Mavaria

1.

"Storm," I whispered, casting my gaze above the clustered buildings to take in the darkening sky. There was no doubt in my mind that one was coming. There never was. Even on the days when I awoke to find sunlight filtering through the cracked blinds of my window, angling down onto my face, I would still have a sense, some sort of premonition that the weather wouldn't hold. At least not as long as I hoped it would.

I gave pause, uncertain. I was standing in patchy, weed-tangled grass that reached all the way to my ankles, fighting the urge to run. I hated storms. But I wasn't alone here. He was behind me, back a little ways, leaving our unfinished game to come and sit beside me quizzically.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. Every sound, every voice had a color to me; his voice was candy-apple red, clear and agreeable, though sometimes too loud.

"Storm's coming," I told him simply. I was itching to bolt back to the complex and down the hall to knock frantically on my door. My aunt would then let me in and I'd dive under the bed and stay there until the rain and thunder were long, long gone.

"It's probably not going to be here for a while," he protested. His eyes were round with sadness as he looked at me. "Please don't go inside, Natanael."

I was frightened, but didn't know how to argue. So I sat back down with him, but apprehension still prickled at my skin.

It was coming sooner than he said it was.

Of that much, I was completely and utterly sure.

//

The California I knew now couldn't be more different than the California of my early childhood. God forbid I ever find that complex, if indeed it still stood- I didn't know if I'd be able to take that. If there was one thing that was fortunate for me, it was that I lived far enough away from anything that was once familiar, anything I might remember, to spare myself that pain.

That was about where my fortune ended. Still, I've found that it's best for me to have something to be grateful for, lest I completely lose my mind before I die.

There were probably more things if I thought hard enough, I mused to myself as I was making my way back to my master's house that evening. The weak light of the sun had long since began to sink, its meager weight pulling it with eerie slowness to the edge of the horizon. Through the thick cloud, only a smudge of blood orange gave away its presence in the sky. I ignored the unsettling feeling it gave me, focusing my thoughts on getting back to my master's house. Six-thirty; in half an hour, dinner would be over and I would be expected back. It wouldn't be long before my absence would be noticed. I glanced around, looking back where I came and then ahead of me again.

Though war had done its worst on every city I'd ever lived in, some parts still managed to keep their dignity. The place my master lived was one of those. Of course, any names the area had before had been replaced with the one he gave to it- Fort Wuthering, the capital city of the Empire. I wondered sometimes what it had been before, but no one spoke of this, and no one ever told me. I knew that it had to have been here for a while. Tall, proud buildings scraped the sky, pristine and perfect in every way, with charming old houses lining the streets and lush palm trees dotting the yards. It didn't look anything like the neighborhoods I'd passed on my way. I wouldn't soon forget the sight those forgotten old buildings that sat on yards barren of any grass; the sight of smashed and boarded windows, collapsing roofs, homeless stragglers and the weary working class walking past me with hunched posture. This wasteland stretched onwards as far as the eye could see, and beyond it, I knew, there was lonely desert. I had walked that desert years before to get here, arriving among only half of those who had begun the journey. The rest lay forgotten somewhere in the sand, and probably still do to this day.