LIGHT

Chapter 1

The beginning.

     It's always blurred, right? The hands move, we stare, and just...wait. Then, there's time—lost, found, watched and wasted. Feelings sprout between the chaos, like weeds on broken branches. And of course, we try to figure it all out; the truth, the difference, the solution hiding behind the veil. An answer. But then, the questions start to unfold: How do we fit who we are inside of who we're supposed to be? And when, if ever, will we know the difference? Do we ever? Ironically, these are the same set of questions I ask myself every night, before I get here.

     Darkness.

     Rich shades of its mystery color the sky, snatching my youth with every passing second. Fear, the devil's playground, swallows me whole, provoking my breaths to stiffen, lungs to pant, and movements to remain still. My legs manage to hold my weariness, but my sanity flees the second I arrive—once again—at the depths of my nightmare.

     My dreams, though usually written as me the hero, sometimes fell victim to the irresistible urge to explore the unknown. The depths of my subconscious, the alternate realm I try not to free is where I had become a prisoner, again.

     It was always the same dream: black skies, cracked cement beneath my feet, and not a sound so much as whispered from the wind. Not to mention, the lone street lamp lit at the end of the block, with what looked to be an injured kid rocking back and forth with his head held between his knees.

Every night, before this one, I'd hesitate to go to the boy's aid. He looked to be around the same age as me. Where this perception of a shadowed figure all of twenty feet away from me came from, I didn't know. Regardless, I felt such a close connection to this boy every night—almost as if I knew him, or use to know him, like you would and old friend or family member. And that's where the doubt came into play; because, they don't exist.

     Being adopted can have that effect on you.

     My foster parents, though the most loving creatures on this planet, were just not enough to fill the void I felt every night I was faced to save this kid I didn't even know. But, for some reason, I could feel his pain. I could feel his nerves spiraling out of control from sheer panic and hopelessness; the same feeling I use to get at the orphanage—night after night—before the Knight's came to my rescue.

     Now, this was usually the time where my fear got the best of me. I would, normally, freeze a second too long, wake up feeling nothing but guilt and defeat, then become stuck in a pool of sweat, trying desperately to drown myself with other thoughts to make it seem like the moment never happened.

     Not this night.

      I needed to know who he was. I needed to see his face, to hear his voice, to see why his despair haunted me for so many nights. Who was this kid? What did he want? And why was he here, with me?

     I've got to know, I thought to myself as I made my way down the decrepit street. The sight of my own shadow—stretched strangely along the curb—sent chills down my spine. Regret found me instantly. Though, before I knew it, I was hovering right over the boy's shoulder.

     Small, faint whimpers escaped his throat. The air felt thick, making it hard to breathe. His cries sliced the ends of my ears, like hail from the skies, serving only to strengthen my hesitation. I thought to run, race back the other way, until I felt a fierce grip crush the worn denim gathered around my ankle, yanking me to my knees.

     "Ahhh," I screamed, my tears stuck between clenched tonsils. All I could do was stare as I felt another hand grab me by the collar, dragging me to the shaded face of my assailant; the very kid I thought my place to save.

"Why are you here?" The boy asked, his tone bleeding confusion and anger.

     I froze, unable to speak, my focus stolen by the growing pain seeping through the open wounds of my scrapped knees.

     "Answer me, Zain"

     "How do you know my name?" The question left my tongue without warning.

     "Now, he chooses to speak," the boy said, gathering his volume with aggression as my neck endured further punishment by the ruffled back of my windbreaker.

     Too petrified to move, I continued to listen to the boy.

     "After all this time, after all my attempts to summon you, now you choose this the time to insult me? How dare you!" The boy yelled to the top of his lungs, shoving me to the ground, while he stood to his feet. "The better question is, why don't you know mine? Or remember?"      He began to pace back and forth, waiting for me to regain my balance.

     "What," I uttered, finally finding the strength to stand. "We've never met before. This is all a dream, anyway. None of this is real, man. I don't even know why I'm even having this—"

     "A dream! You still believe me to be fiction, after all these years?!"

Before surprise could catch me, the boy was standing within an inch of my face. I could feel his harsh breaths push up against the tip of my nose. But then, my body went numb, leaving me defenseless against his rage.

     "Open your eyes, Zain. This isn't a dream, or a nightmare. This is you!"

My eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. The boy had snatched his hood back from his face, now scowling down at me with the most condescending glare. Then suddenly, surprise had shot me.

     An exact replica of myself was now standing before me.

     "Now you see, Zain, this is all your fault. You chose to stop believing. You chose to forget. Now, they've chosen to take everything we built. Everything we fought for!"

     I had no idea what he was talking about. The constant use of words like we and us confused me even more. Remembering, understating, the whole lot of comprehension left me parked in this place. No way out. I was trapped in his rant—my rant. I didn't know him, me, whatever! What I did know was that I was losing it.

     Maybe this was some sort of sign; a man in the mirror life lesson type thing. But before I could figure it out, it happened. My dreams never lasted long after anxiety arrived, spinning the wheels driving me insane. They would collapse unto me like a burning building without the fire. So, it was no surprise to me when I started to feel the air become colder, the ground shake, and the skies split above us with cracks lining each space.

     "Look what you've done," the boy cried, grabbing me by the collar once more. "You're about to run, again, aren't you? Leave us all to rot in this hell you've created?"

     "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

     "Oh, you will, very soon. He's coming for you; for us, Zain."

     "Who," I questioned again, breaking free of his grabbing hold. "Who is coming for me?"

We both stood beneath crumbling skies—once dark—now bright as day, with streets vanishing beneath us, replaced by a white light. But nothing could stray his purpose.

     "For us, Zain! He's coming for us!"

     "Who! Tell me who!"

     "You'll see, soon enough." The calm in his voice frightened the very core of my soul.

     "Who are you?" Trebled whispers laced my plea for the identity of my mirror image.

     "Remember, Zain. That is the only way to save us. You have to remember."