December 11, 977
The air is brisk, cold, and swirls around me. My winter coat is buttoned to my neck, Mom tied a scarf around me. It's worn out, smelly like cottage cheese, it becomes wet with snow. Coins for milk money jingle in the tip of my mittens. Her lipstick kiss stains the edge of my cheek and I try to wipe off the sticky substance. My eyelashes catch flecks of snow, and I stop in the center of the sidewalk to catch a snowflake with my tongue.
"And then she!" giggles a girl from a group walking past me, she looks at me, and all the girls in the group stop laughing. We make eye contact, she crunches her face and distorts her features.
Another girl nudges her elbow at her, "Hey, hey, c'mon, keep walking. Don't make eye contact, she'll summon something," the girl whispers. They all glare at me, turn their necks the opposite way, and walk significantly faster in the other direction. I fill my cheeks with air and squeeze my eyes together. I want to cry, my bottom lip quivers, but I slap my face until I feel the urge to not cry anymore.
I'm socially outcasted. I've always been different, and Mom and Dad say different is good. Artemis teases me and says I'm weird. He says I have green eyes and green is a cursed color. My eyes aren't even green, it seems, but like hollowed out irises. They're mostly a blank white with green fuzzy edges where the color should be. They're blank and empty, like I'm missing my soul and the window can never be opened. Mom yelled at him for that and he hasn't teased in awhile. My wrist has three bands, Mom says no wizard my age has ever had three bands. Only people older than thirteen have three bands. All this magical power is not meant for a girl who is so little. If I cry, they appear. That's why I hold my breath when I feel sad. If I laugh too hard, they appear. I must look away and think of sadness to counteract the happiness. I'm supposed to be blank. Blank is safe. Emotions: feelings of distress, joy, anger, fear, frustration, and disgust causes my magic berserk and uncontrollable. Things appear, animals, plants, bugs, weird things that cause me to be feared. I've learned, in short time, the only form of prevention is too be emotionless. But, it's hard. I'm happy, sad, mad, scared. I'm a person. I'm supposed to be calm, but these feelings rush around inside me. My soul is swollen with uncertainly. My head limps downward and pulls my spinal cord.
"Hey, Helena! Smile!" he calls out and flashes his grin below my face. Oliver's face is caked with bright, white snow. His eyes sparkle midst the wintry, dewey light. Our footprints become in sync, an audible crunch in the fresh powder. Oliver grabs my hand, my lips crack open into a smile. "Let's run or we'll be late again!"
"Oliver! If you touch me-," I warn. But, it's too late. My heart beats quickly inside my ribs. My brain swirls with happy thoughts, my stomach is squeezed with a pleasurable feeling. My veins churn their magical blood, the sticky blood sparkle. Beyond my own control, the doves fly between us. The doves are twelve in number, pure, white, simple. All the doves are in unison, except for one pesky crow that I've created. The crow manages to stick and fit in with the doves, they don't kick him out of their flock. They create a warm breeze that ripples between our bodies. The current scoops the scarf from my neck and blows it like the gentle flick of wave in front of me. The doves circle in the air until they become a speck in the sky.
"Wow, you're amazing, Helena," Oliver sighs. He looks up the air, his big eyes blink into the blank vast of pale blue sky.
"It's weird," I complain, "I'm weird! I can't control it!" I pull up one of my socks and shake the snow from my dress. Oliver laughs:
"It doesn't matter that it's weird! I think it's amazing!" Oliver says and then glances at his own wrists, "I wish I was a wizard. Only two people in this town are wizards, you're one of them."
"It's terrible," I huff, "When I meet this rumored other wizard, I'm gonna ask how they keep it under control!" I examine my three bands, that's far too much for a nine year old girl to house.
"There are more wizards in this town, I swear!" Oliver protests.
I stick out my tongue, "Don't believe ya!"
"There is! He's a man, he's tall and weird. He's an artist, Mom says all artists are weird," Oliver tells me.
"How come I've never seen him?" I point out.
"Mom says he lives on the North side of town, big penthouse and has all these servants. He's been famous since he started painting, but he's still weird," Oliver says.
"What makes him so weird?" I ask, a bit of an offensive tone hovers in my words.
"Dunno," Oliver admits.
"See? You don't know him, you can't be mean to him. You're not supposed to assume things about people you don't know," I spew out.
"You're right," Oliver sighs, "You're smarter than me. You know a lot more."
Oddly enough, it's terrible that I know more. I know the world is wicked, he does not. The world is black and white to Oliver; there is only good and bad. His world is limited. My world is limitless, the world is full of grey areas. The world is filled with disgustingness and you feel pain inside your own heart because you are aware that the world is a terrible place. The good and the bad are not opposites. In fact, the good is the bad and the bad is the good. Everything is terrible and beautiful all at once. I wish I could revert my eyes. I've experienced the pain of knowledge, the animosity of being outcasted. Being an observer gave me the opportunity to absorb the storm of life. The observer takes it all in: the rave of life and the tempest that comes with it. The objective to partake is to be seated on the moon, observe everyone, channel their thoughts, understand why everyone hates Helena Vandenberg. My hair is lighter and washed out, my magic is rare, uncontainable, and sporadic. Such instances have happened where they've accused me of being the embodiment of Satan. I think I'm a good person; possibly misunderstood. No one is born a villain.
