Short Stories

Fifty-One: Cold

(A/N): Haven't updated in a while. Whoops.

You nervously looked at your phone not really doing anything on it. You were just staring at a black screen. You can't enter class, the power is too dominant. You just...can't. You can't. You can't. You can't! The power... it's too... it's too. it's too powerful. You take a few deep breaths, trying to draw your own power to combat the cold power emitting from the chemistry classroom. The bell sounds through the near-empty hallways, and you force yourself to walk the few feet to your classroom. You can do it, just a few more steps. Come on. You enter the classroom just as the bell ends, breathing heavily.

"Oh, hey Rose! You finally decided to come in, eh?" Your chemistry teacher teased. You didn't respond, instead, you opted to walk quietly to your seat. Thankfully, your seat was right by the door. You swing your backpack down to the floor and collapsed into the cold plastic of the chair. You flinch at the cold touch, only amplified by the cold feeling of power engulfing the room. It was so cold. So. Cold. Everything looked pale and fragile. Your icy hands held onto your knees, and your stiff fingers wiggle around to gather heat. Despite the cold power emanating from the newcomer, everything felt stuffy and stifling. You desperately fight against the instinct to just run from the power. You never had this feeling of fear before, who had entered school in the middle of the year that was this powerful? You struggle to breathe as you realize the only empty desk previously was the one across from your seat. They were there. You knew they were there. You want to submit and show you're no threat so badly. But, you have to suppress it. You try to control your breathing. It fails. Your labored breaths catch the attention of the person across from you.

Your thoughts whirl in your mind like a tornado, they clash together and are strewn and broken. Your instincts tell you to run or submit. But, a submission of power was a humiliating and very attention-drawing act.  You feel the cold power gather under your chin. It was cold like ice but it burned like the heat of thousand suns. It pushed your chin up, forcing your chin up effortlessly. You stare into warm brown eyes, a stark contrast from the ice-cold power filling the room. It's a boy. He had brown hair, strong jaw, tan skin, and what seemed to be a lithe body as they release their grip on you, and you look back down. They weren't just power-filled; they were also strong.

You can hear the teacher talking about today's class. But you can't concentrate. The power was crushing you. You can't breathe. You can't move. You can only sit and struggle to not submit. Time has seemed to halt, relishing in your uncomfortable situation. The clock ticking in the corner almost seems to mock you, almost laughing at you with each berating tick and each mocking tock. Your cold and clammy hands dig into your knees, fingernails started to pierce through flesh and draw blood. You felt so cold. You knew you were sweating. The power was just so suffocating. You were drowning. You couldn't escape. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't breathe. You. Couldn't. Breathe!

Your eyes snap open as the bell rings. You bolt out of the classroom before the teacher can finish talking. You just had the worst luck of having double science today. You ran to the bathrooms, slamming the door shut, and locking it quickly. You shouldn't have done that. You were too fast. Too fast for a human. You should've known better. You're an angel. You. Should've. Known. Better. Your heavy breaths become quiet once more as you hear people shuffling into the bathroom. You stay there for a few seconds, trying to rein in your frazzled power and distracted brain. You try to ground yourself in reality, you study the tiled floor's pattern and look at all the small bumps and ridges on the bathroom stall.

You let out a big breath. You can do this. Come on. You slowly unlock the door, almost comically slow as if the powerful being would jump out of the shadows. You cautiously walk back the short distance to your classroom, the crowd was thinning out. The bell. You had to reach the classroom before the bell rang. You stopped right outside the classroom. He was right by his desk. The bell started ringing.

You took a step forward and slumped into your seat, controlling your breathing. You can do this. You can do this. The teacher vaguely says it's a free period and your seat partner leans over to you.

"Hey, are you okay? You didn't look too good last class." Hadyn asked.

"I'm...fine." You breathe out, even managing a reassuring smile. Hadyn gives you a look, "Alright, if you say so." He gets up and walks over to his girlfriends's seat and says hi to his friends. Now, it was just you and the new angel.

"Well, it seems you're also an angel." He muses. You can't look at him directly, that would mean disrespect. But you can feel the smirk in his smile and the faint bump of his elbows hitting the table as he leans on his hands.

"Yes...sir. I am an angel." You can't afford to disrespect him.

"Which ranking?"

"Level Three, sir." It was a mediocre ranking.

"Ah, I'm a Level Five ranking." Your breathing almost stopped. One of the originals. He was one of the originals. You somehow manage to breathe. Only seven of them in the world, and he was talking to you. A mediocre angel.

"By the way, don't call me sir. It's too formal," you feel him suppress his power, and you are able to look at him in the face now, "I'm Gabriel." He winks at you. You don't react to his wink and mumble a confirmation for his order. His cold power seems to withdraw from the room, and you don't feel like you're drowning anymore. You can...breathe. The room warms up, and he smiles at you. You can do this. Yeah, you could do this.