In His World.

The Negotiation

Starlight twinkles through the nearing clouds; dark, light, dark, light. The wind whips over the rolling, grassy hills, picking up leaves and feathers. Ezekiel kneels beside me, dirt on his knees and my hand in his dusty hair. We stare up at the heavy sky, waiting, waiting, for the rain to fall and wash us clean. This is our sky, our land, our home. This is our world. A moment that will last forever... even if we don't.

"It still doesn't feel real," Ezekiel confesses.

"It's real," I promise.

"Are you glad your mamma got home last night?" he asks, trying to change the subject and pass the time. I let him. I don't want to think about what's coming.

"Of course," I reply, "I missed her so much. Since the trouble with the rebels, her part of the police force has been super busy. Everyone is trying to copy the 'hound' power, and they keep failing. But she said that's confidential, so don't tell anybody!"

"Who would I tell? We're the only kids as far as the eye can see," Ezekiel laughs, standing up and walking off a little to gesture widely around. I frown, sliding my hands into my pockets; a habit I've picked up from him.

"But you're moving to the city, soon," I say softly, "And there'll be lots of kids there." There's no avoiding the subject, now. He's leaving. He's leaving me.

"It's only for a little while," he says, "I'll be back before you know it."

"Unless you decide to stay... Go to high school there..." I remind him.

Ezekiel shakes his head, ruffling his hair a little. It's brilliantly white, but his eyebrows and lashes are dark. His father, Andrew, has the exact same colouring, and his mother has shiny red hair. They'll be gone, too, and my family will be left alone amongst the rolling hills.

"Dad says things are getting rougher in the city," he says hesitantly, "We don't get it much here, because we're so far away, but the public doesn't like anyone who isn't part of Movement Robotica. The rebels your mother talked about are making it worse, too."

"But you always wanted to go to Sacoryx school," I say, fighting off the frown. "What are you going to do?"

Ezekiel shrugs, "Maybe I just won't tell anybody. I'll just pretend I'm like everyone else. Or maybe I'll come straight back."

I nod sadly. He won't come straight back - even if the others treat him terribly. He won't care what they think.

I don't want him to go, but this could be his one chance to get into the fancy art school in the city. I'll miss him every day, but it's for the best. That's what I keep reminding myself, at least.

"Don't worry," he says, noticing my trepidation, "I'll write to you every week, on the old paper just like you wanted. I've been practising my handwriting, too."

"You could just call."

He steps close and wraps me in his arms, swaying a little. I can hear his steady heartbeat, and it soothes my own frantic one.

"I'm going to write letters," he says, "Because you like letters. And besides; if I call, how will I know your dad isn't listening in, hmm?"

"Then I'll always write back," I promise.

"And who knows," Ezekiel adds, "Maybe in two years, you can join me there. Imagine it; you and I in the big city."