Luster

Chapter 1 - Phantoms

Up and down. My arms are moving on their own, above my head to below my knees. My hair is swaying back and forth, some strands are sticking to my face.

Up and down, what is happening? Where am I? I can't see anything. All I know is that cold drops are hitting me on the face, rain? Whenever my arms plummet, something stops them.

Up and down, my arms move faster. I try and open my eyes, but my vision is blurry. Are the raindrops in my eye sockets, or are there tears in my eyes? Moreover, there is hair blocking my vision whenever it swings in front of me.

Up. My arms stay in the air, I try to stop the weird motion. I feel powerless in my own body as if someone is controlling me. I manage to stop one arm and move all the hair off my face.

Down. My foreign arm inherits the act, faster and harsher. My other hand stays on my face, trying to wipe off whatever is clouding my eyes. I hear an unpleasant sound when my lonely arm plunges, like some wood breaking. The wood breaks, I hear a scream. The scream is instantly muffled, it was a feminine voice begging for me to stop. Stop what? Am I doing something wrong? Or what even am I doing?

Twist, crunch. My wrist digs something in. I just realize that I am holding something, now the weird motions make more sense. What am I holding? It feels cylindrical, probably with a pointy tip. Am I holding a paintbrush? I can faintly see purple light reflecting from the metal, maybe it's an icepick. The glow exposes a surface, the surface I keep digging at.

I take the icepick out, more raindrops land on my face. I feel numb and exhausted. I want to move, but my muscles are stiff, it's painful. I grit my teeth and the purple light slowly fades away into the darkness surrounding me...

Talented People

I suddenly opened my eyes, I was in front of an easel. In my room was a mess, splatters of paint and brushes everywhere. It was around six in the morning. Did I stay up all night painting again?

I checked the canvas out: Over a black background stood a shape that looked like it belonged to a Hittite disc-shaped bronze standard or something. I tend to sleepwalk now and then; but instead of walking around the house, I paint.

I noticed I was holding a paintbrush in my fist, squeezing it as though I was trying to break it. It was probably that nightmare.

I slowly opened the door. I didn't want to wake my dad up. I walked into the kitchen and prepared breakfast for them. I wrapped the meal up so it would stay fresh, Simon doesn't like his pancakes stale.

I peeked through the hallway and made sure their doors were closed, then looked around my room for clothes to wear. I love casual and plain t-shirts. They go really well with my dark purple jacket. I chose one of the teal ones and put it on quickly. The time was running out, I had to hurry. I put on dark beige colored pants. They somehow matched with my dirty blonde hair if you didn't pay too much attention.

I stuffed my notebooks and artware in my messenger bag and put on my shoes in a hurry. I wasn't sure if I hurried to go to school, or if I just wanted to get away from this house. I made sure I had my keys and closed the door behind me.

It was still cold in Canstead, we had just entered February after all. I didn't feel cold, though. As the years passed by, the winters had become warmer. It didn't even snow this year. I felt like the air would get warmer much quicker than in previous years. I couldn't take my eyes off of the beautiful woods next to the road. Canstead wasn't very taken care of, but it was one of the most important cities in the state. Because it houses my school, Whitecrest High.

Whitecrest wasn't a normal public high school, only the chosen ones could attend to it. The school valued skills more than scores, they had their own entrance tests. Basically, if you were talented at something, you were in. But the school would be nearly empty if they only took students that way, so they also had a hard exam. If you are hardworking enough, no school would miss you. But the school itself was great; a lot of the graduated students of this school had a successful life.