The Generators

8. Magdalenea

  I promise you that there are no more new POVs for the time being, you've got all of the characters and now it's time to get the story moving, strap yourself in and enjoy! You'll be able to keep track by looking at my lovely chapter images up above.

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 I can't describe to you the sheer amount of thoughts swirling around my mind as we drove back home. How was it possible? I mean, I'm not a terrible dancer, but let's just say I do it more for the feeling than the technique. What did Stell do? That was a million times more difficult than anything I've ever even attempted before. Of course, I didn't believe Mr. O at first, went he told me, but he'd filmed the majority of it, and he was right. There was no doubt about it. I had done it. Nobody possessed me; I wasn't hypnotically controlled, for the best I could tell. The answer was simple, the answer was clear. I had just done the impossible.

And then there was that other big question, why now? Why did this miraculous talent of mine decide to spring up on this day? With this test, with that dance? Estelle has been testing this out for a decade or more, what was it? Was my brain just too tired to conceal the party trick any longer? Where was the logic? Where was the explanation? I wanted that; I wanted to see the facts, concrete facts. Because if nothing else in my meaningless life, at least I had that, a talent.

But the biggest thing, the most troubling thing that caused a chasm of dread in my stomach was, without doubt-what on earth were my parents going to think?

"We're home." Mr. Anderson said, unstinting the windows so I could have a proper lookout.

And there it was, my home. Five big white shiny skyscrapers were hurdling into the clouds. The windows were catching the light of the late afternoon sun and holding it, illuminating everything around them for all to see. People, hundreds of them, streamed in and out of the various entrances. Deliveries were made, shifts being changed, important meetings commencing. This was my home, the center of the universe, the Benedict Compound.

Mr. Anderson pulled through the front gates and past the crowds of people streaming out of the front entrance. My chest felt tight, and suddenly it was almost as if I'd forgotten how to breathe.

"Alright, Bean?" Mr. O asked me, looking up from his issue of the newspaper. I was sweaty. Had I always been sweaty or was that a new thing? And my hands, they didn't usually shake that way, did they?

Mr. O could see the panic rising on my face and calmly put a hand on top of mine. "You don't have to tell them, you know."

"What?"

"You don't have to tell your parents what happened."

"Of course, I do, I mean, they're my parents. They'd freak out. I mean, I'm freaking out, O."

"Bean, you're a big kid. You're nearly 15. You can have secrets."

"But, they know everything about me!"

"And you're always complaining you wish you were a normal kid. Here's your chance."

"You're suggesting I lie? That doesn't seem very ethical."

He shrugged and returned to his paper. "Or don't. I'm just saying; it's the first secret you've ever had. Maybe test it out for a little while."

I couldn't lie, could I? But, when I stopped to think about it, what was it that I was going to say to them. "Hey, Mom, Dad, guess what? Today I did ballet, but it was finally good!" It would be better if I had something to tell them that was significant, I wasn't sure what "significant" thing I was imagining, but surely it would get better than this. It wouldn't be so bad; my parents worry enough about me. It wouldn't help to tell them; they'd say I was going crazy. And I'd get yelled at about the shoes.