TBD LOCATION September 06, 2040, 1:59 AM
The closer we got to Flynn's house, the bigger the lump in my throat grew. I haven't asked him about his injuries once. What if his mother sees them and grabs the closest sandal to slap me?
Let me at least gain a bit of sympathy from him and ask how he is. I better do this quickly because we're mere steps away from his front door. His mom might hear the noise and come down to check what's happening. If she gets angry, at least Flynn's compassion will have him provide a defendant's statement long enough to give me a few seconds to run.
"Um, how are your.... you know... injuries?" my voice that I had hoped would sound pitiful, sounds forced.
Why so awkward Azail? The least you can do is sound convincing.
Flynn chuckles, looking down before he looks up again. He halts his steps in front of the wooden door, and I do the same.
"The area you kneed me in is alright. If you asked me this question when it happened, I would've answered you with tears in my eyes." He looks at me for about a second before a loud laugh erupts from him, making him clutch his stomach.
Despite my cheeks adopting a pink color out of embarrassment, I took the time to listen to his laugh. Just like his smile, contagious and bright. But that's not what I'm concerned about. His eye looks bruised black and blue. The fear I have of his mother continues to linger around me. I have never and will never encounter this woman. And yet, the thought of her angry outburst causes shivers to pass through me.
"What about your eyes? Do they hurt? Please accept my sincerest apologies." I sounded pathetic; my voice had to quiver and give me away.
In a flash, Flynn stops laughing. He must've seen the fear because he answers my questions as fast as he can.
"They do hurt, but don't worry! I understand why you did it. You know, I'm not known for being stealthy. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. I'll take a few painkillers and sleep it away. Don't let this upset you please." his deep voice sounds like the softest thing ever. He looks a lot more upset than I do. A fellow Empath, love that for him. Don't be too empathetic, though, Rider, because some people don't deserve shit. Well, I'm glad he's fine. I wouldn't want to leave someone injured here without apologizing.
"I'll accept your apology if you answer my questions over a cup of tea," he suggests, smirking.
Where did the frowning person go?
Is he bribing me with tea, knowing I'm Arab and will eat that shit up?
Manipulative people deserve jail.
Arrest me, then.
Boy, I'm the one who has questions to ask and briberies to make. But okay, I'll bite.
"As long as you don't ask me math questions, then I'll agree," I joke. A terrible joke, but I blurt words out before thinking sometimes.
He chuckles, shaking his head.
What questions could he have for me? Do I look intelligent enough to answer them?
Unlocking the door, he gestures for me to go in first. Not standing the cold weather anymore, I take his offer without a second thought. Listen, I know Michigan will have snow in the upcoming months, but no one prepares you to see it in September.
I joke around when I feel the slightest gust of icy wind, deeming it winter in Maryanland. But here is a whole different story. The actual season exists here.
My eyes take the time to look around, observing the place. A brick fireplace facing me provides permeating heat to the connected living room and kitchen. A children's show playing on the TV accompanies the fire in providing luminosity. The burgundy maroon color on the walls of the first floor goes with the varying brown shades on the wooden floor. My attention focuses on the living room, its cozy feel emits comfortable energy. Not to forget, blankets and pillows of all colors lay wherever space exists. Most of them lay on the black leather couches, though. This must be one comfortable ass living room.
If this planet follows different seasons, the list of questions I have for Flynn will almost double.
I understand the reasons Maryland would use as answers when asking about similarities. But I wonder what answers Flynn has about this Maryanland lookalike place. I jumped through a projector to get here; did they do the same?
Asking myself questions and coming up with theories by myself won't help. Despite fighting back my curiosity, I don't succeed in holding it in for long. I'll answer Flynn's questions and then bombard him with my own.
From a distance, I see Flynn drying his hands with a kitchen towel and making his way toward the shoe rack placed next to the front door on my right. Damn, I didn't even notice him leaving my side.
Crouching down, he picks up the largest pair of sandals my eyes have ever seen. Turning towards me in his crouched position, he places them in front of my feet after straightening them. Standing up as a low, painful grunt leaves him, he turns to me with a teasing smirk on his lips. "You can put these house sandals on. They're mine, so they're quite large. I figured my mom's or sister's sandals won't fit your tiny feet either. But you can make do with these for now." I don't miss the playful glint in his words.
"Thank you, Mr. giant feet and back pain," I retort back, now smirking myself.
My feet fill about three-fourths of the sandal, a good two or three inches left uncovered. Sigh, the life of someone with small feet.
Ignoring my comeback (rude), he makes his way back to the kitchen attached to the living room. A bar and cabinet type of thing in between them. I don't know whether I should follow him or stay where I am. I'm used to walking into Lyaly and Sapphire's places like I'm raiding it. But they're my friends that I've known for years. They said I have a free rule in their places.
Choosing to stay in my place next to the now-closed front door, I look around the foyer area. Other than a few necessary pieces of furniture, I don't see any pictures. The place looks like those pre-furnished houses some people get. There are no indications of any belongings here. If I didn't know that three people live here, my first conclusion would be that there are no signs of life here.
"Come to the kitchen Azail, why are you standing there?" His voice sounds muffled because of the small distance between us, but I catch his words. Pros of super hearing.
I take slow steps to the kitchen, looking like Jerry when he would try hiding away from Tom.
I'm Jerry, but I don't know who Tom is.
Entering the kitchen, a familiar smell surrounds me. Ah, Iraqi-brand tea, what a treasure you are. Words never do the smell justice. One word describes its taste before putting sugar, bitter. The leaf juice tastes like what it's called, but add a teaspoon of sugar, and you're now in heaven. Distracting myself away from the scent, I look around the kitchen. There is a small dining table in the middle of the rectangular kitchen. I move to sit on one of the four chairs near the window.
A bright kitchen light above the stove aligning the wall illuminates the surrounding area. Flynn stands in front of the kettle, waiting for it to boil. Although I have a view of his back, it doesn't take a genius to figure out this man's built figure. Good for him.
I got the occasional blessing to see his side profile. That is when I notice how pretty he is. His sharp cheekbones and defined eyes make him look terrifying, I will be honest. For someone his age, I can tell he has been through so much that makes him look the way he does. I can detect people my age from a mile away, and I know this man hasn't seen the age of 21 yet. Not that he looks bad, not at all. A little older than his age, I'll say. Poor guy. I have grey hairs and musculoskeletal pain at my ripe age too, don't worry. He's still as gorgeous as they come.
I'm used to seeing men from what some call their middle ages to those nearing 80. Compliments don't come to mind when I see them because they're married. Yeah, no. I'm not about to compliment someone in front of their spouse. I don't want to encounter those jealous spouses who'll fuck someone up for looking at their person. Not to mention that I work with some of these people, and that'd be awkward.
Compliments flow in and out of my brain the more I look at Flynn. I don't know why I'm acknowledging him this much, but I am. If my friends hear this, they'll think I'll propose to the guy. Even if I found him cute, like a crush, I wouldn't act upon it. I have way more important things to keep my attention on. Plus, I have too many problems that burden me. I don't want to burden someone else with them. And the most important reason of all, my parents will disown me if I tell them I'm dating someone. Arabs don't go from dating to getting engaged and then getting married. They go from meeting at your parent's home to marriage in a year. Once again, yeah no.
A cup of warm tea brings me out of my train of thought. My gaze follows up a tan, tattooed arm up to Flynn's face. He changed out of his work clothes and washed up all during the time I was too busy observing the living room. He's quite a treat for the eye, but this could be the part of me that finds tattoos hot talking. Thank God for black, short-sleeve t-shirts and sweatpants.
"Here you go, ma'am. I didn't know how much sugar to put in, so I put in two teaspoons. Is that okay for you?" He doesn't sit down, but he keeps his hand on the cup, waiting for my response.
I add about four teaspoons of sugar to my tea every time I have it, but thanks for your kind assumption, Rider. I didn't want him to make fun of my sugar consumption, so I answer him with a nod and it was fine, thank you. His patience allows him to wait for me to take three sips of tea, as he stood there watching me. He then drops himself on the chair in front of me, and a 50-pound weight bell on my shoulders.
"I saw you enter the Image World through a projector," he says.
His words take three seconds for my brain to register before a coughing fit attacks me.
As I'm coughing, Flynn pats my back while apologizing. When I regain my composure, I look at him with my eyes and mouth wide open.
"How, how did you see me? You said you saw me when I was walking out of the house?" I question, flabbergasted.
I see Flynn swallowing the lump in his throat before he continues speaking. His words shock me even further. "I- Well, I lied. I was on my way back from work, walking past that park, when I saw you jump into this world. That's how we got here too," his tone is quiet, almost embarrassed.
Image World?
"What do you mean by 'we' and the Image World?" I lean forward, intrigued. The table is small, even if he's sitting in front of me, I'm about ten inches away from him. This is not how I expected tonight to go, but here we are.
"We, as in my family and myself, and the couple thousand other people who live here. I assume you've noticed how similar this place is to Maryanland. The irony is that this place is what we call the Image World, and it's a carbon copy of Maryanland. But the longer we live here, the more punishing it gets. Winter all year round, not enough food to last a week, physical labor, and so on. Living here for a day is enough to make anyone drop to the ground from exhaustion. It's all so shitty." He doesn't look at me as he speaks, he's staring at the moon outside the window on my left.
A heavy feeling builds up in my chest, and my breathing grows uneven. My discomfort grows the more he explains how terrible the living conditions are here. Taking a deep breath, I ask him the question that is eating up my mind, "Why were you brought here? You said you got here through the projector. I did it by complete accident. Judging by the way you talk about this place, I'm going to presume that you hate it here. So, why did you come?"
"We were.... banished from Maryanland," he admits after taking a deep breath.
What? Banished? What the hell did all these people do to get deported?
There's no way news of several thousand people banished from Maryanland would not dominate the headlines of the newspaper for weeks. Everyone would know about this if it happened in the last decade. My parents will know something about this, I'll ask them. I must've been too young to remember if this happened. My memory is as sharp as a panther. I'd have remembered it if I were older when it happened.
"When were you banished and why?" an unsettling feeling takes over my senses. What if he's some sort of criminal, and I'm chilling with him, having tea like it's normal?
Not that he looks like he could hurt a single strand of hair on anyone's body, but you never know.
The anger never leaves Flynn's eyes. He's glaring with such heat at the Moon, I'm surprised it hasn't turned hotter than the Sun. Stop with astronomy, for fuck's sake. I'm glad I'm not at the receiving end because the look on his face would have me run to my mommy. His clenched jaw and intense gaze are suitable weapons to make even the bravest person run for the hills.
Flynn leans back in his chair, a deep sigh leaves his mouth before he answers.
That was hot- Shut your mouth Azail.
"Me, along with a group of a few thousand people, led a huge protest to protect Maryanland 15 years ago. We did it because we were being invaded by foreign incomers. It was happening for over decades at that point. I was sick and tired of seeing my parents get forced to treat foreigners with respect. Everyone had to kiss their asses and help them. They had to do it or else the government would send brutal punishments our way every day. Punishments would either happen through their family or worse," his fists turn white due to how hard he's clenching them.
"An assembly to banish us to the world that the government designed with the help of a projector brought us here. It's called the Image World because it projects realistic images of Maryanland to here," he continues his explanation.
I don't know what to say, so many words float in my brain at once. My brain doesn't even know how to perceive this information. I'm failing to understand why the government would be angry at their protests when their goal was to protect Maryanland. He said that the incomers have been coming in for decades already. That means Maryanland is a lot older than I thought it was.
School taught us that no people from Earth lived in Maryanland until a decade ago, because of the invasion. So, the invaders of the Image World must've come from a different place. I won't be crazy and guess aliens. Humans from another planet sound more plausible.
We received a lot more hospitality than they did, so I'm hearing.
We haven't learned about another population living in Maryanland before my group, apart from Sirius. There's no way another group existed before other than Sirius, I know that for a fact. Schools never miss the opportunity to teach students about the first man who made the journey. His journey took place the day Earth deemed Maryanland a habitable planet forty years ago. With time, he advertised enough propaganda to convince many people how much better Maryanland is. Theodore Silver, inventor of Maryanland and all its glory. Not to forget the first Sirius, along with his family.
Considering the patriotism that the Sirius group possesses because of this man, I'll conclude that they were the population leading the riot. In that case, their protective instincts are justifiable. They work overtime to shove their long-term history on Maryanland down our throats. I'll also say that Flynn is a Sirius. Why else would he be so protective of Maryanland if he wasn't a part of this group?
"Were the people banished with you also from Sirius?" I ask to confirm my suspicion.
"All the people banished with me are Sirius, including myself," the corners of his mouth raised as he says that. Okay, he's quite patriotic.
"During the time, that was the only group there was, according to my parents. You can justify my anger when you hear how much suffering my parents went through. It kept happening for their whole life. It happened for so long that the government had the nerve to give them a name. Vega or whatever, I never gave it attention. God knows if more groups exist now." He looks at me in a way that was begging me to understand him, and I did.
Am I getting old or did I hear him 15 years ago at some point?
"15-years-ago? How old are you?" I lean back, looking at him.
If this man's over 30, I'm running out of here.
"I'm 20, I know you're wondering if I was a 5-year-old protestor or a 35-year-old right now," the boxy smile I got used to is back on his face. I'm not laughing until I get an answer.
"Rest assured, I wasn't. When you enter this world, your age freezes. But time continues as usual, but here we have eternal winter. So, I was, and still am, 20-years-old. Well, I was five-years-old in 2025, but a big commotion made them angry with me. Enough to have my age frozen at twenty. Consider that one of the other forms of punishment ensued for us. I can't watch my younger sister grow up. Nor can my mother see both of her children grow," a momentary sad smile decorates his face. He's trying to make the situation sound funny, but it isn't. My heart is breaking for these people. The children here have no hope of growing up.
"Since this happened over a decade ago, I'm sure there is no news about this that you've heard of?" a scoff leaves his mouth as he questions. Judging by his reaction, he doesn't need an answer from me. Yet, I still nod.
The next thing he does has me jump out of my seat. His large hands gripped mine so tight to the point where I was struggling to get them out. "What the fuck?" I stand up from my chair and take a few steps away from the table. He is a creepy motherfucker. Why did I believe he wasn't?
"Wait, wait, please don't leave. I know this is quite a favor to ask of you, but please help us." His hands hold mine again, even tighter this time. The hopeful glint in his eyes overpowered any other emotion on his face. I don't move them away this time. I'm giving him the right to say one more sentence before I run the fuck out of here.
"Please, Azail," his voice grows breathy, desperate for a reaction.
Help them? How?
I cannot help myself through my issues. What makes him think I have the physical and mental ability to help him?
Not to mention thousands of others. I don't know what I got myself into, but I will not let myself fall into it anymore.