The Catalyst

Chapter 8: An Attempt to Forget

        Chapter 8: An Attempt to Forget

        Dameon peered into the mirror. Obsidian black eyes gazed bsck at him, a dark fire smouldering in their depths. They were set in a pale face, with a smattering of freckles around the slightly upturned nose, surrounded by straight black hair. It was the exact same reflection that he had seen two days ago, before his father had died and he had learned the truth about...everything. It felt wrong, somehow, that nothing had been altered in the slightest. So much had changed inside of Dameon - surely the maelstrom of wild emotions that swirled in his heart must be somehow reflected outside? How could it be possible for him to feel so wrong, but look alright?

            As he continued to stare intensely at the small mirror of his brand-new bathroom, searching for a sign that his face was not still the same, he saw another appear in the mirror behing him, this one framed by close cropped, brown hair. A relaxed smile graced his uncle Clyde’s face and Dameon turned to see him beckoning to him from the door.

            “Are you sure you look alright? Might take another ten minutes of staring in the glass.” he joked. Dameon attempted to manufacture a smile, but the result must have been less than satisfactory because his uncle’s smile faded, and morphed into a look of deep concern.

            “Put them away.” he said in a low voice, “Put those evil thoughts away. Don’t dwell on the past; it can’t touch you here.”

            That’s a lie. Dameon thought bitterly, our past is what makes our present and future. In this case it’s my parents’ past, but really, what’s the difference?

            “Think about how excited you are to be here- to be going to a Lapillus school. What you’ve always wanted, eh? I’ll even take you our Bug if you like.” Clyde urged. Dameon could tell that he wasn’t going to back off anytime soon, so he nodded and finally stepped out of the bathroom.

            Even in his black mood, he could not deny that he loved his bedroom. It was so big that both his bedroom and his father’s from their apartment in the slums would have comfortably fit inside. The floor was the same polished mahogany wood that covered the rest of the apartment, and the walls were painted a relaxing shade of dark blue. The overstuffed bed was in the right hand corner, and on the other side was a large desk that stood in front of a window that stretched across the entire wall. A mini Smart Vision was hung up on the other wall, and a cushy chair sat in front. Dameon had already spent a few hours exploring it; it had full access to the Libnet and DigiNews archives, the television network, the various nets, and hundreds upon hundreds of different applications that all served different purposes. He could control it with voice control, with kinetic gloves that strapped up to his forearms, or with visors that tracked his eye movement. Altogether it was his dream bedroom, and he could tell that whoever had prepared the room for him had put a great deal of time and effort into making it as comfortable as possible.

            His uncle led him through the room, past the door that led to his walk-in closet. Apparently Dameon’s clothes from the slums had been horribly out of fashion, because the moment he had started to unpack his clothes two days ago, his aunt had descended upon him like a storm cloud and thrown every single article of clothing away - even including his three pairs of socks. She had then proceeded to show him a closet that was stuffed to the breaking point with brand-new clothes, the likes of which Dameon had only ever seen being worn by the more higher-end Remotus kids, complete with an Emulator, a mirror like device that hung on the back of the closet door. It had a complete catalogue of the twenty or so different outfits that comprised his closet. Dameon only had to choose one, and the Emulator would then show him his reflection- wearing the outfit. It was supposed to be a way for people to choose clothes that looked the best on them without having to try them on, but Dameon, not being particularly picky, had not bothered to use it, simply grabbing a few things off the shelf.