The Starchild

by Schuyler Thorpe

  Then I saw something above me appear out of nowhere–this hulking white monstrosity that bore no name, had no relation to this reality, but sat there like a tormenting celestial demon and just mocked me for being what I desperately wanted to become:

  The Starchild of Ancient Lore.

  Laughter erupted from somewhere close by and I couldn’t see who it was. But it just added to my problems as I plunged into the upper layers of the planet’s atmosphere–trailing fire, embers, smoke, the whole nine yards as I continued to fight whatever force was pulling me down into the dark abyss below me.

  I didn’t even have the time to scream as it swallowed me up then.

  ***

  I woke up with a start–my heart pounding in dread, the surge of adrenaline flooding my body, and the feeling of indescribable tightness around my stomach as I lay there in a full blown panic and thinking that what I just dreamed had become my fucking reality.

  Then the sound of my alarm finally going off in the distance confirmed the fact that I was still here, in my room, in my bed and having gone to sleep after another long day doing the rest of my chores and finally cleaning out the holding tank after the storm passed through.

  Then my head started to pound with fresh blood and migraines as my body started to adjust to the fact that I wasn’t screaming down to Earth like a blazing comet and being swallowed up by forces I couldn’t even comprehend.

  But that’s what I got for thinking I could save the fucking world!

  This was my reward for entertaining flights of fancy during the dinner rush and eating my fill of salad, more leftover green pepper stew, three slices of flaky white bread with fruit preserves or butter substitutes on top of that, and two large glasses of chilled apple juice.

  I let out a loud moan to beat everything hands down as my stomach rebelled in sudden pain and I thought that I finally got over that bout of indigestion before bed.

  Guess not. I thought feverishly, thinking this was the price I paid over overindulging myself.

  But feeling myself up revealed that it just my blanket wrapped around me like a python and squeezing me without one blessed moment of mercy.

  I tried my best to move, but even my legs wouldn’t respond. Or my feet.

  “Gods…” I whispered in a fresh panic. “What did I do to myself now?”

  I tried to inch myself to the left, but found that was a no go. I was literally pressed up against the side of my faded yellow corkboard tacked next to my bed.

  That would explain why I‘m not able to move. I reflected ruefully. But then why is the side of my face wet?

  Pulling my pinned arm free from underneath my body, I managed to touch my cheek and experience the grossed out sensation of dried drool and snot and I started to think that what I dreamed about last night was more a premonition than your average reality.

  How else could you explain why I felt so sick and drained of all of my beautiful and youthful energy?

  Using the corner of my blanket, I proceeded to clean myself up a little bit better, but discovered to my horror that it wasn’t just my left cheek that had been wet and shit.

  It was also my pillow as well!

  “Yuck…” I practically complained to myself at that point. “Just what the hell was I doing last night in my sleep?”

  I could still remember bits and pieces of what I now considered a fucking night terror to beat all my previously held nightmares. I could still remember falling slowly through space, my hair billowing out all around me in response. But I could not remember what I was dressed up in.

  That part of my dream was never made perfectly clear to me.

  But I could still feel the crushing fear, the dread, and everything else as my experience progressed. I was falling towards home, but I was never in control of my journey–let alone my destiny.

  So why was I so terrified? What was it about that dream which had me spooked so fucking badly?

  The all too brief image of something large and white entered the picture and I shuddered violently as a result. I also ended up sneezing on top of that while pulling a few back muscles too.

  I cried out in astonishment at the feelings and sensations I was experiencing from my flashback and I groaned helplessly as a result.

  Okay…not going there. I promised myself then–taking that moment to breathe. I did not need to know what that giant, white construct in my sleep actually was. It was simply too massive and horrifying to contemplate. I literally felt like I was being swallowed up by it bit by tiny bit–even as I was falling fast.

  The muscle tics and pain quickly subsided in about a minute’s time and I felt like I could actually move then. But not when I was rolled up tightly like one of my mom’s famous beef tacos.

  And I really needed to find some way of silencing that alarm clock! Came the second, most urgent thought of the morning.

  So I threw one of my throw pillows at it and missed.

  “Oh, that’s great. Just perfect.” I breathed in mild embarrassment. “You can fire on your racing opponents with surefire accuracy to make even the opposition jealous, but you can’t even hit something like a clock from ten feet away?”

  Letting out a groan of frustration, I contemplated my next plan of action. If I didn’t get up right then, mom would come calling on me like she always did and this time, I didn’t need another pleasant reminder as to why I wasn’t getting up fast enough.

  So I tried solving my problems by pushing myself away from the wall–away from my cluttered corkboard–and rolling over as much as I could onto my bed.

  But I went too far apparently and fell off.

  I didn’t even need to know that I hit the wooden floor with a loud thud. I felt it through the pain of my left shoulder and all the way through that side of my body–plus my legs, my knees, my ankle bones, and the side of my right foot.

  “Ouch…?!?” I called out in both shock and surprise, my equilibrium on the fritz which caused the very floor beneath me to pitch and swell to the time of my head spinning in response to the unfortunate accident.

  I think…I’m going to throw up! I reflected nauseously. But in that span of a moment, I made a fortunate discovery: Half of my blanket was undone. All that was covering me was a thin layer of another sweat soaked sheet and my cotton pajama top–now hiked up around the middle of my flat stomach.

  I pulled that down with both of my hands and just laid there for a couple minutes while trying to come up with some best possible solution to salvage my now destroyed reputation and one teenage girl’s dignity.

  But since nothing was forthcoming in that moment of time, I decided I had enough monkeying around and did my best to get off the floor under my own power. It was touch and go for a moment there since I still hurt like a mother fucker from slamming my skinny self into the floor like that–did I leave an impression of me on that spot?–but a careful probe of my body didn’t reveal any bruises or broken bones which…sometimes happened if one wasn’t too careful.

  Or just being a universal klutz.

  Like me.

  Staggering around for a second, I turned myself around and headed for my vanity dresser to finally silence my alarm clock–after the free-flowing LED face plate showed me what time it was: 7:42:35.

  I changed the setting for a moment and the date popped up as well a second later and I let my finger go of the button on the top before I got a chance to look myself in the mirror after palming the table lamp’s light switch on.

  “Oh god girl…” I said to myself in strong disbelief. “Is that what you even look like this morning?”

  Okay people, Death had nothing on me. I looked like complete and absolute shit. Not only was parts my face breaking out again in new acne, I also had bags under my eyes which horrified me even more so.

  I honestly thought that this was something only parents got when they woke up first thing in the morning–but not me!

  I was the pinnacle of youth! How could I end up looking like my grandmother so early in the mo
rning? I did not need this at all.

  Leaning forward a bit, I checked myself out even more closely, noticing the pimples and such and popping a few in the process, but my red hair was a fucking mess again.

  I also happened to notice something new for a change–which got me into a complete panic of epic proportions.

  “Oh my god…!” I practically screamed. “Is that…a white…hair?!?”

  What the hell is going on??? I thought in a hurry, pulling forth a large handful of my own hair and looking at the tips of it.

  I couldn’t tell what color it was in this light, so I went over and turned on the overheads and looked even more closely than ever before.

  “Holy shit…” I whispered in absolute horror. “My hair is turning white at the ends!” I looked up the length of my shoulder length hair and found patches of silver white coloring in that one as well.

  “Jesus…” I bit out in the Old Language. “What the fuck is happening here?!?”

  I spun around in a panic, thinking that I was getting old right before my very eyes. I was going to turn into a bitter old crone like one of my aunts living in the Highland areas–I was going to age in forty seconds flat!

  How could I face the world looking like this???

  My mind was full of racing thoughts and my feeble life flashed before my eyes right then: I was just eighteen! Not even married yet! Hell…I didn’t even have the chance to get a boyfriend yet either!!!

  I started to cry in quiet despair, thinking and believing that my life was truly over.

  That’s when I heard my mom knocking on the door and asking me what the problem was.

  I stared at it for a second in sheer panic and said in a loud voice:

  “Don’t come in!”

  “Why not?” My mother’s voice answered for me right then.

  “Just…don’t.” I said with sheer urgency on my part–while trying to hide my changing hair colors with one of dad’s old baseball caps.

  “I heard someone scream a minute ago.” My mom parlayed out to me. “I thought it might have been you.”

  I adjusted the cap over my eyes and looked in the mirror again–trying to see if that did the trick.

  Nope. Not a chance in hell.

  Flustered, I mussed up my hair and then shook my head to see if I could at least look like I had just came out of a shower–or got hit by lightning again like I did last night on the way home.

  That stunt only worked…marginally.

  Pursing my lips in frustration, I sighed.

  “Yeah. It was me.” I answered in all honesty.

  A moment of silence fell between us.

  “Is there a problem, sweetie? Do you want me to come in?”

  I just stood there for a moment longer and sighed some more.

  “Yeah,” I told her in solid defeat. “You might as well. Because you’re not going to like what I have to show you.”

  My mother opened the door gently and entered my room–this time without a key–and saw me standing there with a very unhappy look on my face.

  “What could possibly be wrong this time? Is it more of your acne breakouts again? Is that what you’re supremely worried about?” My mother badgered me from behind my back.

  “It’s not that bad, honey. I got them all the time when I was your age. It just means that you’re stressed out.”

  I turned and looked at her then, fresh tears in my eyes.

  “I got white hair!” I practically cried then–showing her the strands in question.

  My mother took my hair into her hands and put on the glasses that were previously tucked into the front folds of her morning shirt.

  Then she had a good look herself.

  I watched her in silence as she ran her fingers through my strands, parting a few in the process and then nodded something in confirmation.

  “It just means you’re special, Isis.” My mother told me.

  I stared at her in complete horror–not wanting to believe my own ears.

  “Special???” I practically screamed. “Mom! I’m going white! That’s not supposed to happen! Not for a long time to come a least!”

  “So? It’s not that bad, honey. Having a little bit of white hair doesn’t change anything about you. It just makes you look a little more distinguished and more grown up.”

  I snorted in disgust. “That’s not helping.” I lobbed off angrily.

  My mother stepped forward to hug me in support.

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “It is…” I mewed helplessly. “How am I going to face the world looking like this? Even Calis is going to start asking questions.”

  “He might ask. Then again, he may not.” My mother told me then.

  I sighed miserably. “I just…thought…that I would go through life looking like you. I really did.”

  “My own hair color has faded a little in recent years. I don’t think you’d want that on your conscience.” My mother informed me patiently.

  “But you’re hair is still so beautiful!” I said–looking up at her intently. “It’s really lustrous and shines when the light hits it!”

  My mother gave me a really happy smile upon hearing me compliment her so effortlessly.

  “You think so? That’s so kind of you to say that, honey. Thank you so very much.” She praised, kissing me on the top of my head.

  “But I want my hair to look like yours!” I pleaded with her. “Can’t you dye it a darker shade of red like you did before?”

  “And what would that accomplish?” My mother asked of me then. “Are there any guys you’re trying to impress whom I don’t know about yet?”

  My eyes screwed shut in blind frustration. “Mom…”

  “Oh, so no guys today huh?” She teased mercilessly.

  I growled some. “That’s not the point. Or the reason.”

  “Well, I imagine when the right guy comes along, he’ll like you no matter what you look like. Just as I do.”

  “Mom!” I practically railed at her. “I’m not doing this for a guy! You know how slim pickings are around here anyways, right? It’s not like I’m going to land myself right into the middle of a relationship with one anytime soon.” I told her flat out.

  My mother sighed a bit, reminiscing a little on her part.

  “I used to think the same way myself when I was your age. I didn’t have anyone yet in my life either. Certainly not your father.”

  “Really?” I said with quiet surprise.

  My mother laughed lightly in response to my question.

  “Oh, yes. I was single and unattached like you. Didn’t have the luxury of finding a guy I liked either. Of course, I was living with my aunt and uncle in Alcoix Creek at the time before moving to another part of the Golan Desert later on. I didn’t run into your father here until I was twenty one. Then I had you four years later at twenty-five after moving in.”

  “Were you married then?”

  My mother shook her head. “We didn’t officially tie the knot until your brother was born. As such, we spent much of our time unmarried–but still very much in love with each other–until that fateful day of course.”

  I grew quiet then–knowing what she was talking about.

  The moment of fear. The moment of pain. The moment of loss…

  I held my right arm absently, a twinge of pain riding through it for a completely different reason.

  Mom noticed of course. How could she not? This is where I sustained a broken arm when one of the Praetorial Guardsmen savagely smashed the butt of his rifle into it when I was only six–breaking it–as I tried in desperation to protect my dad from them.

  Before they hauled him away in cuffs–kicking and bellowing the entire time.

  I shuddered reflexively–the memory of that day pretty much alive within me and powerful to boot.

  My mom returned to embracing me for another couple of moments, knowing how much that day affected me.

  “I miss him too, sweetie. I miss him so very much.” She wh
ispered.

  I nodded numbly–while trying not to cry again.

  “But you’re here and so is your brother and that’s all that matters.” She said with quiet support. “But I want to apologize for yesterday. I had no right to yell at you.”

  I chuckled a little upon hearing that. “I think it’s a little too late for that, mom. The damage is already done.”

  “No, it isn’t. It never isn’t too late to apologize. I know I said a lot of heated things to you–making you question everything there is about yourself. But I want you to know that I spent some time thinking about how much things have changed and how much things have stayed the same and I got to the realization that…I can’t hold onto you forever, sweetie.”

  Glancing up at my mother, I said, “What do you mean?”

  My mom hugged me tighter in passing. “I’m saying that I’m letting you go. You’re free to make your own decisions in life. That’s what being eighteen is all about. So…I’m letting you go.”

  My heart caught in the back of my throat. “Does…does this mean I’m kicked out of the house?”

  My mother chuckled. “No, Isis. It means, I’m going to have to start trusting your judgment on things from now on. Even if that means…going on a trip up to the Stratos City space complex.”

  Relaxing a bit, I nodded gratefully. “I promise I’ll make you proud of me, mom. I won’t let you down.”

  My mother laughed at that notion of mine. “You never have. You’ve made me so proud of you. As an auto-frame pilot of the legendary Viper X-1 and being my one and only daughter.” She pulled away from me at that point and looked at me with love and happiness in her eyes.

  “If your father were alive today and here, he would say the exact same thing. In fact, I know he would. He was so proud of you when you stood up to that squad of Praetorial Guardsmen when they came barging into this house. You leaped into action and you were ready to defend the castle and us at the same time.”

  “How did you know?” I asked in total wonder.

  “The brief look on your father’s face when you screamed like a wild child and you literally took that plastic curtain rod that was lying on the floor and you tried charging the first Guardsmen that came into the living room to take him away.