Cold Fire [SAMPLE]

[27]

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It’s around five o’clock when I get home. My father asks me where I’ve been and for a split second, I actually consider just telling him the truth, but the moment passes and I say that I’ve been out with friends, which technically isn’t a lie.

He looks surprised but since that’s the excuse I’ve been using for a while now, he doesn’t question it. I head for the stairs.

“What are their names?” he asks, his voice floating over to me from the living room, and I halt with one foot on the bottom step.

Cautiously, I reply, “Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, I was just wondering. Maybe you could invite them over some time. This is the first time in… in a while that you’ve mentioned friends. I’m just curious.”

I close my eyes and take deep breaths. “Sure,” I lie. “I’ll ask them.” Then I climb the stairs before he has a chance to ask me anything else.

I practice using my telekinesis all night, hoping to distract myself from thinking about the happenings of today and the events of tomorrow. But the past and the future keep slipping into my thoughts – my mind running over the details of what has been and what could be. Again and again, I lose focus, my powers failing to work because my mind is elsewhere and occupied with other things.

Eventually, I give up and go to bed early, having only managed to lift a few items before exhaustion set in. It seems that without any adrenaline, my powers aren’t half as good, not that it really matters. When am I going to use them anyway?

But even while lying in bed, my thoughts continue to shout at me, loud enough that I imagine them escaping the walls of my mind, echoing throughout the eerily quiet house. There’s Sarah’s voice asking me to meet up with my real mother, and Caden’s repeating over and over again that he doesn’t believe me.

Somehow, I manage to drift off, and the hope that things will turn out okay provides a warmth in my chest that lasts through the night, ensuring a deep, dreamless sleep.

-:-:-:-:-

The next morning, the light filtering into my room is a dull grey, like an invisible fog. I sit up in bed and my eyes automatically jump to the window where the thin curtains flap in the breeze. This morning feels different. 

I stand up, my feet sinking into the soft carpet as I pad across the room to the window. I watch my hands shake as I place them on the window-sill before lifting my eyes to the view what waits outside my room.

I suck in a breath.

The world is covered in white. The cars, the rooftops, the streets, the trees – everything. Everywhere I look, the colour has been wiped, replaced with a colourless void. It’s not black and white, like in old films – it’s just a sea of the same colour, like a song with only one note that drones on for ever and ever. And on top of it all, wisps of sparkling white glide gently down to the ground, which from a distance, give the impression of a thick fog hanging low over the city.

It’s snow, I realise.

The snow, coupled with the fact no one is in sight, makes the world look empty, like everyone has gotten up and left overnight and I missed the memo. Slowly, I'm lulled into a state of calm where no one and nothing matters, where all my energy is focused on just existing, no strings attached.

I stick my hand out and let the snow land on my skin where it melts almost immediately. The fact that I feel nothing, not even the slightest sensation of cold, should scare me, but it doesn't, and I don't care. Standing here, in front of my own sparkling world, I don't care about anything; the things I've learned in the past couple of weeks, the people that watch me, the time limit on my life with the deadline drawing closer with each passing second – none of it matters.