Out of the Lamp

Chapter 29: Trialed

For farry926  for all your reactions, opinions, and comments, they motivated me to write this chapter, so keep it up 🙌🏽

~**~

"WAKE UP!"

"ARGH!" I start violently from sleep and sit bolt upright in bed. Smack bang into someone else. "Ooffft!"

I end up thrown backwards onto my sheet from the recoil. That was one hard skull. The inside of my wrist covers my right brow bone where most of the impact was, as I suck in a hiss of air through my teeth. My eyes letting out a torrent of waterworks reflexively. Eventually I force them open to be greeted by a scruffy little girl. Probably around nine years of age.

She has startlingly bright hazel eyes, and raven black hair. Making her creamy complexion stand out stark against the backdrop of sundown. Her face and bare arms covered in earthy smudges of dirt, streaks of grime and blacken smears of a dusty chalk like substance. Charcoal perhaps. Her hair faired no better; slick with a thick layer of visible grease, hanging in matted strands that were an unruly mesh of knots. Her scrawny body barely covered by a worn and patched up rag at the most. Knee length with side slits and straight trousers to match. The sandpapery look to the garment only highlighting her it's cheapness.

Where the shit in hell am I?

When I break away from her face, I look down at my own body. Holy shit. I'm practically the same too. Covered in nothing but a layer of cloth. A short sleeve plain white muslin that's been dirtied to almost muddy. The original colour long forgotten beneath. It fits loose and is knee length. With two identical slits from the hip down on either side of the material. Matching straight trousers poking out to conceal my legs. A thinner chiffon scarf tied diagonal across this body, knotted at the hip to stay secure.

It's a salwar kameez.

A middle eastern Asian outfit. Worn by the women from that culture. Usually by the young, unmarried girls. Light and breathable, suited to the climate.

"We go. We go now."

I raise a hand to touch this face. My palms running over the unfamiliar ridge of the nose. The different shape of the lips and my tongue running over the front row of teeth that didn't quite seem to be how I remembered...The skin was smooth, soft and silky. Warm. Alive. But not mine. This...isn't my body. It isn't me. Whoever I am, wherever I am, I'm not playing me. This mortal body is not my own.

The realisation hits me right in the gut. A startling thing to discover, and it almost winds me like a physical blow to my lungs. I've never taken over before. So this is crazy!

The trial saw to it that you were placed out of your comfort zone within a mortal body. Expected to fulfil your trial and complete a single mortal wish within a time period of extreme difficulty. It tests gumption, adaptability, use of resource at hand, intellect and practicality of a Djinn's skill set and level.

We live for a very long time. We see many things, and experience the changing of an age into another. So it wasn't as bizarre and random as it first seems. Some Immortals find it hard to adjust to changing times. Just ask the mummies and elder Vamps of the covenants. They still struggle around the idea of electricity! It was an important assessment to ensure Immortal safety and protection. An individual incapable of adopting shouldn't be working the field. They have their powers either stripped or bound, depending on their nature and impulsiveness. It's vital to pass. It's all the more risky for the secrecy of our double lives. We wouldn't want the great scandal of the Salem Witch Trials again. Bejeezus no! That was a horrific era in our history. One that could have been avoided if certain individuals were more careful with radicalism and spread of faux information.