Spark

Chapter fourteen

// at first there's nothing, darkened, dampness, cold. Like I'm walking through a thick black fog, like I've lost my sight.
Then.
There's light. So bright it's blinding, two cold hands cradle me, but I am not afraid, for their touch is Loving. I'm laying on a bed of the softest feathers. I'm floating in sinking.
Then suddenly the scene changes.
I'm older. Shoving and wrestling with people I've never met, they're my friends.
It's night, I'm panicking gathering all my things shoving them into a pack on my back, papers, books, food, candles.
Shove shove shove.
The door bursts open.
Then.... Darkness //
I scream ripping the covers away from my sweat soaked body. I hold my chest panting rapidly, there is not enough air in the world to fill my lungs. My eyes dart around the room finally focusing on the door.
I sit there like that for a while, starring, waiting for something to happen, though somewhere deep down I know it won't.
"It was just a dream" I mumble to myself taking my fingers through the thick knotted mess I call hair, my mom used to do that when I was younger, it's makes me feel better now. I count my breaths, in and out, for what seems like an eternity.
I glance over at the clock my body chug decided to never go back to sleep, 5:11 am. I let out a long groan and heave myself out of bed, needing to do something with all this pent up adrenaline.
I pull out my old sports bra that I haven't used since I was twelve and slide it on, the way it constricts my breathing feels nice, like a really tight hug, although it may be a bit too tight. it'll loosen as I run anyway so I don't bother to worry. I slip out of the boxers I call pj pants and tug on a pair of cheap running shorts.
Tennis shoes.
I dig through my closet for anything that vaguely resembles them and come up empty handed. With a small sigh of resignation I creep down the hall and into my moms room. She's sound asleep and snoring, I'm jealous.
I slide open the mirrored doors of her closet and grab a pair of tennis shoes, knocking over a box in the process.
Out spill photos. Tons of them. There's letters too, tied up with twine, old postage stamps attached. All of them are from a 'Falin Divine'.
'Who the fuck is Falin Divine?'
Her alarm goes off and I repress a squeak of terror shoving the photos into the box and sprinting out silently shutting the door right before I hear the floor boards creak.
I let out a long sigh as a million questions flood my head so fast it would put a jet to shame.
One keeps shoving it's way to the front of y mind no matter how hard I try to shove it back.
'Who is Falin divine?'
And more importantly
'Why does he look like me?'