The Knife Thrower

Chapter 24

I walk through the hallway on Monday, towards my first class. The sound of my boots slapping against the hard floor echo through the empty hallway. Lit candles line the walls, even though there is enough daylight to see by. I blow them out one by one, taking my time. That is such a waste. To burn candles for no reason, when they cost the rest of us a good dollar each.

I stop walking when I get to the door of my first class. Hanging next to the door is a rectangular mirror, about the size of my face. I haven't seen this before. I look into it and a girl looks back at me. We are the same height, same age and same build. When she blinks I blink. We are the same, but we are different.

Her long, curly hair hangs loose over her shoulders and down her back. Her black eyes are empty and expressionless. Her lips are straight and stern. When you look at her she gives nothing away. She is not flirtatious or funny or bright. She does not wear her heart on her sleeve or her life around her neck. You cannot tell if she is angry or happy or sad.

When you look at her you cannot see her puzzle. The puzzle of her life and who she is. You cannot tell if it is complete or beautiful. Which is good. She is the only one who can see the empty puzzle, that is starting to be filled with pieces. But the pieces make an ugly picture; of a lost past, a broken world and a dangerous future. The girl hides her puzzle for a reason. She does not want sympathy or understanding.

If I were to see her on the street, I would respect her for that. For keeping her puzzle a secret. I only wish the girl in the mirror is not me. I turn away from the image and walk through the door. Heads turn in my direction and I glance at my watch. 9:20am. Woops. I thought I was early. My Math teacher Miss Doozan rolls her eyes and tells me to sit. She also tells me not to be late next time. Everyone starts laughing and she tells them to be quiet. It's true, what are the chances I will actually listen to her and be early? None.

I sit in a seat by the window. I scan the class looking for Vanessa. She is not here and neither are about five other students. I wonder why they aren't here?

"Excuse me, Kyra." Miss Doozan calls across the class and I turn to look at her. What does she want? "Please move over here. We can't have you near windows anymore." She points to a desk smack bang at the front of the class in the centre. A few kids chuckle behind me. I raise an eyebrow. I can't believe they are still so worried about what happened almost a whole week ago!

"No. Sorry Miss, I ain't sitting there." Though I pick my stuff up and move to another seat, one near the back of the class. She huffs behind me and mutters something about 'Not making it easy for her.' Well, she is not exactly making it easy for me. Miss Doozan sits back down at her desk and starts to mark a roll. Around me people brake into conversation. I catch words such as 'Taken,' 'Knife Thrower' and 'Boring.' I'm guessing the last word is about this class.

I play with the exercise book on my desk, folding over the corners and re-folding them. I don't hear her approach and all of a sudden my book is shoved to the floor, and someone slides onto my desk. I look up into the chubby, tanned face of Kathy Foxen. She smirks down at me, rearranging her miniskirt and fluffing her hair. Her brown eyes lock onto mine with something like amusement and superiority. She slowly scans me from head to toe, eyes lingering over my hair.

"Late again Kyra?" She asks innocently, eye lashes fluttering up and down. I really hate this girl. She comes from the same planet as Fanny.

"Why should you care?"

She laughs heartily, like we are sharing a big joke. "Because I am your friend silly!" Yeah right.

"Yes?" I sigh, waiting for her to get her fat butt off my table.

She flicks her hair over her shoulder. "I just thought you might want to know where your little... friend is." She shrugs and gets of the desk, casually walking away. I purse my lips, torn between asking for more information or letting her go. Finally my curiosity wins out and I call her back. He leaps over to me, beaming a mega-watt smile like I just proposed. This time she leans over me, head near my face.

She whispers "Rumor has it that Vanessa's Subarb was attacked by the Rats last night." She pauses, watching my face. "Guess The Knife Thrower couldn't save her." She turns around haughtily and flounces away, hips swinging and hair flying.

I stare at her in shock for a moment my stomach twisting itself into knots, not sure what to do. Anger and grief wash over me, but I push them away. That it exactly the reaction Kathy would have wanted from me. She doesn't know I am The Knife Thrower, I am sure of it. She just told me that to be spiteful, the thing she does best.

For the rest of the lesson I stare out the window, making my battle plan in my head. Miss Doozan yells at me twice but I don't pay attention. I have more important things to worry about. I know what I need to do next. Last Monday Ryan said that the next flight to Relang left in seven days... so tomorrow. When that flight leaves Relang, I need to make sure Izzy and Jay are on it. No matter what.

The bell goes to signal the end of class and I practically leap out of my desk. I turn right in the hallway, heading in the opposite direction of everyone else, who are all going to English class. Tom calls out behind me, asking me where I'm going. I wave him off and continue walking. I have five minuets before English class starts. I'm using it.

I open the small door at the end of the hallway and start climbing the four flights of stairs. I race up them, muscles flexing and heart accelerating. I am out of breath by the time I reach the fifth story, legs aching and hair clinging to my back. I feel around for the small trapdoor just above me. Finding the latch I open the trapdoor and pull myself up onto the roof. It slams shut behind me and I walk to the edge.

Spread out before me is the rest of the school, all grey buildings and mean-faced teachers. I spy some eight year olds running on the grass and two year tens talking under a lone tree. I look up into the clear, blue sky and watch the fluffy clouds slowly roll by. A grey dove swoops gracefully through the air, wings spread wide and beak gleaming in the glare of the sun. When I was younger, I used to wish I could fly away like the dove, fly away to a better place. Seeing that bird fly out of sight reminds me of a song Ryan taught me when I was younger.

If you had the choice would you fly away. Take up the wind to a better place. See the world, like the birds do. Feel the wind, flying past you.

Would you fly away to a better day, fly away and never look back. Would you take the chance, and escape. Or would you stay behind and never leave this place.

So what I say, is Butterfly, fly away. Butterfly, fly away...

Tears form unexpectedly in my eyes and I blink them back. I think he was talking to me. But I am far from any butterfly. Though one can dream, one can wish. I shake of the thought and turn around, walking back to the trapdoor. Back to reality.