Proteus

Chapter One: Flares and Footsteps

...these homo praeditus, otherwise known as the ‘changed beings’, hunted homo sapiens during the first part of the early era. Once into the Dark Ages, where little documentation can be found concerning the homo praeditus, evidence from private records suggests that the homo sapiens had integrated their predators into society somewhat, though this is greatly debated.

 

The grass was damp under his fingers as his other hand wrapped around the pages of the newest book. Across the fields, the low sun was dipping under the brown and green hills, and wisps of barley whistled over each other as the wind crept through the grass. Quietly, he uttered the words as he eyes skimmed over each loop and curve of the letters. A sense of relaxation and requiescence flushed over him: his mouth was slack and lips wet from excitement as his fingers hurriedly turned the last page over. His fingers skimmed over the bumps of the pages and heart fluttered as his eyes came to the end of the page.

A sigh escaped his lips and he placed the book down on the grass beside him, head cocked to one side, brown hair sticking to the wool of his thick coat. His book hand flung back to support himself, and he leant back heavily on both arms to watch the greying sky above him, scattered with birds and flecks of white.

 

Gathering the clouds together was a thin thread, and the thread was being slowly dragged across the dauntingly grey sky, bunching the white silk together. He imagined the clouds- cirriform, cumuliform, cumulonimbiform, stratiform- were made of silk, rough but beautiful on his skin; he liked the thought of the sky being deep, dark velvet, something he'd never felt, draped over the world's head.

But he couldn’t escape the horrid feeling within his chest. He’d been trying to ignore the feeling, slap it as it tried to eat up everything else… but it wouldn’t go away. It was guilt, a consuming and erratic guilt, and it was swallowing him up.

But worse was the feeling or rejection: my parents must hate me, he thought. He’d done a terrible, terrible thing and he couldn’t face them, so he’d gone past the village to sit on the hill alone. There was a sense of curiosity, though, deep down. He wondered whether they were thinking of him or what he’d done- he didn’t know which one he hated more.

 

Alone. He enjoyed it, relished it even, but now as he cast his gaze over the gathering storm above his head, he wondered whether he could use his abilities for his own benefit. Homo praeditus. The changed human. Was that what people thought of him? Of people like him? Nostrils flared: his fingers curled around the grass as he felt his chest tighten. Yes, he suddenly thought. Yes, he could do it! He’d done it before for bad, so he could use it now. He knew it.

The boy took a laboured breath and placed two fingers to the side of his head, just above his ear, and cleared his mind. Thoughts dribbled away…

Everything expanded. His mind's vision cultivated; he could feel it spreading, his head becoming cold and stiff as he pushed his hand harder into the side of his head. Deep breath.

Suddenly, the world was monochrome as he gently opened his eyes. The brightness of the grey and black and white and everything inbetween made his eyes ache, and for a moment, he was totally still, allowing his eyes to slowly follow the jagged lines of the countryside. A bird flew up into the sky from the bushes- he flinched sharply, and then sighed with relief as he realised that he hadn’t broken concentration: his mind’s eye was still grey and working.

 

There wasn't a single burst of colour that was the human mind anywhere. He expected dim, tiny sparks, maybe of countryside walker but there  were no flares of glowing colour. Beautiful colour. He sighed, unable to push further than his vision- he was too far away from his house to tap into his parent’s minds: he would have to ignore his guilt for now, if he could.