Emperor for a Night

Part 1

On a breezy afternoon in April, Wyatt drives home from a long day in what he calls educational prison. He tries not to think about another math test he just failed or the fact that he still does not have a girlfriend, even as a junior in high school who—in nearly five months—will be a senior. But he cannot resist considering how he will speak to his parents regarding the now much lower grade in math class. Then, after pondering about this, he delves into a deeper void of thought, wishing that the school's hatred for him would cease. It appears all the teachers dislike him for his disappointing grades, D’s, F’s and a C. Yet, it is not that he has no friends, but the thought of being popular, instead of infamous, and for his grades not to be a laughingstock would be nice. Shaking his head, he tells himself not to worry over such things, it is too nice of a day anyways. Wyatt pulls up the driveway to his house, then turns off the engine.

After sitting there for some time, he takes a deep breath. “Here we go,” he exhales with slight confidence, while leisurely exiting the car, and moseying to the front door. As he enters, it is 6:05 PM and his family is sitting at the dinner table waiting for him, as he had expected.

“Well, would you look who it is coming in so late,” his father teases. Leana, his eighth-grade sister, stares at him as she eats a glob of mashed potatoes.

“So, where have you been, mister?” His mother queries. “It’s now past 6.”

“Yeah, I know.” Wyatt sighs. “I just needed some time to sit.”

Leana snorts. “You mean you were sitting in the car for like, two hours, crying over your grade? How pathetic!”

Wyatt bubbles with agitation. “Gosh, Lea, shut up! It’s not my fault school is hard!”

“How? It’s easy for me, you must be an idiot or something—”

“That’s enough, you two!” Their father screams. “If you’re going to fight like this, then go to your rooms. And Leana, leave your brother alone!”

Wyatt pivots to the stairs, “Fine, I’ll go then! Because you guys suck!” he shouts as he marches to his room, slamming the door. Sorrow crossed with frustration begins to overtake him. “I wish they could at least give me some credit for actually caring, unlike those dummies that don’t even try to,” he mutters to himself. Soon, around eight o’clock, Wyatt drifts to sleep, and what Leana had said replaying in his mind.

At twilight, Wyatt is suddenly awakened by an odd and powerful sound. It seems like the swishing of the sea or the forceful whistling wind of an angry storm. He then frantically examines his room. “Where the heck is that coming from?” he quietly rages. The noise proceeds, along with a sharp wind, the force enclosing him. Instinctively, Wyatt cups his ears and squeezes his eyes shut. He stands in the middle of his room, as this swirling storm’s centerpiece, he feels his feet abandon the floor.