Escaping Tethoris Page #4

I wrote this is show case a fictional view of reality. The plot line is based on a childs mind and their perspectice of hop, joy, and difference. I wonder the lonleness of myselfthough Jason to attatch this sense of connection to the audience. His story has no soft edges, just like mine.

• Fiction

								

“I told you, say that again and you’ll regret it” Jason stood up and the girl
looked at him with pure anger. The silence of them just standing and staring

at each other was louder than those gathering around. If they hadn’t noticed
already, most of the kids had grouped due to the commotion. What felt like
minutes went by and before they knew it, footsteps grew near.
“What is happening here, I heard a -” One of the children ran to the voice
near the front of the room.
“Flora help, they are fighting” She pushed her glasses up and looked at the
two children as those who grouped around dissipated the moment Flora
turned their direction. Her face was of annoyance, but also uncomfortable to
look at, she was old and the wrinkles on her face became more prominent.
Her eyebrows were slim, small enough to fit behind a desk pushed up against
the wall, her eyes were sharp and while she was petite, her voice could take
down houses. She was none other than the Big Bad Wolf from all those
stories.
“Well then Mr. Bow and Mrs. Adams, looks like our stars of the days have
met”
Our eyes never left each other and the same cold angry glances were shared.
“This won't do, follow me” Flora spoke clear and precise, moving her arm
towards the stairs. Both followed suit and off down the stairs we went.
Reaching the grand room again, and to the beginning, near the front door.
“Your behavior is unacceptable, barbaric at that” Jason's head stood tall,
however, Ms. Clip seemed distraught over the situation. Who was she
kidding? What did she think was going to happen?
“Your rooms have been prepared and are located in the respected dormitories,
girls right, boys left” She pointed towards the stairs behind us, they were
curved, touching anywhere but the center. Much like a circle in Jason's eyes.
Moving towards them, both went up on opposite sides of the stairs as directed
by Mrs. Flora. From the top, they ventured down their corresponding halls
and looked back seeing, the woman who once stood at the front of the room
was gone. Jason was terrified, taking a big gulp he continued to venture down

the hall. It was dark with dim lights, and the doors were on both sides of the
room which made it more ominous. A red carpet with gold and brown accents
was placed down the long hall and the other side as well. Now and again
Jason would spot a painting of flowers or a grass setting which seemed to put
him more on edge, as he was scared one would move. With each door, there
was a nameplate, and he was desperately looking for his. The hall felt longer
but the faster he walked the greater the chance of missing his stop and having
to do it all again. Now right before Jason took his next step a whistle of wind
was heard. *Gulp*. He was scared and moved towards it, however, while
some would say he was an idiot, others would say it was smart. Mainly for
the fact, the sound was coming from a room with the name, “Bow” plastered
on it.
“Fantastic...” He found sarcasm to be his best escape in a world where he
was always given the lesser hand. Moving slower as the whistle got louder, he
put his hand on the door, *Creeeeek*, Jasons cringed at the sound, if he
remembered from the movies left on when his father would sleep out by the
TV, he will most definitely die first.
“I swear in everything that is-” Jason was frantic, eyes closed before he took
his next step whispering a prayer for a man with knife fingers and ripped-up
clothes to not be behind the door.
“Please God I was good this year, if you remember I took back the library
book that one time...”
Finally, with the door completely open he could see the room plain as day,
and while no scary man was in the room, there was a window left open by a
hair. Slowly moving towards it he closed the window and looked out of it. He
could picture it so fondly, the rain was pouring still, but the view was
captured in art. There were trees from afar like a forest, tall and unhinged,
buildings that allowed him to paint families inside during their happiest
moments. If he looked more closely the gate surrounding the Academy was
seen, it was built over a brick wall and had sharp points as if the children in
here were animals. The grass was extraordinary green, this academy had a
greenhouse which, though tiny, was kept in the back corner of the yard and

Jason loved the sight of it. Windows closed but drenched, leaves sprouting
from the bottom and the different blurry colors that would present themselves
to him. When Jason was younger, his mother would plant flowers in the back
of their house, red, yellow, green, but her favorite were the blue ones.
Crystal-like, they were so bright and alive that it was hard to think of them as
flowers, and not miracles. One day, his mother was in the garden and he had
just been scolded by his father about being a ‘proper child’, as he talked back
when refusing to do dishes. She was bent over the blue flowers and cut
one-off, I had been sitting next to her crying as she was my comfort. Handing
me the flower she said, “Jason do not cry, in front of such beauty, instead take
advice from it and indulge its understanding.” I was confused but she didn’t
stop to grab my hand gently and say, “ You are bright and just because a
pental is got doesn’t mean you have to leave, pick a petal and see you are still
a miracle”. He did as she said, and he cried more, but not because of his
father, but because she picked the pental with him. Guiding him, and showing
him that with imperfections comes to the miracle that he has seen in these
flowers. If he could go back, he would relive that memory for the rest of his
life, because it was the only memory he felt truly, utterly, perfectly, flawlessly,
exquisitely, and incandescently happy.
From the corridor, he could hear the dry winds that carried his memory and
watched them flow outside among the rain. Not a drop on them because he
was too spaced to remember that simple laws of nature can condemn reality.
Looking down at his hands, if he knew better he would say the drops from the
window seal came from the rain when it was open. Although he thought,
``Why aren’t they dry, weren’t they from the rain? Jason was crying and he
wasn’t even aware of it. Patting his eyes, rubbing them against his sleeve,
turning the door, closing it, and laying on the dull bed. It was small but big on
him, and the sheets were a terrible gray, the pillow was too soft and his head
could feel the mattress, the texture of the comforter was, in a word, shortly
fuzzy. He closed his eyes, laying there for a while and just thinking to
himself, “I am a blue flower”.
“You’re a what?” The voice was soft, and if he had noticed the door was
open, and even though he shut it, during his manor of closing eyes he must

have missed the loud creak. Once again carried away with his thoughts and
brought back to reality to find himself in another terrible situation. He would

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes