It was quiet—
ghost-quiet.
With a deafening silence,
he felt as if he was being watched;
And wondered
how silence could be so loud.
______________________
He wanted to go home.
The doors slid open cleanly, revealing the station before the last and he breathed as the packed can of sardines dispersed, streaming out of the subway. It was thorough scrutiny; the way he was being watched and it burned no hole in his back but froze it instead. Io was very much alone with or without people and there was nothing about the world that made him feel as though he belonged. Was this the world too? He couldn't believe the difference. It was, perhaps, the same air he was breathing just miles back in his village and Earth his feet was standing upon and yet—things were different.
What Io did not know was that he, in leaving his nest, was bound to meet the world as it was; without a feeding beak, no more sitting and asking. Just, doing. He was bound to meet the eyes of someone watching and looking.
After all, there were predators out there.
He went quietly into the next carriage, empty, avoiding anything that stared at his uniform or him, himself. There was, finally, an empty carriage for his comfort but Io soon found that it was occupied with his fear. He clutched onto his messenger bag and pushed himself against the cold plastic seat—determined to hide, to flee.
Regret filled his mind as he rejected the idea of diving into something so unsure; it wasn't just his senses that were violated. He felt as though his humanity was being put at risk in such a place so hot and filled with empty people with empty heats it seemed as though he was on a different planet entirely. This was not the place he wanted to be.
He wished to go back. It would be nice to escape from this place.
He realizes then, that he was indeed—prey.
His role was one of resource. A commoner; a nothing.
Io was at the bottom of the food chain.
The weakest, most useless sort of role.
He wondered if this was part of the process. Was this all part of growing up? Surely not; these were circumstances to be experienced. Had he remained in his village forever, would he have experienced the confiscating of hope and self? Conditions did not allow him to think in that manner for he would have never known. The future was just that—filled with uncertainty and darkness for there was no knowing and no answers. Iolani Tori's role in Flight School was a sparrow and there was no changing in that fact.
But were roles something that one had not the power to change? Was it his choice to be brought into this world as prey? Was his Avian ever a choice?
Does it mean, then, that power was bestowed upon and not chosen?
Io didn't quite know what his thoughts meant but he understood well that power was no something he wished to have. Not at the moment, no.
______________________
The boy arrived at the final station with a fragile mind. He followed the measly crowd with legs that were twigs short of being broken; pale hands that clutched at the strap of his messenger bag. Tired eyes squinted at a signboard.
"To Airport" it had said, but Io didn't quite have a clue what that was. Ticket in his hands, he boarded the escalator quickly—furtive, urgent glances thrown around for any sign of someone else that was watching him. He knew what he was afraid of but was perhaps too frightened, too displaced to confront anything regardless.
He heard the voice of his Avian, Lyra and though exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, he willed himself to concentrate and speak his mind.
I'm here Lyra
What a weak consciousness! Are you alright?
I'm sorry, came inevitably from a lone part of his mind seemingly in conflict with whatever he was doing. He took out his passport.
What is the matter with you, Io? Do relax. Are you that afraid of a ship? It is, after all, a mere flying object. Even that I am aware.
Io's eyes narrowed in confusion—for he was sure ships docked at ports, and planes at airports. He was, however sheltered, also perfectly aware that ships did not fly. Presenting his passport to the officer in front of the departure gate, he caught sight of another student donned in similar uniform. The boy's gaze lowered instinctively as his heart raced at an abnormal speed. He prayed to whatever being that was high up in the skies that this would be no repeat of the subway. No. No, that was to frightening to fathom.
"Here you go," The officer nodded, handing the boy his passport with a smile. Io returned a shy one, then took tentative steps into the departure hall. He was met with a flurry of lights and signs that conflated with the light of day that filtered through panels of glass lining the building, sharing the view of a large open space with runways criss-crossing throughout. It was the first time he had seen a plane.
Venturing past several signs that spelled complex and fanciful names that were most probably in another language, Io confirmed that these lighted areas were 'shops', just like the ones they had in malls—in the city. Checking the time on a huge digital clock dangling from the high ceiling, his curiosity got ahead of him in an apparel shop nearby. He stepped carefully into the bright area, gaze wandering without direction.
"Good morning sir, how may I help you?" Piped a certain lady. Io jumped, startled.
"Just, um—looking around..." He replied small, not knowing what sort of smile he should wear. The assistant's grin didn't look like anything he had ever seen back in the village.
"Oh definitely. Please feel free to check out our latest designs! Perhaps a fur coat or two for the cold weather? A muffler would be perfect for that adorable neck of yours—"
Io wondered whether necks could be adorable. He recoiled, smiling sheepishly whilst nodding. He decided that it would be mere courtesy to browse through the muffler collections, since the store assistant had insisted. After all, the people back in the village had a liking for customers who stopped for a chat. Taking tentative steps to the tiny shelves displayed near the entrance, the boy carefully lifted a soft beige-checkered scarf from its position. He ran his hands along the material and caught sight of a white tag jutting out of the muffler.
Again, out of curiosity, he turned the tag in his direction—registered the digits that were many, and placed the scarf back in its rightful shelf.
His eyes had crossed at the number.
*
What's wrong, Io?
Rest, Lyra. think I need to rest. The boy sat upon a row of empty seats, glad that something else would hold him up.
Oh you can do that later. Instead, let us head over to someplace nice. The truck driver was raving to his companion about the exquisite tea and coffee they sell at something called a café .
Io shook his head wearily. I don't really like coffee, and you're not the one doing the walking.
How very unsparrow-like of you! We sparrows are curious creatures—
Who also get scared easily, the Winged finished with a sigh.
Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, the boy followed the signs that illustrated a teacup in a saucer, assuming that this was a place that, indeed, sold tea of coffee. He found that it was relatively small as compared to the coffee shops they had back in the village—with only a couple of high chairs for customers to drop by. Most of them left as soon as their drink was ready.
Io had to admit that he was slightly excited to see 'green tea latte' on the menu. He had always wanted to try 'green tea'. Tea that was green! How amazing was that?
Fishing out his coin pouch, the boy joined the queue, restless in anticipation. When he was finally served by the person at the counter however, Io was rather intimidated by the bombardment of questions that he did not, at all, expect.
"Will that be a small, medium, or large?"
"Whipped cream?"
"Name?"
"That will be—"
He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally finished the difficult task of ordering, and proceeded to wait for his green tea latte. To his surprise, the small-sized beverage was rather affordable.
"Tori?" His last name was called, and Io received the drink with thanks.
As the boy proceeded to the row of high chairs, he noticed that the student he had seen just several minutes before was right in front of his eyes. Panicking, he kept his distance and watched, with care, as the other student, female, sliced her cheesecake happily, spooning a portion of it to her mouth in content.
Then, Io realized—that he was actually fine.
No darkness. Nothing.
His breathing was fine. The absence of fear intrigued the boy as much as it provided a blanket of relief, and he felt, for once—strangely safe.
He gathered all of his courage (every single ounce of it) to even walk up to the young female. "Hello," He piped tentatively, willing his legs to stop resembling bendy straws.
The girl started, gasping as she dropped her fork.
"Oh! You scared me—" She breathed, hand over chest as she turned quickly to face the source of the voice.
"I-I-I'm sorry!" Io quickly bent down to pick up the fork, wiping it with a napkin. "I, uh...I didn't mean to..."
"No, no it's fine—that outburst though, I'm sorry. I get scared easily," The girl laughed sheepishly, fixing her ponytail. "Hold on, you..." She stared openly at Io's uniform.
"Are you from Flight School too?" It was the ease of a smile that his heart found comfort in, happy that he had found a companion. He was not alone.
In truth, he was shy. Of course—she was a very attractive and bubbly girl—but he knew that this could be his chance to make a new friend. The boy nodded in response to her question.
"Why don't you sit with me? I was just talking to my Avian, he's such a worry-bird," The blonde girl rolled her eyes and sipped her tea. Io pushed himself up, getting onto the high chair with slight difficulty. "You...You have an Avian too?"
His companion laughed, "Of course! Everyone eligible for Flight must have an Avian. In other words, you must be Winged." The boy flushed with embarrassment at his lack of knowledge.
"Sorry...I'm new to this, you see."
The girl waved aside his apology with a bright smile. "No! It's okay, I'm a freshman too. It's just, I have a brother at the same school too, so." Io's lips shaped into an 'o' in understanding.
"You must know a whole lot about the...this Winged thing. And the island in the sky."
The boy felt torn that he would be entering an unknown field of unknown knowledge.
So much to explore, so much to learn.
Too much, really.
Too much to explore; too much to learn.
He was a mere sparrow, happy with his days in his cozy nest. He didn't need change. He didn't need anything more.
He was small.
So small, in a world that was growing increasingly larger and larger. Too big for comfort.
"Everyone starts somewhere," The girl flashed an encouraging smile. "My name is Pipa! I'm a canary."
A canary. Io found it rather suiting but did not have the courage to voice this opinion.
"How about you?" The girl named Pipa tried to catch his eye. "Are you...are you a prey, too?"
Io's gaze snapped up, and he nodded furiously. "I'm Iolani. But, um, you can call me Io, if you'd like," The boy fidgeted in his seat, somehow anxious about disclosing his identity. "I'm a sparrow."
Pipa laughed. "A sparrow? Haha, that suits you!"
Io smiled sheepishly. "Really?"
"Yeah!" The girl beamed, proceeding to hold out her hand. "I'll have your back, and you'll have mine—let's shake on it!" The boy blinked, unable to comprehend. He wasn't sure if they did this back in the village; do people really shake their hands? Were these the things they said out loud, or in their minds? But Io would never know, since he couldn't, possibly, read minds.
He held out his hand regardless, warmed by the kind gesture of the girl. Pipa took his hand in hers, and shook it happily.
"Preys look out for one another!" She had said proudly.
And for once, Io was content. Relieved, even—to be a prey.
But not for long.
___________________
The newly-formed pair proceeded to the boarding gate indicated on a flashing panel, matching their flight to a certain number. They passed their baggage through a security system, walked through metal detectors, and finally arrived in a boarding room that appeared rather small with the large number of people.
What surprised Io was the fact that several students who arrived at the boarding gate were not required to go through security. The officers merely let them pass with a smile. It was strange to Io then, that Pipa and he were treated with utmost disgust and suspicion—as if they were the manifestation of danger in some sorts. One look at them and you're sullied.
Io didn't understand the large gap of their special treatment, but he was sure it was temporary.
Right?
Wrong.
The boarding room seemed to be split into half. There was the economy class—which was stated on both Pipa and Io's plane tickets—who were entitled to plastic seats that provided least comfort. Io couldn't get a good glimpse of the other side, but his companion informed him of the 'First Class' seats in the plane. It was obvious, with the aid of common sense, that these seats belonged only, rightfully, to the predators at the top of the food chain.
Surrounding the pair were prey scattered in groups. To Io's surprise, they didn't look at all like what he had imagined them to be. Though he himself was a scrawny, thin, brown-haired midget who couldn't seem to attract attention, others prey were apt in standing out. Tall, lanky, colored hair and strange eye-colors.
There was, however, one thing Io noticed that every prey shared—
And it was the fear in their eyes.
The fear as someone entered the boarding room; their heads would snap towards the entrance. They would sense the presence of a predator—the engulfing, thickening darkness that swallowed the light in their eyes. Io realized that he wasn't alone in this pit of abyss.
For every single one of them would recoil in fear, or in respect—he didn't know.
As the predator, male or female, stalked past the economy class in a painfully slow and excruciating manner, every prey held their breath for fear they would be chosen as predator's prey.
Io had no clue about being chosen. In fact, the only thing on his mind was to avoid their gaze, and for them to walk faster, for them to create as much distance as possible. But the more he willed their feet to move, the more the predator seemed to slow down.
Some would scan the crowd, searching, as if—with the eyes of a hawk for lunch. Some would smirk, relishing in the power they had.
Some would laugh. Some would throw insults.
Some would act as though they were the unseen.
And some,
Would smile.
____________________
"Passengers of Flight A13—first and business class. Please proceed—"
A good hour passed.
"Passengers of Flight A13—standard economy class. Please board."
The prey of Flight School, clad in a uniform so restrictive, boarded the plane on tentative steps, throwing furtive glances around them ever so often. Their eyes darted around in fear, and in awe at the mere prospect of boarding a plane. Io checked the seat number on his plane ticket, realizing that Pipa and his were far apart.
He swallowed discomfort. "Don't worry Io," Pipa patted his back in encouragement as they ascended the stairs to the entrance of the plane. "I'll see you at school. You can get Lyra to look for me if you wish—or, just call for my Avian, Sylvey."
Silvery?
He didn't quite catch that—
Io nodded, and the pair separated ways to look for their seats. Dodging the people slotting their bags in the compartments above and slipping past people clogged up in the narrow aisle, Io found his seat at last—
And there was someone sitting on it. He checked the number on the plane ticket once again, confirming that it was, indeed, his seat.
"Um, excuse me," Io began, "This...is this your seat?"
The brunette looked up from his book, watching Io with wary eyes.
"Yes...?"
"Oh!" Io blinked, surprised. He showed the boy his ticket, pointing to the seat number. "But...but mine is J48 too."
The dark-haired boy stared at the ticket. "This always happens..." He sighed, getting up and moving to the seat beside.
"Here, you can take this seat."
Io's eyes widened. "But how about the person sitting on that seat? And what do you mean 'this is always happens'?"
The boy clicked his tongue impatiently. "They like to mess up our seats so that we panic," He stated as though this was the obvious. "It's what predators do, get used to it," He shrugged nonchalantly, looking out of the window.
Io paused, unable to function. "Predators...? They are the ones who assign our seats too?"
"What do you expect?" The boy beside Io laughed bitterly, "They govern the school too, you know. Just because they are the minority, the special people,"
"Some type of privileges they get," He spat. Poor Io did not know how to respond—merely taking his seat beside the other prey. "What happens when the person with that seat number comes?" He pointed to the cushioned chair the other boy had occupied.
He received another shrug in return.
"He's late. Probably got eaten up by some predator on the way."
The tone of indifference could not shock Io any further, and what appalled him the most was the fact that this fellow prey could not even care less about another life.
"How could you...say something like that?"
The boy turned to Io with a mocking raise of his brows. "What I speak is the truth, and of course—the truth hurts. It always hurts. But that's always the case with us."
He went on further to laugh with a look of scorn. "Do you know what the purpose of your existence is? The purpose of existence as prey?"
Io dared not speak. He wished he hadn't come along anyhow. He felt so far away from home.
"To serve;
To die."
_______________________
A/N: Hello dears! Haha, what a dark story with a happy author! It's so weird to right this author's note because here I am all cupcakes and fluff and then the last word above is die.
XD If you haven't noticed, this book will cover a whole lot of dark themes. Discrimination, Segregation, Societal Hierarchy, Human flaws—and the very, very obvious reference to racism :)
It's going to be critical, painful, and very, very true.
And like what the boy above says—the truth hurts.
It's okay if you drop the book, I don't mind X'D and to be honest, the romance will be quite late into the story.
This book is especially suitable for people who like to read between the lines, to analyze symbolism and intertextual references and are critical.
Thank you so much for reading
-Cuppiecake.
*throws chocolate chip cookies everywhere*