Breakout

Chapter 1

Five-thirty in the morning, my alarm sounds-the appropriate time I've set over the past four years. Unlike every dawn when I shift my body to the squawking, reach for the clock and try unsuccessfully to turn it off, I'm wide awake.

Bags are crinkled under my eyes. Beads of sweat roll down my forehead. And my breathing is fast, and heavy. This is what insomnia looks like when it happens to me. Did I recently have any bad dreams or nightmares? No. A medical problem I haven't yet to fix with a simple prescription? No. However, those would be good excuses for me to succumb to. I'm actually drenched in stress, and fear to finally see this morning; the 28th of May dated on the clock. Today I graduate from high school. Early by tomorrow, I am anticipated to attend a governmental school based in North Carolina.

I grimace in frustration at the egg-shaped clock before I toss the device overhead, and hear a loud thud against the wall. I didn't expect for throw to go so far.

I swiftly rush out of bed, and grunt that I won't be spared at least five minutes of sleep-I'm really in need of it now-because in full of alertness now, I know someone would come to check me. So, I make for the bathroom and start the shower. I close the door behind and wait until I'm right. It's my mother who's the first to come knocking.

I hear the gentleness in her voice, but I'm acting as if I don't. Then I hear the click of the door and instantly taking it as the sign that everything was clear. I turn off the shower. I don't think I deserve one until it's time for the ceremony. That's the appropriate time when I should prep myself in an all-expense paid, black-and-white suit. To drape over, it will be the hunter green gown to match my cap. It's all hiding in my closet that I'm avoiding, unless I want a mixture of my frustration and anxiety to brew off another cloudy chance with storms again. And by that opportunity, that's when they'll come for me, like the rest of this week. The numerous amounts of reporters who I mean bombard my home with their newscasts, and their televisions aiming for my window to get a glimpse of me. Even my trusty guard of the police gave up themselves because they couldn't handle the pressure.

Ugh! They're arrived all too early to see me anyway, I think about the situation. It's not supposed to officially happen until today.

Well what can I do, since I've been claimed to most powerful aviant within the world, since I was at the age of sixteen?

This would be the reason why I've been trained on setting my alarm way too early; to avoid this problem. So I better get going before another wave of unaccompanied news reporters come knocking at my door-especially the most outrageous one of them all, Ludis Sir Crum, the Aviant Expert.

I can hear his voice ringing in my head since his arrival this past Sunday.

"Such a deviant and specially gifted creature you are," I remember him say.

Okay, I understand his excitement of me and probably means well. However, I still just can't wrap my head around that to accept it as a compliment. I don't belong behind a cage in a zoo somewhere.

I get a little ting of anger, brushing against my tongue, but I conjure another voice in my head. The husky stern, yet friendly tone belongs to Bandi, telling me to "keep yourself calm." I repeat out loud in a mantra of ten times before I could hear a single roll of thunder. I finally relax and unravel my fist from their tight knots.

I turn at my heel-bad idea. Slumber is still beneath my eyes and I catch myself to stumble. I correct my stance and move along to the dresser nearby my window. A ray of the morning sun's rich light enters. But there's not much of it since a lap of gray clouds overcast most of the sky.

"Great," I murmur. Although, I get most of myself under control the weather persist to indulge off the littlest of my emotions. I don't get upset. Instead, I dip my head, bathing into the soothing warmth. Simultaneously I open the top drawer and pull out a pair of faded blue jeans, then a red-velvety t-shirt to go. Wearing a shirt bright as this one I hold out in front, can really bring a liquefied gray to my eyes. And the proof lingers in the mirror, adhesively plastered to the room door.