Restart

Troubled Consequences

 I skip into the kitchen, where everyone else is patiently waiting for me, the two boys having an argument over something I'm not quite in earshot of. The kitchen has a big archway entry that towers above me, which leads into the living room; the elegantly detailed trim is glittering but slowly chipping away from the use. It's but a fraction of its once former glory, yet it still holds true to the fame it may have once gleaned. Clementine is the only seated host, picking at an old, worn, brown table as Dijack and Steel continue to argue (which I can now fully eavesdrop on) over how to cook eggs. Them arguing over something so simple that it's almost impossible to not laugh at.

"Hey! Syl–!" Dijack's voice breaks through the air and cuts itself short when he realizes the mistake he just made. Everyone glances around at each other in the awkward silence that follows, my voice stuck in my throat as I come to understand who he was hoping I was, what he was expecting from me; the world in my head he was anticipative that I remember. I stand, meekly waiting for someone to speak and sanguinely clear the air. Finally, after a few minutes of quick glances back and forth between the group, he sinks to the floor in despair and defeat. I smile softly at him, wondering if there is really anything I can do at this point to help him, to support any of them, or if my presence overall is just going to be weight over their hearts.

"Sylvia. That is my name. Did you forget, silly?" I joke, my childish but endearing attempt to lighten his mood and put his restless soul at ease. "Luckily, I still know how to cook!" I snicker. Steel chuckles along to my cheesiness, most likely also trying to do his best to assist me with putting the pieces of this life of mine back together, and Dijack sighs, noticeably unable to hold in his smile.

"That would be a huge help. We obviously don't know what we are doing." Steel mutters as he elbows the boy next to him.

"Excuse me! I know how to cook!" he grumbles in response, primarily to himself. I end up cooking breakfast, which everyone thoroughly enjoyed, of which I blame that they probably haven't been eating the best these past months. After the feast, we all crowded on the same couch, staring forward at a plain, lightly painted yellow wall. This wall, too, must have at some point been a majestic beauty, adorned in jewels and works of art, but is now chipping away each day, the wallpaper no longer hugging against the aged paint. Dijack said we would watch a movie, but there is nothing to watch it on. The wall is void of any screens, and even pictures, a blank canvas. "Everyone comfortable?" he asks, bumping his shoulders into mine in a questioning manner.

"Yeah, yeah. Now, hurry up! I'm getting old here!" Steel groans loudly.

"What..." I manage out before getting distracted by the shiny box Dijack pulls out of his pocket. It's essentially identical to a Rubix Cube without all the colored stickers. It's made of polished glass that you can't see through and doesn't reflect. Dijack twists it several ways before tossing it to the floor at his feet. My hands fly up to cover my face in anticipation, though I'm not too sure what I am protecting myself from.

Dijack's hand comes up to envelope one of my own. I stare at him through my digits, surprised and slightly curious. "Don't freak out," he murmurs. "It's actually really cool."

"Freak out? What do yo–?" That's when the box explodes soundlessly. All I can see is darkness because my eyes instinctively snap shut. Dijack squeezes my hand and pulls me closer.

I can feel his arm enclose around my waist reassuringly, his lips brushing my ear, seemingly accidental. The feel of his lips sends a bolt of energy down my spine, his breath hot and muggy against my ear as he murmurs in a low, silky tone. "Don't freak out..." I know this was meant to abate my fluttering nerves, but the gesture only managed to fluster my very being, and it took every ounce of control I had to sit still. I open my eyes to witness the technology he had to offer with his guidance. My jaw hangs open as I behold what evidently is outer space. The room appears to have increased in size; we are still in the living room, but at the same time, we aren't. It looks nothing like it did before. I can see that everything is jet black and golden sparkles glitter the sky to resemble stars. Dijack's hand shoots up and waves through the air, causing a golden streak of light that follows the path he creates.