-Nora-
Doing my very best to stay upright, I enter the kitchen seeking a distraction. One glance at Pablo and I know I've found one. Laughter bubbles up from within, and bursts out uncontrollably at the sight of this poor clueless man.
Watery soap suds are slowly forming persistently dripping trails down from the sink, and Pablo sits on the tiled floor in the middle of the resulting puddle. Suds cling to his now mussed-up hair, and a smudge of pizza sauce marks his nose. One of his hands is encased in a large yellow rubber glove, while the other is completely bare.
Hastily, I step over Pablo and his puddle and lunge for the knob, shutting off the tap swiftly and allowing the overflowing basin to finally drain. Grabbing a nearby dish towel, I mop up most of the puddle and plop down next to my inebriated host, joining him on the floor.
"What's up, buddy? You seem... out of sarts. No. Out of sorts." Still fairly drunk myself, I laugh airily at my blunder.
"I am fine, amiga, just missing a dear friend."
"Invite them over! We can make more pizzas!" My eyes widen with childlike excitement at the thought.
"I cannot. But that is a story for another time." He seems to snap out of his temporary fog, and finally turns to meet my gaze. "I see you have found your guardian. Bit of a double edged sword though, really."
"My.. my what?"
He crinkles his thick brows in a show of confusion that matches my own, before apparently coming to some sort of conclusion.
"I apologize mi amiga, I am getting ahead of myself. Surely you will learn soon. Our expert visitor from the supernatural division will be arriving tomorrow, yes?"
Pablo tucks me in, after insisting I spend the night on his couch bed. He made a convincing argument, citing that none of us have any reasonable excuse to drive anywhere in our current state. I mumble my thanks, or try to, before falling into a deep, heavy slumber.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Something is wrong. My swirling shimmering sands are flickering, their colors shifting as though in a state of confusion. My child-like ally with the mystifying purple eyes once told me to tame the sands. I am trying, for the first time, to command them without his interference.
It seems I may be failing.
Letting out a groan of frustration, I narrow my concentration, studying each passing grain and willing it to hold the brilliant glowing white hue that I so desperately desire. Pouring every ounce of my power and strength of will into the vexing mists, they finally achieve the ethereal appearance I need. It holds momentarily for a fleeting, awe-inspiring second, before fading to a slightly muted variant, somewhat off-white in tone.
"This will just have to do, I guess..."
Whispering softly, hoping and praying that I can accomplish the task I've set for myself, I close my eyes and raise my outstretched arms--grasping for the familiar hold of coiling sentient tendrils.
After a moment of hesitation, they bend to my will. I feel an electrifying tingle running up the length of my arms. The sensation is different than I remember, but I pay that no mind. My concentration was far purer last time, with the aid of my strange and omnipotent friend.
In the most resolute and commanding voice I can muster, I call to the sands as they pull me into their conscious depths once more.
"Show me the Guardian!"
In a flurry of movement, glistening translucent windows to the past begin flying across my line of sight. Each showing one of a series of individuals-- primarily men aside from the exception of two woman-- each one taking my breath away. Just when my confusion hits it's peak, I zone in on one scene in particular. Stunned, I call it forward, willfully enlarging the scene playing out before me.
It's border shimmers with an array of intertwined crimson and midnight blue mists, while the scene itself is unfortunately dimmed and flickering in and out of focus. It reminds me of what I once likened to radio static, interfering with the transmission of my earliest visions of purple sands.
Even through the static, I can clearly recognize him. His face almost glows with power and determination, his jaw set and his muscular form moving with the swift grace of a masterfully-fought battle. His opponent lies outside the boundaries of the visual field, and no matter how hard I focus my concentration, I cannot locate the mysterious foe.
In the background behind the ensuing duel, I make out three female figures, vibrantly buzzing with bountiful magic. In the trio's center, stands a figure encased in a spiraling force of obsidian sands, blacker than night and far more menacing. Her eyes are shut tightly in concentration and her crimson hair flies violently, whipping around her with the force of the strong winds given off by the movements of the persistent sand.
To one side of her stands a girl of no more than eighteen years, with shiny silken strands of black hair framing her stoic face. She seems almost calm, or perhaps she is merely channeling a focused, meditative state. Her shocking blue eyes stare straight ahead, while not quite focused on the scene before her. Her palms curl sharply, and I notice a force of wind emanating from them. It flows outward to the sands that circle her companion, reigning them in and preventing potential collateral damage and destruction.
The third figure captures my attention next, as she stoops to the ground elegantly, placing her palms flat on the cracked stone floor of the seemingly ancient ruins upon which they stand. As if responding to her touch, thick and winding vines spring up with a vengeance through the time-worn stones. They spiral outwards, doing her bidding.
Before I can see anything further, I begin to strongly sense that something is off, and the scene before me flickers rapidly before fading to black. All around me, the windows of time seem to flicker and close, and the sands shift restlessly. I'm losing my grasp on the reigns, and being in so deep within the dangerous void is taking its toll on my body. My vision spins dizzily, and this time I know that the swirling world before me is due to my lack of control, not the movements of the sand itself.
I feel a familiar presence, sensing him even before he drags me out of harms way and back to a neutral plane. My inner strength is drained, the effort of briefly controlling the network had drawn it out of me like a needful succubus. I cannot open my eyes, but even without seeing my savior's face I can feel the waves of concern and disappointment radiating off him.
"Thank you.."
It takes every ounce of my remaining energy to thank him, but I need him to know how grateful I am for his rescue. I don't know what would have happened to me had he not pulled me out in time. If I allowed my essence to wither away in a vortex such as that one, would my body suffer the same fate? Would my mind?
For the first time, I realize that I don't understand the mechanics of how I travel here at all. Is it merely my consciousness, like in a true dream-state? Or do I actually travel-- mind, body and soul?
I would ask the boy if I could, but I am not yet recovered enough. I cannot find the strength to will my mouth to move, or my lips and tongue to form the words.
As though reading my mind, he sighs-- a sigh that suggests his thoughts weigh heavily on his mind, bearing the weight of the world. He chooses his next few words very carefully, letting each syllable linger as it rolls of the tip of his tongue and into the air of the empty void we now inhabit.
"You seek to restore your knowledge, this I understand. But you were never so reckless as you have just been. Alcohol addles both mind and body. While in this realm, your sharpness of mind is tremendously important. Do not risk your destiny again for such foolish pursuits."
How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I consider the consequences? Shame washes over me, his words having had their desired effect.
"Learn from this. Listen to the sands of time. Sense their present state through color, movement, light, and instinct. Learn to distinguish the necessary degree of purity before entering their vast network. Tainted sands could taint your mind, and your mind is too valuable a thing to risk."
His voice softens, indicating the end of his reprimands, without losing it's distinct air of knowledge and meaning. Somewhere along the way, it picks up a musical tone, and he presents to me a riddle of sorts.
"You are my child, but I am not your father. I birthed your power and gave it purpose. I created your destiny, and wrote it in the stars for all to see. I am your creator, you master, your guide. You and your sisters are not truly of the human world, and yet, you are. Some call me Oracle, some call me Destiny, but it has been many years since I have truly filled either role. I am ageless, yet aged. As are you, my child of circumstance."
He strokes my hair softly, his small, childlike hands sending soothing impulses flowing through me like a healing force. I relish the comfort of his presence, knowing it will soon be gone. After sufficiently recharging my wounded essence, he gingerly relinquishes me from his hold.
"Do not fear the warrior I have chosen for this time-- for your current incarnation. He will aid you in your quest. You are drawn to his essence, as he is to yours. He is bound by the fabric of his very soul to protect you... You must let him succeed."
The Oracle leaves me, and I wake shortly afterward feeling renewed and refreshed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Whatever magical impulse his delicate fingers sent into my weakened system has not only cleared my drunk and addled mind, ridding me of any trace of alcohol, but has recharged my energy, as if I had slept a full eight hours. The nearest clock tells me I was only out for about four. My companions snore loudly, forming an unpleasant chorus in surround sound, the noises resonating from this room as well as Pablo's bedroom down the hall.
Sitting up with purpose, I quietly remove the blankets that cover me, not wanting to wake the sleeping man across the room, and wander the rooms of the townhouse determinedly seeking an office. Finally, I set my eyes on a cluttered desk, covered in an array of scribblings, papers, and newspaper clippings. Ignoring the mess, I grab a pencil and two sheets of printer paper.
On the first sheet, I write down the cryptic words that the Oracle spoke to me, the ones pertaining to my existence. On the second, I begin to sketch. Waiting for canvas and paint would be frivolous. I may not have my medium of choice at my disposal, but the content is far more important than the method right now.
My hand guides the borrowed utensil, beginning work on my so-called guardian. As I capture the likeness of my defender, I think for a moment of the man himself.
I knew from the start that my attraction to Kent was abnormal, but this small victory of justification feels hollow. I should feel vindicated, relieved that I have finally gained some level of understanding. That I'm not just a slave to my hormones and am actually supposed to feel this way.
But somehow, the newfound knowledge leaves me feeling trapped. Just as I'd felt in that moment when he pinned me to a wall and literally trapped me, except this time, I know I won't escape. This time, the barriers in place will not lift. The binding will of destiny won't ever relent.
_______________________________________
Anyone surprised? Let me know what you think!