Rough hands. Chains clinking together. Footsteps echoing down long, long, hallways...and fear. Oh, there is so much fear.
There is a blindfold over my eyes, keeping me from seeing where I am being taken. I wish I could say 'where I am being dragged,' but when I tried to fight a moment ago, or possibly several moments or much, much, much longer, the man holding my shoulder in a viselike grip slapped me across the face. Hard.
"Do that again and you'll get much worse," he hissed.
So I have not since tried to fight. I have instead felt for that spark inside of me, that power-and have felt nothing.
For once in my life it doesn't seem like a curse. And yet, I cannot reach it. I am truly, utterly, powerless.
My dad once told me there was a type of metal that could actually block the power contained inside of a Star Child. I didn't want to believe him, but now, I do. I see he was right-painfully, truthfully, correct.
I don't want to think of my dad. I can no longer think of him without thinking of what he did, and how that impacted where I am now-in short. I don't want to think of where I am right now either. What I want, what I truly want, is to be somewhere, safe and sound, with my dad, and with Stella.
Just thinking her name is painful. So very painful.
For almost as long as I can remember, I have always had at least one song floating inside my brain, bouncing around, sometimes hitting other songs. Now, there is nothing.
The happy little bubble I managed to surround myself with for so long has popped at last, it seems. My hands are shaking so much, the chains on my wrists are rattling.
The silver bracelet I took to wearing is no longer around my wrist, but it is pushed way up my long-sleeved t-shirt. I don't know if I am glad it's still there or not-the same way I'm not sure if I'm glad to still have my old clothes with me. They are a reminder of a safer existence, another life. No, it can't have been very long since this whole thing happened, you're right, but there is a clear difference where the past ends, and the present, the new present, begins.
I don't know where I'm being taken. Even if there wasn't a blindfold over my eyes I doubt I would be able to remember the route-I couldn't even find my way around a stupid school building, for crying out loud!
But possibilities are rattling around my thoughts: will they run a bunch of tests on me? Throw me in a cell?
The longer I am forced to walk, the more apprehensive I grow. I debate whether or not to try and break free of the guard's grip again, but fear rules out and I don't. I find myself envying Stella all of a sudden: she didn't spend much of her childhood fearing of the day when she would be plucked out of her life and brought to a hush-hush, hidden facility chock-full of people who hated the likes of her. Yes, yes, she did hear a bit from my father-was that all just a way to hold her attention, I wonder now?-but she doesn't understand as much of how it all works as I, I'm sorry to say, do.
I feel guilty for thinking such things-I watched her crumple to the ground. She's no more better off right now than I am-there's no way. Neither are any of the people, the Star Children, here.
Before, I knew some of them were only here because of me. But I don't truly comprehend exactly what that entails until right now.
I couldn't tell you how long it's been-if I had to guess I'd say several minutes, though it felt like a slow, slow class period where the clock seems to be running backwards, one that seemed to last an eternity. But eventually, the man comes to a stop.
He rips the blindfold off my face-none too gently, but that's expected.
My eyes don't get a chance to adjust to the harsh lighting of the long, long, hallway I can now see I'm standing in. That's because the door directly in front of me, which I could just barely, barely make out through the colors swamping my vision, swings open. (How did the guard do it? I wonder. Some sort of keycard, perhaps? I didn't see...).
I can make out two indistinct shapes inside, hear the sounds of conversation that quickly dies as the man shoves me inside. I stumble, nearly losing my balance, but manage to catch myself before I fall.
"Move," the man orders, pushing me yet again.
I reluctantly take a step forward and he forces me into a sitting position on the cold, hard ground. Before I can try to do anything, he fastens chains around my ankles-though he takes the handcuffs off of my wrists, at least.
Then he leaves the cell, the door clanking shut behind him with a finality that makes me shiver.