Under a Broken Sky

Chapter Three

Not all who wander are lost, but my GPS is busted and this paper bag has no exit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I woke up with a start, bolting upright in my bed. I was sweating. My covers were in a heap on the floor, disheveled. I glanced to my alarm clock, which was supposed to go off at 8 a.m., and to my surprise, I still had 10 minutes left until I was supposed to be awake. My nightmare – since it felt weird to call it a simple dream – left me disoriented. I knew I was fine, but as I came to and calmed down, I started to think about what I was told.

Some of it made sense. Some of it seemed like the product of my hazy mind playing tricks on me, a side effect of the stress and anxiety that must naturally go along with what I had chosen. I was about to leave, and my mind wanted to make up some kind of meaning or rationality behind the choice that I had made. There wasn't any, as far as my conscious mind knew. It was an impulse, and I was still coping with that.

I decided the best course of action was to get up and spend the extra time planning what I would do once I got to a resting spot. I assumed that I would stay with Garth, but even I had to admit I didn't know what would happen. I hadn't even thought to seek him out yesterday after the experience. I had to think about what he might be doing right now. I wondered if he was even half as worried as I was about what we were going to be doing.

Then the thought came to me and I couldn't remember if my vision had told me she had sought out Garth already or not. If Garth knew about his powers, or if he knew about any of this. It came to me, slowly, that she had mentioned he already knew it. It was why he left. Right. I don't know why I would have thought anything else.

Malie was awake, I could tell. I heard her shuffling around her room aimlessly. She was worried. I remembered the promise I had made her and double checked my supplies to ensure I had enough supplies to write her letters. There was nothing that explicitly said I couldn't keep in contact. It just wasn't the norm. Then again, leaving to begin with wasn't the norm. Nothing about my situation fit into the ideal, perfect world we were all expected to adhere to.

I approached the wall that separated my room from Malie's and rapped softly on it in our secret pattern: one, three, and two. I asked if she was awake and wanted to talk. Our code was silly. If we ended with two taps, it was a question. Three indicated a need to talk. One was always asking if the other was awake. That one was the hardest to clarify. It took our well-trained ears to discern the difference between an accidental bump from a meaningful question.

She replied: one solid tap. She was awake, as I thought. I don't know why I wanted to talk or why I sought her out. I should be preparing myself one last time. I should be taking a shower, eating a good breakfast, making extra non-perishable snacks to ensure I don't starve. Anything but playing this game. Then again, it was something familiar. I was clinging to the familiar. I made a mistake.

I think she knew this, too, because no more knocks came from her. The clock glared its harsh 8:00 in neon red numbers. It was almost painful to look at. That or it was just a further march to my impending doom. I showered and changed into cargo pants and a tank top, grabbing a jacket as an afterthought. I brushed my hair back into a high ponytail. I grabbed my backpack after one final check, and I went down stairs to the kitchen.

My mother was already there. She was making my favorite breakfast: chocolate chip pancakes. I couldn't help but smile. It was endearing that my mom, even knowing what was coming, was acting as if nothing was going to change. I would come back that night just the same and in one piece. My room would be illuminated until some ungodly hour, then I'd wake up with a book on my face again. It was her perfect world.