Exceptional (On Hold)

Chapter One

        When the rain comes down

        and all I see are clouds,

        will you wait for me?

        Will you wait for me?

        I quietly sang the refrain, a snatch of a song I remembered from years ago when the carriage came for Hazel Grafton, a fearless girl with a wonderful voice; I was eight when the Web came for her, two years after Agnes Hampden’s removal. The Web came for Hazel during school, an unusual occurrence—typically, the Web preferred taking children directly from their homes. At the time, I had deeply admired Hazel’s spirit and courage as she sang on the playground behind school. She only ever sang twice, for the next day, the schoolteachers had called the Web and Hazel disappeared. Both times, she sang the same song, the one I sang now.

        Every day after school, I went for a two-mile run, taking the same path each day—down Birchwood Lane, through the four other winding streets to the entrance of my neighborhood, past the relatively well-kept Forest Neighborhood Park, and down the main road of our tiny province. Eventually, I made my way to the old, rundown park that no one used anymore. Most days, once I reached the rundown park, I would stop and sing for a few moments—generally, just a snatch of song, typically Hazel’s refrain. Music, as a common rule, was forbidden; any sort of musical talent could easily result in the calling of the Web and the visitation of the black carriage. As a result, most people never heard music, unless they were rich enough to buy tickets for the Web’s concerts of exceptional talent. I’d heard talk of how eerie the concerts were, laden with the knowledge that each talented musician belonged to the Web.

        Now, it was because of Hazel that I sang; normally, children didn’t decide to develop a passion or a talent for anything. However, Hazel’s song had incited an incurable curiosity within me, and I went home that very day burning with the question of how I might sound with my voice free like a bird, rising in pitch throughout the air. Until my fourteenth year, that curiosity built within me; I spotted the abandoned park one day on the bus ride home from school and made the decision that very day to quench my curiosity. After discovering that I rather enjoyed singing—albeit quietly –I ran every day I could in order to continue with my rapidly developing passion. I walked a very fine and very dangerous line, and if anyone knew, I would surely have to commit suicide. I would not serve the Web, but neither could I have them cut my vocal cords. I would not live out the remainder of my life—whether it was two minutes or eighty years –in silence.

        Due to my daily treasonous secrecy, I had few friends. Several reasons stemming from my secret caused this. Primarily, the thought of anyone guessing my secret terrified me; I also felt very much distanced from my peers, most of whom were carefree compared to my own constantly nervous state of mind. I felt disconnected from my family, as well—both of my parents, my twin brother, and my three younger sisters. My only real friend was a girl named Audrey with a secret outstanding ability to swim. Luckily, her parents protected her and moved her to one of the inland provinces, allowing Audrey to escape the notice of the Web—one of the very few people I’ve ever heard of accomplishing such a feat. However, even Audrey didn’t know that I sang.

        I reluctantly turned my feet homeward and pounded the two-mile trail back to my house, my feet hitting the pavement evenly. Unfortunately, children with extraordinarily good fitness went to the Web often and early; beginning in primary school, the excellent athletes found themselves weeded out, usually by the sixth grade. Physical education, a required class up until graduating from grade school, assured that anyone with high fitness test results went to the Web.

        Although the Web took around one hundred children each year, only about twenty of them had truly exceptional talents. The unworthy children were returned home, although they never fully returned to themselves mentally and emotionally. The talented ones and the rebellious, spirited ones never made it home; their families and friends never heard from them again, either.

        The brutal irony of my situation lay in the fact that my deepest fear was the Web separating me from my family, and that fear birthed my secrecy and, therefore, my detachment from my family. I suppose by then, I had already lost without knowing it, but at the time, I hadn’t realized that fact.

        Suddenly, a figure darted across the street several yards in front of me, scaring the living shit out of me. I hesitated, my unvarying stride changing beat; the figure now ran like a bat out of hell, and I couldn’t shake the dreadful sensation that I had been discovered. In the instant it took for that awful though to enter my mind, I stopped focusing and tumbled to the ground after twisting my foot in an uneven cobblestone. A shout of surprise tore from my throat and I instantly threw my hands out to break my fall. Unfortunately, I only succeeded in scraping my hands and elbows as well as my knees.

        Stunned, I simply lay on the ground for a minute, begging my brain to catch up with the situation. The excruciating fire from my ankle swelled out the muted burning pain from my scraped hands and knees; I gritted my teeth in determination and pushed myself up from the ground. Gingerly, I set my weight on my injured ankle, wincing at the lancing pain; I took a tentative step forward, setting all my weight on the hurt ankle and deeply regretting the action. Tears sprung to my eyes; however, I had no way to get home other than to walk the painful two miles there. At least, I managed to console myself, there was almost no possibility of the fleeing person having heard me; they obviously hadn’t been near me while I sang. They’d have stopped me.

        I mentally braced myself for the next agonizing step. “Don’t move!” cried a voice in alarm. I froze, praying that the speaker hadn’t heard me sing. “Here, let me help you. I’d offer to drive, but my parents have the car.” A petite blonde girl stepped into my line of vision, smiling reassuringly at me. I cautiously smiled back, accepting her help—I’d never manage the two-mile trek unassisted, I admitted to myself in defeat.

        “Thank you,” I said gratefully, leaning against the girl’s shoulder to form the world’s slowest, most awkward three-legged racing team.