Flying
Ryoko sat on the rock by the sea and sighed. The world outside was so far away, and she could only watch from her spot. Her world was so different from their’s. So warped. All she wanted was a chance to live there, and she knew she would give anything to be anywhere but Aretha, the land of nothingness; the land of gray skies, and gray lives. Everything is gray here, personalities are included. Her own mother was gray, and Ryoko knew she was the only one who remembered color. In the entire city, she was the only one.
It was a faint memory, but one she would grasp onto whenever she started to lose herself in the haze. The small outline of the salty mist against the deep ocean’s blue. The cool breeze against the vibrant emerald grass. All the colors of the world, and she was the only one who remembered, but it was her fault, and tonight, she would repent. Her Ashes would return the color.
It was less than a week ago, when she made the wish. She hadn’t even thought of the consequences, so she had made it without a second thought. The memory of it, made her shiver, and made her Fly. Ryoko had wandered in town, when it was still beautiful, and when there was a festival being held. Streamers were everywhere, everyone seemed so happy! There was bouncing music, laughing children, and many people wandering about, tasting the delicacies, and swaying to the fast beat. In her bright new sapphire kimono, she felt like the whole world was right, but she also felt tired of the festivities, for it was the same every year. Didn’t they realize that they were almost living in a warp? A never-ending loop, and she wanted out. Desperately. That’s when she saw it, the one tent that had never been there before. A change in her world.
The tent was made of midnight black silk, and covered with golden threads embroidered into strange symbols. There were wooden poles sticking out the top of it, and a strange magenta smoke rising from the hole in the roof. It was strange, scary almost, but alluring in some way. Like she was drawn to it. Like she was being pulled by some invisible force, closer, and closer. She just wanted to know what was inside, call it curiosity, call it natural wonder, call it whatever you want, but she soon found herself inside, moments after she just discovered it. And it was almost magic inside there. Statues of Dark Angels, mystic beings, and strange pentagrams. Bottles of strange liquids, emanating intoxicating smells, and beholding glowing an array of colors from neon crimson, to the color of the murkiest swamp water. And jewels, priceless gems, were scattered about in an almost thoughtless manner. In the center of it all, was a small round table, with a crystal ball on a claw foot base.
All of a sudden, it clicked for Ryoko; a fortune teller! That explained all the weird things, for all fortune tellers use them for decorations! It was so obvious, and she had felt like a fool for believing, even if just for a moment, that it was mystical. She was about to leave the tent when she heard a rustling and an old woman’s cough from behind. She whirled around, and at the table that was empty a second ago, was an ancient and wise looking woman. She wore a dark lavender sari and bore many gold bangles on her wrists. Her hair, light as snow, but still smooth as silk, and her eyes, small, lighthearted ambers, showed that in her earlier days, the wrinkly skinned woman had been an impressive beauty. A gypsy perhaps? She didn’t know, but then the supposed gypsy spoke it a voice like sandpaper, but worn rough from age, instead of smooth.
“Forgive me if I startled you, my dear. At my age, you learn to move quietly, lest you surprise yourself!” the woman let out a coarse laugh and the lines at her lips crinkled in a form of a smile. “My name is Lady Renolda, I am no prophesier, although I often wish I had that less burdensome gift, instead of my own.” Ryoko didn’t speak and the woman took that as a queue to continue with her speaking. “Sit, sit, my dear. I don’t bite anymore, I need a spirit to do that, and I am far too tired.” The sapphire-clad 17 year-old slid into one of the soft satin covered chair surrounding the table, a bit uneasily though, and kept her eyes on Lady Renolda, in case of something bad occurred. There was silence.
“What is your gift, Lady Renolda?” Ryoko finally found the courage to speak, and a knot was tying itself around and around in her stomach, and she noted that she was also sweating. Inwardly she groaned; just what she needed. There was a kind look on the old woman’s face as she noticed the coal haired teenager’s nervousness. She stretched out a leathery hand and patted Ryoko’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, dear. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m only here because you called me. You are looking for a way out of the ‘loop’—as you call it—are you not?” The words startled Ryoko and she focused her gaze on the woman questioningly. She hadn’t even told her mother about that!
“How do you—“ she started, but the Renolda held a hand up to silence her.
“It is part of my gift, child. I can see what you want most in life,” a sparkle of youth appeared her eyes, the windows to her soul’s light. “And I can make them come true.” A quick suck of air was her response this time, and a pair of blue diamonds penetrating her own amber ones. Ryoko was silent as she fumbled for the words she needed to grasp.
“Can… Can you do that? Get me out of this loop, I mean. Set me free?” Her ice blue eyes were almost begging for the woman to say ‘Yes.’ And she did. She gave Ryoko’s shoulder a squeeze and said ‘Yes.’, and that’s how it began. The rules were simple: (1) You go to a new place, but you can’t tell anyone where you are from. (2) You stay for three days. (3) You cannot, under any circumstances, allow someone to become closer than a friend to you for those three days, if you succeed, you can stay for forever if you want, and become close with who—or what—ever you want. If you fail, you will not only return to Aretha, but all the color of life will be gone.
Ryoko heard the rules, but barely. Her heart was pounding too hard. She didn’t care how or why she got there, but she wanted to leave. The woman handed her a contract, and she signed, shakily, but legible. She was almost in a fog, but she heard to woman praise her, and a twinge of anger. She didn’t know why, but she was mad. And happy. And sad. And nothing. Part of her couldn’t feel, part of her was a Nobody. She was hollow, but she felt water filling up her throat, her windpipe, her emptiness. One phrase was echoing through her head, ‘Miarta… Bring me to Miarta…’ The haze was strong, but it was shattered, washed away, and cleaned, when a giant wave of water crashed onto her head. She was underwater.
She was Drowning.