Spark

1

When I was six years old I found myself lost in the city. In ways that I still don't understand how, I was separated from my parents in the square. I was terrified and cried like a baby. Looking back at it, the problem was irrelevant and if it wasn't for my youthful idiocy it would have easily been solved. Simply, I could have asked for help instead of staying in the middle of bustling traffic, crying. These memories bring back emotions I tend to avoid: fleeting panic, abandonment, and self-pity. Lately, they dance across my mind with ferocious vividness.

Since they departed, Zak acts as a stand in guardian until their return in 3 years. I found a solemn envelope decorated with his name perched in our mailbox. I've heard of these letters before, they called for recruits to join MAGUM. Except this letter is not asking politely. It's a command. When I first set sights on the letter I had intentions to burn it. Given this is illegal, but I would like to see them trace it back to me. I knew that the fancy printed letters on the top of the cream casing meant bad news for me. Zak was being called on by the government to dive into the academy at age twenty-three. Quite young and impressive. The youngest that has ever been called to go is twenty-one.

Initially, this would lead him to a good future, yet I feel the need to be selfish. If he makes it through the next step in the selection process, I won't see him for at least four to five years. I refuse to lose him for that long. Each time I think about the events that are bound to happen I begin to feel how I felt when I got lost at six.

I was tired of feeling sorry for myself, when in actuality, my brother is leaving everything behind. Lately my bed has been the most comforting place for me to go. Countless hours of dwelling on the topic left me exhausted. The usual runs that brought me out of my haze only trace every thought back to where I am now.

Zak was to leave in four days, precisely at 0600 hours on January 16th, Trainport 13. Ninety-six hours, five thousand seven hundred and sixty minutes, and three hundred forty-five thousand seconds. But with each thought, it seemed to click by faster.

The alarm buzzed signally the start of the day. Although, recently I haven't had much use for the clock aside from bringing me from my thoughts.

The satin sheets around my legs encourage me to stay enveloped in warmth, while the sunshines struck through the glass window that took over the whole wall. I pushed myself up until my feet were dangling off the bed. I silenced the clock nearly knocking over the picture of Zak and I that lays beside it. We both looked happy then. His tan skin shone while his olive eyes demanded attention. An arm lazily slung over my shoulder wrapping me in his embrace. Many people said we looked like twins with him only half a foot taller. I wish I could go back in time. I realize this as an illogical thought, but it would still be nice.

The clock read 0605. I sluggishly walked across the cold wooden floors. A shiver ran up my spine. The white walls that encompassed me felt taunting. They reminded me of pure, adolescent thoughts. Situations I will never experience, memories that I will take back.

I shook my head. Now is not the time to think about this. I forced myself to open the door and cross the hallway into the bathroom. It was simple. The white tile floors complimented the soft blue walls with a glass shower.

The door slid closed behind me as I turned to look into the mirror. The natural curls of black hair reached to my shoulder blades and framed my face. My green eyes were dispirited. I know that I look beautiful, I've been told countless times, but I felt hideous. To others, I look just like my mother. We held interesting features from across the west. These features singled me out in my surroundings. The cold winter months brought pale features to everyone except my brother and I. I didn't mind though; it was another thing that kept mangy rich kids away. The alienation I faced was for the better.