Felix Jones and the Celestial Lake

Chapter One

I was seven when the first occurrence happened. Swinging on the jungle gym, a rain cloud loomed above; the air thinned and the sky began to mercilessly weep as heavy moisture came rolling in over the Northern Californian hills.

Something had caught my attention across the other side of the park. Past the grass was a hiking trail with many trees and steep stone steps to climb. At the entrance of the hill was a gate and I had slipped through to follow a floating little ball of light. I was too young to understand what it was, and it lead me to the top of the trail. Stumbling over cracked steps, freshly damp from the rain pattering down through the trees in large clumps.

The shuffling of the leafs above set my stomach on edge, but the little light that guided me in the distance was comforting to me. It was like a bright white firefly: a wispy little thing that wouldn't let me get too close to it. It didn't make a sound, either. Silent, guiding, lighting the path through the rain. The trees close to us were illuminated and past them the darkness spied on the trespassing creatures.

When we finished the climb, my small legs tired but my curiosity peaked, the trail ended at the top of a drop-off where a bench looked over the top. It was a sight that many would have seen their first kisses and marriage proposals. The skyline was finishing the end of the day with a light blue haze over the horizon. Many homes were nearby, below the forest slopes. The trees shook, a thousand leaves screaming as they brush up against one another.

The orb of light had stopped to hover over the hill, waiting for me to reach it. Close enough to touch, the rain going right through its small body of light. I wanted to reach for it, to feel if it has any warmth, but it vanished. Plunged into total darkness I was blind. Taken aback I yelped, hands fumbling in the shadows. The cracked stone below was slippery when I fell atop it. The wind rushed forward, an unexpected gush. It rolled me over, as if it were trying to kick me over the edge of the cliff. My fingers slid around, hoping to get a hold of anything. My eyes were shut tight, fighting the stinging of my tears as they came swelling over.

"That's him." I heard it, I know I did. But the words felt distant, as if they were carried over by the wind from a hundred miles away.

I kicked my legs behind me, trying to get off my stomach and back on my feet. I opened my eyes through the gobs of rain slamming into my face. The thunder in the distance was pounding the atmosphere. The hairs on my arms started to stand and my back ached with fear. The only thing I could see was the bench facing me and the cliff behind me looking down over hundreds of treetops. The wisp was gone, the elements thrashing my small body around like a hockey-puck. My lungs heaved. A chill ran down my spine.

Then the hands came, I felt them before I saw them; they tossed me back. The sting from the fall reverberated against the back of my skull, the stars were now dancing across my vision in purples and blues. My back was sliding against the stone as a large miscellaneous figure yanked on my ankles. My throat was hoarse and scratchy from yelling out. The rain and thunder swallowed my cries for help. I remember my chest burning and looking down to a purple fire. The stone was rough against my back and fingers, cold, damp, and it offered no comfort when the purple fire singed through my favorite sweater.

The tears were horrible, they were burning my cheeks as they boiled against the heat of the smokeless fire. The person, a man by the threatening size, grabbed my burning body without any effort. He carried me over to the edge of the cliff at the top of the trail. I remember thinking of my mother, unable to move as I felt myself cook from the outside in.

Then something happened. The fire was extinguished and I was tumbling again--away from the cliff. I wasn't able to see very well as I lay on the ground staring at my rescuer with blurry vision. The world swam, my body ached, and the tears I wanted to cry were futile. My heart thumped, pounding relentlessly against my broken ribs.

That's all I remember from that night. I woke up the next day, according to my mother, in bed with a burned scar across my chest in the shape of a star. My mother says she believes me, but we don't speak about it. I think she feels guilty for not having kept more tabs on me as a kid. But, what she doesn't know is that since that night I wasn't like any normal child walking along the street. I knew that much.

What I didn't know, however, was that night wouldn't be the only time I'd be fighting for my life. It was merely the beginning.