The Curse of Water

Chapter 3- Dining with my Reflection

Chapter Three – Dining with my Reflection

“So, you've decided to grace us with your presence, boy?” His tone is calm, collected, and as always full of the vile fake charm that sends a million scales crawling up my back. I take a deep breath and repeat my mantra of “he's only as strong as I let him be” in my head, but as my feet twist a little too suddenly on the glass floor my head drops in spite of what I promised myself the moment I meet his eyes. The harrowing pain of that moment is not a sensation I ever dare to recall, for it journeys beyond any physical punishment the mind could devise. It's an infliction that is meant to shatter your soul as the mirror – his power – extends even farther than my initial description, for the moment you look into his eyes you see the most terrifyingly abhorrent sight in the world – yourself. Or rather yourself as he sees you, the you that your greatest fears and weakest moments would illustrate. Every last blemish, every flaw, every weakness elevated, magnified, heightened, and accompanied by a deafening array of whispers ringing in your ear, spreading their poison to ever corner of your soul, unendingly detailing your inadequacies. It's a pain to the self I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies.

My stomach performs a churning somersault and I grab for the nearest chair before I black out, but through some miracle end up in a sitting position murmuring “Sorry I'm late.”

“What's that boy? I couldn't hear you." His chilling laughter breaks through the hollow silence of the hall as he playfully, no, patronizingly cups his hand against his ear, and his abominable posse joins his expression of amusement, only my mother and Apollo looking uncomfortable. I force myself to look up and repeat my apology louder.

Gershon occupies the head of the long metal table, and waves his hand at his family as Xavier and Kendrick have already dug into the abundant selection in the middle. Those of us who have respect for basic human emotion allow ourselves to relax in his temporary distraction and reach for our utensils.

“What did I tell you about apologizing, boy?”

“That it's an unnecessary weakness for someone in my position to show.” I release a heavy sigh as I monotonously recite a deeply ingrained response, but for some bizarre reason I additionally blurt out “though I don't know why you expect me to say it then.”

The air re-froze in a flash, which normally would have been a comical sight as it included the actions of everyone in the room, with half of their mouths hanging wide open and a dessert or fondue fork dangling in their hand. However the timing didn't allow comedy, and the fact that talking back to Gershon Ramses was daringly taboo is clearly demonstrated by the carmine heat rising from the base of his neck to his temples. My heart was racing a million miles a minute, but thankfully a soft voice cut in before the scarlet rage reached his forehead.

“Gershon, it's Marcus' birthday. Perhaps not today?” My mother spoke with her gentle determination, and the forks in limbo finally had the confidence to reach their destinations.

“That is my exact reason, Verona.” my father continued stiffly, though his original pale (thank the universe he didn't go “tan” this season) skin returned to normal. He lifted a gigantic steak from the buffet in the middle onto his platinum plate and slammed some orange rice angrily to the side. Our food has been designed to an array of exotic colours. There was some saying from the old world along the lines of how “the more colourful your plate looks, the healthier it is for you” that Urbanwellers couldn't quite let go of, though I am sceptical about it counting when you change the original colour of the food, but that could also be a contributing factor to why we eat a handful of vitamins with each meal. With the last spoonful the metals clang together, waking me up from another tangential daydream about coloured food. His voice zaps me back into the nightmare of the shared meal, arguing “He is turning 17 this year, and he has still not learnt to be a man that has confidence enough to order a cup of coffee, let alone hope to one day lead a country!”