Morituri te Salutamus

Chapter 1

Tenebris (Darkness)

DON'T TELL ME SORRY

First in Line

Passion. We all have it, whether you accept it or not. Anthropology, engineering, you name it: someone probably loves it. I would know, considering I rode horses ever since I could remember. Everyone in Westgate knew about my way with animals. If you had asked me before the Awakening about Westgate, I would've said it was an alright place. Then again, many things have changed since then. Since it all started.

By this point, you're probably asking for my name. I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. To be honest, I'm not sure why. I sit for hours on end thinking about it--what letter it started with, or if it rolled off your tongue nicely. Sounds childish enough, but sometimes it is the only thing that keeps me awake. Where we are now, instead of humans, we call ourselves the Awakened. The people you'll meet later call me Tenebris, Latin for darkness. They all have names as well, similar to mine, to replace the ones we lost.

To start at the beginning would take more time than I have left (considering even we will eventually fade). All I remember before the Awakening and the stream of events at Westgate will be revealed to you with no censorship nor exaggeration throughout this experience. I was a student at the Thornsith High School on the Main Street in a sleepy, demure town named Westgate. My name, as previously told if you were paying attention, remains unknown to me. In shadowed memories I see glimpses of letters, but to any extent it remains unintelligible.

A nasty habit of mine kept me wary of strangers and those who may have become close to me. Keeping away from those posing a threat to the one I cared about most or simply existing to distress me were cut off. They didn't appreciate me, either. Names like "Demon Girl", "Mute Female" and "Equine Massacre" filled my mind as were given to me by my peers. You could imagine my social life was rather dire and lonesome, but after time it became natural to be not speak more than a few words a day to anyone. The goal in the end was to attend college and get a job, maybe a house, and that was it.

I'm sure if I had made any attempt at socializing, perhaps I wouldn't have done what I did to awaken. As sad as most stories of the people around here are, mine is the worst. Common descriptions of their last moments are as follows : the only sound left to comfort you, a ticking clock, the repetitive whoosh of a fan circling above you, the light fading from your grasp, and no one to urge you to stay. Perhaps the only thing worse than dying alone was purposely making it happen yourself. I was fearful of getting to close to the touch, becoming attached to someone, but in reality I was ignoring the truth: I was shutting out what I truly wanted.

You hear about how everyone has an aura--a specific color that defines the condition of your soul. There's some truth to that, really; everyone here is divided into seven auras. Pale blue, tranquil gold, a fading pink, blinding violet, seething red, bronze, and a shimmering silver. Finally, olive green--the same as my eyes--or as my eyes were. It wasn't surprising to me it so happened to be the aura of my soul. Theories have been discussed over what the colors mean, but it's up to interpretation like most things in life. I personally believe they stand for something that you were deprived of before your Awakening. But hey, take it with a grain of salt. I'm the first out of the seven you'll eventually all hear from. You'll have to pick the one you like the best. That's what I did at first.

When the others wrote their versions of our tale, they told me it might be important to include a physical description of ourselves before our Awakening. I don't know what it does for you, but I guess it must count for something since you're not here. In the memories I still remember, I had long soft brown hair that came to my waist. Of course, it wasn't like that in the end, but generally that's how I appear. My fingernails were bitten to the edge (another habit of mine). Height was neither large nor small, but it wasn't particularly relative to the latter either. I'm sure somewhere in my school a person glanced at me twice to place my face or to memorize the details, but they never spoke up if so.

Before I constantly avoided people and made horses my only friends, you could say I was the flower child. I loved making people smile and dancing to the songs on the radio. It all changed when I went to middle school. My friends had found others and left me in the shadows. To this day, I still wonder if they understand why I didn't blame them. They won't be waking anytime soon, so I guess I shouldn't ponder very long. We tend to do that more often than we realize now. Time doesn't really change anything besides our memories and auras here anymore.

The town of Westgate had little to no chain stores. Everything was locally established and grown, and everyone knew everyone. We were a farming community. You either grew crops or raised animals; those were our only options. Memories of my family are distorted and unfamiliar. Picture frames of a smiling couple with a newborn baby, an elderly woman, and a child holding a grey kitten by its scruff dot the fuzzy landscape. Time and time again, I find myself asking who and where they are now. But it is no use. The Awakening tears you away from reality and separates you from the being you existed as.

A Dutch Warmblood stallion. Black, flowing mane to match his elegant stride. The woman I presumed was my mother let me name him. I chose Albus, meaning bright, like his eyes. That was the horse I loved beyond comparison. I was warm and safe nuzzled in his neck. For some reason, I felt he rose beyond the boundaries set at his feet. Perhaps he was not expected to live. Children came to his pen to make fun of his odd gait, or his standoffish personality. I remember shooing them off, and comforting poor Albus. He took me anywhere and everywhere. Days would pass where all he did was merely stay by my side whenever I needed him. Albus could not save me, however, the day I needed someone the most.

The friends who left me became negligent and narrow-minded. Soon, they targeted me with their insults and petty jokes. Pushing away the past is harder when it's a fresh wound. So many wondered why I excluded myself. The only answer I had was 'Those who get near me only break my heart'. Any answer was as good as mine, considering I was near the end already. But once they took it too far, I could never forgive them. 'We didn't mean for it', they said, 'It was only meant to be playful'. They lost the right to ask forgiveness when they took away my only treasure left. That's why, most Awakened say apologies have no meaning after a heart is shattered. If you ever manage to meet one of us, do us the favor of never uttering one. It's that simple.

To give you an idea of what exactly it is, your Awakening begins with the start of a tragic event that is the end of one storyline. Death. Whether it was homicide, suicide, accidental, or natural causes--you must first die to wake up and embark upon your Awakening. Mine was suicidal asphyxiation. You may think I chose the easiest way, but no option is simple when deciding to end the final chapter.

I am one of seven Awakened. The other six came soon after me, but on their own choices and different paths. All of the stories are true, and are unique to each aura. I was the first of seven, seven out of millions and millions of grueling Awakened. Now is the time to leave any past accusations or beliefs behind and listen to a new person. My Awakening was similar to many others, but I was the first to choose a less travelled road. You will soon meet my fellow outcasts who shall tell you such things as I have, and much more as you understand what laid beyond after our experiences.