you. Not til you promise to reside where you belong." She grips her palm tighter. "My reputation is on the brink of ruin Colette! I have no option!" I am losing patience. "I do not care for what you will or will not do. I am sick of playing into her feelings. "You have gone once before. That is why you do not see this problem approaching us. You do not care about the risks." She tries to manipulate me with her tears, knowing I can not stand tears and soppy feelings. "You do not understand." I do not take her sorrow into account. "I understand. I understand that you are signing yourself up to be killed!" She drops her hold on me. "You are a woman, Colette! You do not know the struggles of fighting for a title the way we do. Your job is to wait and hope I make it back in one piece to make you my wife." She is appalled. "No one understands a fight more than a woman." She says sternly. "Yet you are not the one fighting this fight, are you?" I throw my hand aside, tossing the arrangement off the bridge and into the bottomless pit underneath her slum as I step into her personal space. "Just promise you will return." She holds her head low. "No." I will not vow to do something I can not do. I can vow to be alive. I can not vow that I will return. This will be a mission that will take the rest of my eternal life if it has to. I assure you it will be completed. "I can not." I do not dare to sugar coat the dangers of my mission. Not ever for her sake. "I am aware." Colette grunts a weak smile, granting me the portal. She is hiding behind a false front as if it is not killing her that I have to go when she just got me back. I do regret not visiting earlier after my quest, but Astoria needed me, maybe even more than she did. And I will not apologize for that. I step to the other side, refusing to look at her. I refuse to break a heart that does not belong to me yet again. Or ever. I step into a crowd of teenagers, setting off fireworks in the back of the plaza. I shake my head. Of course. They get up from their knees, careless of the lit fireworks, stammering like a toddler when they hear of the "boogie man." I sigh. I point my finger, zapping them individually. I left the alley with my head down, ignoring eye contact with every sovian that crossed my path. As I hurry down the street, I bump into a hysterical woman, eye bags as heavy as ever, and hair poorly pinned up. She runs around handing a flyer out as a fat decrepit old drunk waddles behind her. She hands me one, and at once, I understand who she is. Josh's face is plastered on this paper. The plaza is infiltrated with loud sirens and big guys in uniforms, jotting down in note pads. I follow a mod of teenage girls into the convenience store behind me, with the flyer still in my hand. I stood in front of a glass counter, watching the small cubicle television system in the upper left corner, trying my best to avoid the people who shoved past me. Everyone that stepped into the store for, came in for one reason and one reason only; to see what all the commotion is on about. On the screen is a woman. "Esme Cuburn," it reads. She has a drenched blazer over her shoulder rather than it being on properly. She is speaking into a microphone, but I am drowning it out as a clip plays alongside her. It is the cafeteria of that school. In the same moment, the clip was gone. I look down. He's been gone for some time. The woman continues to ramble as the camera pans to a small cottage looking house with a destroyed mailbox and a saddened woman standing close by, talking to another reporter. She looks more like she has lost something than upset someone attacked her mailbox. And somehow, Josh has been wrapped into this, too. I turn around, scanning my surroundings, looking for someone who does not want to be found. The kid is a total reject. He is not staying with friends, his dumbluck and lack of control has won him a very few fans in the law enforcement, he is not just prancing around in the open and his mother has no idea where he is - he is lost. How can so many people be out to find you, and you remain hidden? As I leave the plaza, I try to keep an eye out for him. Getting deeper into town, the crowd of people decreases. It is common to hide someone everyone does not. I hop the fence and notice a black hoodie and a pair of jeans, hanging from a wooden high chair. I have hope. I carefully browse the beach, wondering where the hell he could be and why he was not wearing his clothes. Especially in this snow. The farhter I walked down the beach, the louder ecah step got. Not even the birds will chirp. It is dead silent. A high hut stands off the ground, near the fence. It is pale blue and has a small raft hanging from the front. Despite the context clues, though, I had my doubt. It was Josh, after all. It is hard to imagine him with any girl. And naked? It's highly unlikely. He is hardly able to be around me. Let alone someone romantically. I climb the hut and let myself into storage space. A tall kid, sixteen - mayne seventeen, stands in the corner, his back facing toward me and his head low. I look down. Josh is stripped to his boxers, shivering to death. "What are you doing, dude?" I say, trying my best to fake my lingo. I shake my head at this stupidity, the way I am talking, the way he is acting. The kid turns, and it is Tristan with a smug grin. Josh is completely out of it, zoned out like he just witnessed the sun colliding into the moon. I do not know what happened. He has a blockade on his mind. But I can tell by his face whatever it is, it is not good. "Come on, leave him alone." I give him another chance.