Artificial Light

Prologue

The desk sat in the center of the room. A single light illuminating the face of a man anticipating his own fate. This was the long awaited day, but he didn't think it would come so soon. His eyes traced along the walls of his office, back and forth, his thoughts spinning madly in his mind. Every creak amongst the floorboards, every click of the ceiling fan left him on edge. He finds himself glancing at the door, then the clock, ticking away the seconds, which turned into minutes, which turned into hours.

There was no fooling himself anymore, they would come for him even if his mind wandered elsewhere. He wondered if he could overpower them, but then again he had no clue how many would come. His brain, and his vision were fuzzy, and after all of these years of suppressing his power, he had long forgotten how exactly to use it.

How did his life come to this? He did not always live in constant paranoia. No, this all started when he created this school, this wretched school. But where would the world be without it? He saved hundreds of lives and preserved talents such as his. He speculated how his school would continue on without him. Would their secrets be revealed or would they forever be isolated from the truth?

Then he heard the noise. Faint at first, but it grew with each passing moment. Footsteps, heavy footsteps. But he was not afraid, for he decided a long time ago that he would fight for his life and the protection of his students. He was ready for them. So let them come.

One. Two. Three kicks and the door fell to the ground. He expected many men, but he was faced with a single one. Silently he breathed a sigh of relief, for they were only after him and not the students of the school. A rough voice escapes the silhouette, "Winston," it taunts, "I see you have predicted my arrival."

"Glad to hear that the word of my charm has spread," the principal, Winston, replied, appalled to hear how weak his voice had sounded.

"Let's cut out the pleasantries, this is strictly business," Winston only had a moment to reach into the man's mind and anticipate his next move when his head made contact with the rough surface of the man's fist, then the floor beneath him. And he was shocked, for his mind became a blank slate.

He tried to stand up once more before the attacker's foot made contact with the back of his knees, causing him to buckle forward. It was in that moment he realized that it was the attacker's fault that he could not see into the future. His power had been tampered with. Not willing to give himself up to the man, he crawled to his desk where he stored a knife in the bottom drawer in case of desperate measures such as this one. He struggled to pull the handle and rummaged through the contents of the drawer until he felt the blade's coolness against his fingers.

His endeavours were interrupted by a gunshot. Pain shot up his side. But he wasn't dead yet, therefore he would keep fighting. Yet a second gunshot sounded, and it became clear he would not make it out of this encounter alive. Numbness spread throughout his body. And even though the attacker pressed the trigger a third time, the headmaster's cold body sprawled across the floor of his office, not able to hear or feel the last bullet.