telepath generation prologue + ch 1 draft
Prologue
In the beginning, it was this:
the knowledge that they are never alone
the constant murmuring of other thoughts, deep in the back of their head
the hum, the warmth, of the noise
-
in the beginning, it was this:
the knowledge that they are never alone
the constant murmur of other thoughts, and knowing they cannot escape them
the fright, the chill, of not knowing why they are like this
-
Chapter One
the first sits, tapping their fingers on their knee to the ticking of the clock on the wall behind them. they are hunched over in their seat and their eyes stare, unfocused, at the poster covered wall across from them.
their tapping is interrupted by the clicking of high heels on the tile floor. they turn their head towards the interruption, and see a tall figure, all white and black blobs to their still unfocused eyes, stop in front of them. they blink, once, twice, three times, willing their eyes to focus despite their wish for the world to stay blurry, and the vague figure turns into that of an older woman, dressed in a business suit. the woman has a severe face that is twisted into a frown.
"are you ready to leave." says the woman, with no question in her tone, but rather distaste. "i'm in no mood to spend any longer in this... establishment."
the first tilts their head, first to the side, then to look at the ceiling.
"i suppose," they murmur, their voice low and rough. "we wouldn't want your reputation to be sullied by being seen here, would we, aunty."
they spat the last word, as if it were a curse.
"what did i say about calling me that." the woman replies, grabbing the first's wrist and tugging them out of their seat.
"not to, of course!" they mock, pitching their voice high. they are looking at their skirt as they say this - a long, tattered skirt made of patched, faded fabric. they watch it swing around them, see their bare feet underneath it and wiggle their toes.
the woman scowls and lets go of the first's wrist. "come along, then. we have guests arriving tonight and we'll need to be home soon to make you presentable for them."
the woman turns and walks away, not checking once to see if the first follows her. they stare until she is 20 steps away, and they resist the urge to tap along to her footsteps. instead they twist their ring around once, jingle their bracelet of bells 4 times, then begin walking, never taking their eyes off the woman until they see a group of people gathered outside the entrance of the building.
"goodbye, darlings." they say, and blow the group a kiss. most of the group ignores them pointedly, but one laughs and calls out,
"goodbye, firebug! we won't miss you a bit!"
"i wouldn't have it any other way, posie!" the first yells back. they don't mind the girl's truthful words - the hum in their mind tells them that someone out there would miss them, one day. they smile as they get into the woman's car, and laugh as they drive past the burnt remains of a building.
'goodbye, goodbye.' they think as they laugh, and the humming gets louder,
-
the second floats facedown in a pool of water, testing how long she can hold her breathe. she counts out the seconds slowly in her head. she knows that her count will not be accurate, but she find comfort in counting anyway.
she reaches seventy-two-elephant and suddenly hears howling laughter from the back of her mind. she chokes and flails out of the water, gasping for air. when she can finally breath again her friend across the pool calls out to her to make sure she is okay.
"i'm fine!" she yells between heavy inhales. her lungs ache, but she can feel her breathing begin to slow down.
she closes her eyes and feels the water move around her, until she feels calm again. the laughter is gone, but it left behind a tingling, a feeling that something was changing.
"lets go do something else, yeah?" she suggests to the friend, wading over to the pools edge and hauling herself out. she doesn't wait for an answer - she knows the other girl will follow her.
-
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-
the car ride home is quiet - too quiet. they are not allowed to make noise in the car - aunty had yelled at them for doing so far too many times - and aunty refused to ever turn on the radio while driving. to her, any noise at all was too much of a distraction.
the first focuses on the purr of the car, on the occasional volume of traffic, on the beat of their heart - but no, not the last one, they say to themself, not here, this is not a safe place.
-
the locker room is empty when she reaches it. every step she takes leaves behind a puddly footstep. the second grabs her towel and bag from the rented locker and steps into the shower space.
she stares up at the shower head, at the rings of rust around the holes, then turns on the water. she hears footsteps outside of her stall, then hears the water start in another stall. she knows this is her friend but she doesn't say anything, just silently washes the chemicals out of her hair, off of her body. she strips out of her bathing suit, throws it over the bar of the stall's curtain, tilts her head back into the stream of water. she pretends there is no one else there, that this shower is out in the wilderness, that it is a waterfall that she is bathing in. this is her routine. she imagines the creatures that live in her space - some days, regular animals; today, she imagines merpeople and kelpies, naiads and sprites. a siren sings out to her. she can almost hear its song over the roar of the water, she thinks, so she takes a step out of the water, so that it is just beating against her back, and the faint song grows stronger; another step and she hears - she hears - whooshing, of not water, but air; blurred greenery surrounds her; there is no other noise itsemptythisisavacuumthisis - and she gasps, and finds herself on the shower floor.
it takes all she has in her to not start sobbing right there. instead she shakily pulls herself up, turns the water off, towels off. she sprints back to her locker to change.
her friend comes out of her shower just as she finishes.
"i'm going to just head home." she says to her, not looking up, hoping her voice doesn't sound strange.
"yeah, okay." the friend replies. "you feeling okay?"
"just tired," she smiles. "see ya."
she leaves to the sound of the other girl's goodbye.
-
rigō, -āre vt to water, moisten, bedew; to convey (water). rigor, - ōris m stiffness, hardness; numbness, cold; strictness, severity. rīmor, -ārī, -ātus vt to tear open; to search for, probe, examine; to find out. rīmōsus adj cracked, leaky. rīsus, -ūs m laughter, laugh; laughing stock. rixor, -ārī, -ātus vi to quarrel, brawl, scrabble. rogālis adj of a pyre.
-
the guests, they find, had arrived at the house far earlier than expected.
aunty sends the first around the back, up to their room, to hide how "unsuitable for company" they are. they have no intention of cleaning themself up, or of even leaving their room any time before sunset.
they carefully close the door behind them as they enter the bedroom, quiet to further mask their presence, and lock it four times. they turn away from the door and take in the room they have not set foot in for weeks - it hasn't changed a bit. they run their fingers over the edges of the furniture as they pass, and flop down on the bed.
'i've missed you, darlings.' they say to the objects scattered around the room. running their eyes over the space, they take stock of everything they had been forced to leave behind, everything they have finally returned to.
they lean back on the bed, stare at the ceiling. it is covered in plastic glow-in-the-dark stars, glittery, colorful remnants of their childhood. they stare until the stars go out of focus, become blobs of color. they feel calm, when their sight is like this. like there is nothing to worry about, like there is nothing but them in this fuzzy world. they stare until their eyes go watery, until it hurts to keep them open, and when they blink -
the world is clear, is blue, is foam and motion - and it burns so eyes close and everything is dark but light, and there is no gravity, no motion, no air, this is freedom thisissafetythisis-
and they are back on their bed, soft and motionless.
they smile, daring a laugh out loud.
this is good, they think, fingering the fringe of the blanket beside them. this means it must be getting stronger, the hum. this means that they will find out where it comes from.
this means that soon, something will love them.
-
she had, honestly, meant to drive home as soon as she left the pool, she really did, she tells herself as she drives down a familiar highway to the outreaches of town. there is a beach there, where she is heading, that was abandoned. private property, once upon a time, and all that is left is the decrepit old house and the rocky beach, its boundaries only breached by the few brave souls who dared to explore it.
it is her place, and in all the years of her using it as a hideaway she had never encountered another human being.
she is safe there.
and after what has just happened, she needs to be in a safe place. not home, not with her friends - safe.
the anticipation of reaching those waters is the only thing keeping her calm, and as soon as she reaches the beach she wastes no time zipping under the hole in the broken gates to the edge of the water, in stripping down to nothing, jagged rocks be damned, and diving into the one safe spot in the nearby waters - hidden behind the rocks, a place she had discovered many years before.
the water is soothing, and for a moment, as she closes her eyes, she feels a brief, alien jolt of wonder, as if this is a new and unfamiliar place for her. she shakes it off as nerves and floats on her back, facing the sky.
here, she is safe. here, there is nothing to be afraid of. no hallucinations, no strange laughter, no paranoid feelings of being watched. she wishes she could stay here all the time, just exist in this water until her body is nothing but sea foam, as if she were a fairy tale mermaid. as if she were nothing but a dream.
she floats until the sun begins to set.
-
"... down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death."
- Hamlet
Act 4, Scene 7