21

I

12.12 AM, 21st Dec

The Icari are born into chaos; forged from seafoam, materialising in the midst of a hurricane. I am neither firstborn nor the last of our kind, but a mere ripple in the tide – a mortal being from an ancient race. The Icari have had countless names across time; some called us angels and saints whilst others deemed us demonic and inhuman.

I don′t have a name ... or a home. On 21st December 2021, I surfaced to screams and strobe lights; acid green LEDs and neon blue signs casting colour across the obsidian ocean. I gasped as liquid filled the lungs that, just moments ago, I did not have. I thrashed and tread, limbs flailing as I gained feeling in them.

I reached for the coastline, slipping in and out of consciousness as the harsh current washed me ashore. I felt coarse sand and the grip of another′s hand, shrill screams fading into laughter as a lit, arched signboard came into view. Santa Monica Pier. I recognised this place, unlike his face.

″You alright?″ He sounded concerned ... distressed, perhaps. I fought to tune out the carnival music and crashing waves, hearing fragments of his panicked gibberish. ″... must be freezing ... almost drowned ... call an ambulance.″

I felt a sudden chill, spine colder than skin that had turned blue. ″No,″ I said, in a tone firmer than his grip.

″No?″ he echoed, dumbfounded. I coughed, all but choking on salt water. ″You need to get to a hospital,″ he insisted.

I retched, fluids draining as I struggled to form a coherent sentence. I collapsed into the surf, arms and legs tired from their battle to bring me ashore; each time I blinked, I caught flashes of a different lifetime – pieces of the past. I recalled names, phrases in different languages, and familiar faces – like a stop-motion film burned into the corneas.

I bore witness to the rise and fall of civilisations, the dark ages and the industrial revolution, life and death ... I felt heat rush through me for the first time in this life, forcing my eyes open as if pulling the cord of a projector screen. His face came into focus; cocoa skin, curls, and caramel irises.

″Listen,″ he muttered, but I didn′t. Instead, I stared – unblinking – at his handsome, horror-stricken face. ″... might die. You understand?″

″Huh?″ I blinked, flashing back to the Roman Empire for a fleeting instant. I found solace in his gaze, focused on his features to escape the barrage of memories – the lives of the Icari that came before me, I figured. In essence, a nightmarish slideshow of the shitshow that was mankind.

″I′m Nik.″ He smiled, albeit reluctant.

″I′m cold,″ I replied, trembling in the clutches of California′s ocean breeze.

Nik shed his baseball jacket, tugging the fabric across me like a blanket. ″You′re going to freeze to death out here, let′s get inside.″

I nodded, taken aback at the concern lacing his tone. He helped me up, and though I stood as tall as an adult, I felt like a toddler taking his first steps – doubtful but determined. I felt his arm around me, but I didn′t lean on him. I did as all people must, putting one leg after the other, trudging across the beach in search of shelter, one step at a time.