Drowning Fears

prologue: the wish

A petite girl sat on her bed, her light green eyes examining a little speckled pebble in her smooth hands. The pad of her thumb brushed over the smooth stone, frowning at an odd symbol drawn into the black and white stone.

Upon closer inspection, you could pick out the finer details of her face. Sun-kissed skin that was smooth yet freckled and a mass of curly brown hair that framed her face in spirals that would make any child squeal in delight if to be presented as a slide. Her lips were puckered slightly, as though an idea had left her. The presence of an idea ignited a flame in her striking green eyes. Like the flames of a fire, her eyes would usually resemble a bonfire. Currently, you could see feeble sparks flickering while the last of the idea faded.

    Click, click, click, click. The unmistakable sound of heels thudding on the hardwood floor. With the agility that usually came with being young, her knuckle hit the switch on the lamp that was giving off the dim light, clenched her fist around the pebble and shoved it under her blanket, doing all this whilst sliding under the musty covers over herself, pivoting on her side, and shutting her eyes. Dust particles hovered in the air, disturbed from their original positions, flakes landing on her nose, tickling her senses.

    The door cracked open, the soft creak and thud of it hitting the wall causing the girl’s stomach to lurch.

    “The house is a mess--she said she’d clean it!” A feminine voice sliced through the room scornfully, echoing in her head. The disapproval stung, almost as much as the burn did. But the burn totally hurt more right now. 

The pebble started to slowly heat up, only causing her to clench it tighter.

“The house is clean,” A deeper, masculine voice responded with a tone that one would associate with a mother explaining to her child that one plus one does not equal three. 

The pebble warmed up to the point that she could feel the flesh around it burning, disagreeing with the sweltering heat.

His voice was abruptly cut off by the sound of something hitting the wall. 

    Thud!

    Then the door shut.

    Immediately, she dropped the pebble, gasping in pain, shaking her hand as the pebble swiftly singed the sheets. She froze for a second, shocked, eyes drawn to the faint outline of the stone in the dark. Smoke started to curl upwards in thin wisps, elegant yet frightening.

    She drew in a shuddering breath, then squeezed her eyes shut, blowing on her new burn on the palm of her left hand. Her dominant hand. She turned on the light, disregarding the tightening of her throat. It stung so badly…

    She stood, picking up a book on her bedside table, pushing the burning stone onto it and cautiously making her way down the hall into the bathroom. Immediately, she turned on the tap and shoved her burnt palm underneath the steady stream of ice-cold water.

    It didn’t help much.

    She sighed, leaning against the closed door, her left hand still under the water. It was going numb. At least it didn’t hurt as much.

    Suddenly, the black stone shone bright crimson, a piercing pain shooting through her freshly burnt palm. 

    Little did she know, her palm wasn’t the only one that hurt. Dylan Walton had lifted an identical stone, a bright sapphire blue radiating off the tiny thing. His own left palm burnt, the scar now etched into his skin. Little did he know that he had just started something big. Little did she know she just nudged down the domino that jump-started the chain of events. Little did they both know that this was just the beginning.