The Prime Of The Outcasts

Part 1

I walked across the narrow cobblestone streets of Tarmonty with a spring in my step. The storm that had everybody asking questions and bolting up their shop windows had finally decided to come to an end. Warm sun rays bounced off of tiny cottage windows, and I felt streaks of sweat rush down my blue shirt dress. It was quite a nice inkling though,  It's definitely better than cold, acid rain soaking, your only piece of clothing right through to your underwear. I was in the happiest mood I had been in ages. What I couldn't understand though was why was nobody joining me? The pathways were all strangely bare. The local tavern that everybody likes to go to had the "Open" sign hung above the large, brick archway entrance. But no-one was around. Not even the proud owner, Mr Hills, who never missed a day of serving eager customers. ('Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work'). He's a very inspirational man.

It wasn't until I reached the town hall, (the only building that didn't have brick walls and towered higher than everything else with its big stationary bell and clock), that I felt like I was being watched. Stalked. Haunted. Whatever you felt like calling it.

Living in a crowded town didn't make you a very observant person, but it wasn't a gut instinct or a heart urge that was telling me. It was the white palms of my hands. Call me crazy - deceitful illusions of magic were playing tricks on me. I'm sure it's down to the change of climate - David Oaks, the anchorman, warned me about that travesty.

Thick, swirling wisps of white had started to spiral painlessly right in the centre of my palms. If you hadn't already guessed what that kind of ability is, it's a supernatural one. One I was yet to gain control of, that happened at practically any time I was experiencing  strong emotions that I couldn't seem to handle. It was my special gift. My secret power that nobody else knew about. My gift of magic.

I did my best to concentrate solely on my palms, but where this uncontrollable power came from beat me. I felt a huge rush of heat inflict upon my veins and run in a figure of eight up and throughout my arms, stopping at my shoulders.

It was at that precise moment I felt hundreds of snake like voices flood into the depths of my eardrum. I couldn't sense every burst of energy in their piercing words. My satisfied feeling faded as I tried to listen. Cold and shrill, they started echoing loudly in my ears that I could barely make out a word. I turned around to see if they would somehow vanish explicitly, but when I did, I had found my bystander. A girl with long, dark hair, shiny and unwashed (a bit like mine), stood uneasily with a gaze of pure curiosity drawn right across her freckled face. She didn't see what just happened did she?

My abnormality had been a secret for as long as I could remember. I couldn't just be exposed right now. I don't want to claim my title as being some sort of witch or sorcerer or warlock - I'd get locked up in a private mental asylum all to myself for being the most insane fifteen year old alive. I couldn't tell anyone, no, not yet. Not until I thought everyone was ready to handle it. I felt like making a run for it. But the kind coloured tone in this girl's voice sounded familiar.

'Serena?' It called out. How did she know my name? My eyesight felt awfully blurry. According to the doctor I need to get a pair of standard glasses, but everyone knows they're far too expensive to pay for in these parts. Supplies like food and water in Tarmonty is already at stake. 'Don't worry it's me,' the girl said. I looked closer, I'll admit I looked awfully stupid screwing up my eyes like this to make out the mysterious figure, but it worked. I focused on the girls freckled face, and my little blue eyes were as clear as day. I wasn't sure if that was magic or not. Either way, It succeeded in doing what I wanted it to do for once. (That probably meant it wasn't magic, as it never obeyed my orders or commands).

'Martha?' I called back. The girl, nodded then moved closer. How could I be so silly in mistaking my best (and only) friend Martha for somebody else? Maybe I was having an off day. A cold, embarrassing drip of sweat trawled down my body this time. 'What are you doing here? I thought your dad didn't let you walk the streets alone.' I moved closer to her until eventually we were at the correct distance apart from one another. Martha laughed.