Sephera’s breath
whooshed from her body as a blow hit her spine. She spun to face her attacker.
The boy dressed in all white, opposite of her attire, and silvery hair fell in
front of his eyes. He has two swords in an X across his back and a bright ribbon
tied around his head. His bright blue eyes pierced into Sephera’s deep red ones
as he crouched low. She mimicked his position and blew her long, pitch-black
hair from her face. It flowed down to her hips and she wished as had tied it
into a braid before she left the house. Her gun belt felt heavy on her waist
and her fingers desired the familiar feeling of the trigger. But she shoved the
desire down and reached behind her back to pull her long, thin sword from its
case. The boy did the same, pulling out both of his swords. She waited for him,
calculating the fairness of the fight. He lunged.
Sephera quickly
blocked his advance and spun around. She stuck at his side but he blocked it as
easily as she had. Once again, he attacked, this time with a little more force,
but she still blocked it. She kept her expression calm as this pattern
continued, neither landing a hit. Then, she was taken by surprise. He lashed
out with one sword, which was quickly blocked, but then did the same with his
second. It cut her right side, directly under the ribcage, and stung badly.
Black blood oozed from the wound. Her gaze snapped back up at the boy, her eyes
blazing a fiery red as he danced back a few steps.
Feeling a roar
building up inside her, Sephera fought to keep it contained. She was able to do
so until he smirked. The roar echoed through the clearing and the thick forest
beyond as her body morphed, changed, shifted. Her arms shortened, her body
grew, her neck lengthened, a tail sprouted from her body, and wings extended
from her back.
The boy shook his
head, unfazed. “Sephera, the goal of this was to try NOT to shift into your
dragon form!” he exclaimed. She blew a breath from her large nostrils as he
approached her. She ducked her head down and he softly stroked her scaled neck.
Her underside’s scales were a soft gray while her top scaled were a harsh black
that tinted purple in the sun. The boy who stood before her, her best friend
for the 15 years of her life, Cirrus, could also shift into a dragon. They were
the only two. His scales were a rich white that had a gold tint on the edges.
Many thought of the two as polar opposites, like Yin and Yang. And yet, we
were-and still are-best friends. Ever since about 15 years ago.
Nobody knows who my
parents are, not even me. Now, at age 16, things are slightly different. Cirrus
and I learned of our powers the night of our 14th birthday. Mine was
April 10th while Cirrus’ was December 10th of the year
before. Well, we think that’s my birthday. The day of Cirrus’ first birthday
was when they found me, and his mother told me I looked to be about 6 months
old. Thus, my birth date was born. Cirrus and I always found it ironic that my
half birthday is his birthday, and vice versa.
Cirrus’ doorbell
rang through his house, and his mother was forced to turn her attention from
the year-old boy so she could answer the door. When the wooden door creaked
open, nobody was to be seen. Sheltered from the light rain by the porch roof,
Cirrus’ mother stepped out of the doorway. A light cry came from the ground in
front of her feet, and her gaze shot down to see a small baby-maybe half a year
old. Her face softened as the child, even though quite young, cried out for its
mother. The nearly crying woman leaned down, picking up the small being. The
baby girl had soft black waves of hair and pale, flawless skin. Tears
threatened to leak out of her dark, obsidian eyes and her rosy bottom lip
trembled.
Cirrus’ mother
looked around, searching once again for whoever left the baby girl on her
porch. There wasn’t a trace of anyone. As she cooed to the girl in her arms,
she turned and entered the house. Her year old son, Cirrus, was standing
curiously in the living room and his eyes brightened when he saw the small girl
in his mother’s arms. He immediately rushed to his mother, nearly tripping over
himself in the process. The girl’s eyes were on him as well, the same spark
lighting them as Cirrus’.
Cirrus wouldn’t
allow his mother to put little me up for adoption. They took me in, raised me,
and Cirrus’ father worked double time so his wife could take a break from work.
I felt bad about making this happen starting around age eleven, but they
reassured me so many times that it was worth it that I started believing them.
As soon as Cirrus
and I entered his-I mean, our back door, his mom was there. She immediately
ushered me to the nearby bathroom, handing me a fresh red tank top. I changed
into it, after she bandaged my side lightly to stop the scar from reopening.
Once I was done, I pulled off my boots, placing them by the door, and padded
upstairs to the room Cirrus and I share-believe it or not. His mother-oh, her
name’s Amelia-offered me a room as I got older, but Cirrus declined for me and
we turned “my” room into a music studio.
Knocking a shot
rhythm to let Cirrus know it was me, I slowly opened the white door
spray-painted with the words “STAY OUT, WE BITE” in bold black letters. I
walked in since I heard no protest from my roommate, and did an instinctual
scan of our awesome room. Two walls were white, two black, and the furniture
matched. My closet, dresser, desk, bedside table, bookcase, iPod player, and
alarm clock were black while Cirrus’ were white. We had a huge window opposite
the door, and our twin beds were pushed together against the same wall as the
door. My possessions, personal bathroom, and closet were to the right of the
door, my roomie’s were to the left, past the bed. The bedding was a mix of
black and white, while the top blanket draped across both beds was a yin yang
design. I swear, the bed was the size of a queen bed.
Cirrus was seated at
his desk, hunched over whatever he was working on. To not disturb him, I
quietly shut our door behind me and padded to my bathroom. I was in dire need
of a shower. Even though it was only my bathroom, I locked the door. With only
a quick glance in the mirror to ensure my state of filthiness wasn’t just a
feeling, I stripped of my clothes to turn on the hot water and step into the
spray. The water rinsed off dirt, massaged my sore muscles, and soothed my mind
of any thoughts. Washing my long hair and rubbing the soap into my scalp felt
so much better. It made me wish Cirrus didn’t flush his toilet the moment I was
done rinsing my hair and shaving my legs.
See, whenever one of
us flushed our toilet, the other’s water (shower or sink) went icy until the
toilet was done. Both of us knew that. So, you could imagine my anger as I
yelped, shut off the freezing water, and wrapped a towel around my body. I
yanked the door open and glared at the teen sitting on his side of the bed
looking at me with false innocence on his face. Gritting my teeth together, I
eventually spoke.
“You know the water goes cold when you flush Cirrus,” I spat.
He tilted his head as though he was confused.
“Do I?” he asked as
an egotistical smirk twitched his lips. His eyes widened as I picked up a book
and hurled it at his head. With the speed it flew, Cirrus barely had time to
duck his head so the book smacked the headboard of his bed. He chuckled. “Okay,
so I know. I’m sorry, I was getting bored and wanted the company of my best
friend.” I sighed, shaking my head. He was always great at making my anger
disappear.
After I got dressed,
dried and brushed my hair, and brushed my teeth, I walked back into the room.
Cirrus was now laying on the bed, bouncing a tennis ball off the ceiling. How
brilliant. I laid down beside him, my left side against his, and I snagged the
ball from his hands to toss it to a random corner of the room. We quickly
turned to face each other, inches between us, waiting for the other to speak. A
random thought crossed my mind.
“What are we having
for dinner?” I asked. Cirrus shrugged.
“Mom is going to the
clinic”-did I mention she’s a nurse?-“so I’m taking you out,” he told me.
“Do I have a-“
“No,” he cut me off,
causing me to roll my eyes. He laughed and I couldn’t help but smile. His laugh
and smile were just infectious.
We talked about
everything and anything for what seemed like forever. Finally, we stopped when
an alarm rang from Cirrus’ pocket. I arched a brow as he pulled his iPhone from
his pocket and slid his finger across the screen to quiet the alarm. He looked
up at me with a crooked smile and asked, “Ready for our date?”
Let’s just say, I
nearly choked on my own spit.
Cirrus’ arm was
locked around my waist as we approached the restaurant. It wasn’t an unusual thing for him to
do anymore. He started doing it when we were 14, stopping whenever he had a
girlfriend and continuing when they broke up. I wouldn’t stop him if I had a
boyfriend, which he seemed happy with. I told whoever it was to deal with it or
break up with my. 7 of them stayed, the other 3 were idiots.
I had my 1st
boyfriend, if you could even call him that, at age 12. He asked me out, kissed
my cheek when I accepted, and then came up to me after school that day with a
black eye and a break up on his lips. To this day, I don’t know who gave him
the black eye. I’m not sure I care anymore, since Cirrus and I had been home
schooled as of our powers revealing themselves. So things like that didn’t
matter, to me at least. I can’t speak for Cirrus.
I didn’t catch the
name of the restaurant before Cirrus had whisked me inside. Candlelit tables,
twinkly lights, roses, a fresh scent, the whole romantic aura. Why did he take
me here of all places? The early-20s woman standing at the front desk gave us a
look of longing as we approached her.
“Sky for two,”
Cirrus said with a charming smile. The lady nodded as I tried not to laugh at
the name Cirrus had given her, and then grabbed two menus and a specials paper.
She led us to our table, which ended up being out on a deck. Other than the
candles, there was no light, the stars twinkling far above.
you should continue this!
ReplyDelete