Trigger Kids

Chapter 1

I sit on my bed, braiding my hair whilst reading over notes from the afternoon's lecture. There are words, and concepts, that I currently don't have the mind for. I've read over the same passage of text four times already, and I'm utterly distracted. Floor space divides Sebastian's subconscious from my own. He occupies a black, leather desk chair, hunched over his own readings in a manner I'm sure his mother would scold him for. That too and the lighting is so dim it's no wonder he's forced to wear reading glasses. I hear the soft scrape of his highlighter here and there, and the whir of the indoor heater adjacent to the muted television. Outside, snow falls at a steady pace. In the morning I'll open the door to our cabin dorm room to find half a meter of it has fallen over night, and Sebastian will help me clear it from the door way before we wade through on our way to lectures.

"Right, hand me the shovel," he'll say, and I'll laugh and drag it over to him. Then he'll start shovelling all the snow back, puffing a little, blowing heat into the cool midst. His nose will turn red and begin to run, so he'll pause to wipe it on the sleeve of his thick, plaid coat. I'll grab his beanie from the hook and jam it on top of his dark waves.

"Thank you, India," he'll chuckle, returning to the excavation of snow. To help out I'll begin to crunch and kick the powdery snow away, flinging a dust of white off the toe of my boot. Then I'll accidentally slip backwards and let out a gasp. And just before I land flat on my back, he'll drop the shovel and catch me in his arms. Sebastian, he'll save me, and say- "India. India."

"India!"

"What?" I shout in surprise, jerking out of my (strange) reverie. Sebastian is frowning at me, his glasses are removed and askew on his desk.

"The remote; can you use it to turn the volume up?" he explains impatiently, nodding at the television. It's a breaking news report on the main channel.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry," I say, quickly reaching for the remote on the end of my bed and fumbling for the volume button.

"-With government officials calling it the worst hostage siege in history, with over 209 dead and many more injured. Reports of worsening weather above the Southern Alpines are raising concerns for the safety of the surviving passengers and crew members on board NK-191 if the plane were to crash. We will be sure to keep you updated with any news of the current hostage crisis over the next twenty-four hours. A reminder from Defence Force minister, Darren Lowry, family members of the passengers on board are advised to remain calm and will be contacted as soon as news reaches." The breaking news segment fades out and a multi-colour barred screen is left in its place.

I hear Sebastian move before I see him. He lunges out of his chair, causing it to roll and hit back into the desk, as he goes for his laptop on his bed. I slip off my own bed and join him. His eyes are sporadic as he begins typing key words into a search engine, then scanning through news feeds, reading a paragraph out loud.

"An NK-191 plane, carrying over 700 passengers from Boston International Airport, has been hijacked above France at 1700 hours, on the destination flight to Newark, England. Pilots, Nick Jervais and Alan Carter, managed to raise alarms to Airport officials back in Boston that gun shots and screams were heard from the cockpit. It is un-estimated how many gun men there are on board, however, an anonymous Twitter feed suggesting the author is on board the current flight, has approximated the numbers of dead and wounded to exceed 400 passengers. It is yet unclear the identities of the gun men or their motives, but terrorism watch organisations based in Great Britain and the US are claiming terrorist group, Messiah's, responsible."

Sebastian takes a shaky breath, scrolling down the page to additional information on the Messiah's. His hand quivers over the mouse pad and I lay my own on top of his.