Nobody Special

[rem sleep]

Name - Siren
Gender - Female
Powers - Immortality - Conjuring Dreams

tryout

I don't really like explaining it, but I guess I have to. As my audience, you must promise not to judge or question me. It's a sensitive thing to talk about, and I do not appreciate being pried at... I will share what I am comfortable sharing, and perhaps another day I can tell you the entire story-- with all its pieces. For now, please... please just listen and allow me to explain to the best of my ability. I only know so much, but what I have... I will share with you.

First and foremost, I am myself and no one else. There is only one of me. I change colors, that is true, but myself does not change. I am almost ultimately stagnant... a single, unchanging thing in the expanse of space. I am what one might call immortal, but I do not think it so. I have existed for a considerable time, perhaps since human beings themselves began to exist, but I would not say that I am truly immortal. Perhaps I am long-lived, but I am no fighter, and I would not know what the hands of death are like. I float by mankind and watch but seldom do I disturb them. In fact, I seldom interact with anyone. One could say I am lonely, but that would be similar to saying that I am immortal-- I have never had true, close companionship-- so how would I know if this feeling is loneliness, or perhaps just waiting for that companionship to arrive? These are mysteries to me, personally. Perhaps ones I will never solve.

I don't know why but myths about shapeshifting are spread amongst just about every culture. Some say it's painful while others say it's like nothing at all, as if you simply looked at yourself in the mirror and you were different each time. I would say, from experience, it's like feeling water run over your body slowly and meticulously. The soft ripples are close to the feeling of water, at the very least, and wherever they touch the colors begin to change. It's that simple, really, and it doesn't hurt. It's a gentle thing, a comforting feeling, even. It's a cool feeling-- like being submerged for a second in a small spring or a babbling brook. It's no different from changing clothing, really.

I know I have to tell you why, but I don't... particularly want to. It's embarrassing. I'm sure you'll laugh. I'm not particularly proud of myself... but I'd really rather you not scorn me. I don't need any more of that, quite frankly, though I know I'll receive it until the day I die, or simply stop existing altogether. It's not unjustified, but... I will again say that I do not appreciate it. I want nothing more than to be normal again, but such is not possible.

I began to exist alongside man at the dawn of their existence, and I observed them from above. I watched from the clouds, somewhere beyond their plane of mortality. I observed as they built things and founded societies, and I saw all that they created with their own hands. There were other kalons in the clouds, but none cared to watch with me-- they said such pursuits were quite childish and unbefitting of me. From the sky we maintained the weather, we changed the seasons, some of us even helped the mortals with pleasant dreams. We were supposed to consider ourselves higher beings, I suppose, as we looked down on the mortals and other beasts each day from above. There is much I do not know about my home in the sky.

I was fascinated with watching the people below and I spent countless days doing so, just sitting there and observing them. I didn't quite look like much of anything before, in fact I was snowy white. It wasn't for any particular reason, but none of the high kalons needed any color-- I suppose, in retrospect, having colors was something only mortals needed to differentiate themselves from one another-- to make a standing effort to be different. We were all, in effort, the same. It was better that way. No one had use for colors, but I was infatuated with them. I was stunned by the mortals and their beautiful colors, their breath-taking inventions, their infinite creativity. The order of my home came to bore me and I found myself wondering what would come next in the sit-com of life, the world below me which I viewed from a small gap in the cloud veil.

I saw a man one day, a beautiful, charming kalon. He had long, flowing fur and stunning eyes. I watched him and he looked back at me, staring up at the clouds with a determination I'd never seen before. One day he came out into his yard with false wings strapped to his back. Leather straps wrapped around his shoulders and the wooden structures branched out behind him, covered with feathers which were meticulously glued onto the mighty things. He climbed onto his roof and he hopped off it only to collide with the ground. I chuckled, looking down at the silly creature as he regained his bearings only to try again. He tried for long months as he modified his models, but each night he came out with a telescope to gaze up at the sky. I came to believe he was just as infatuated with me as I was with him, I got the impression he saw me somehow, that he knew I was there.

He came outside again and I watched as he, against all odds, took flight and brought himself up into the air. He raised into the sky, flying towards the sun. I noticed the structure of his false wings waver, the feathers falling off as he brought himself higher. The determination shone in his eyes and I found myself making a mistake. I shot out of the clouds, wings spread, and I brought him up into the clouds-- I stole him away from the earth and brought something so beautiful and colorful into the world of monotony and pride that I had come to know. They stared at me-- all the colorless kalons-- and their wide eyes were all I needed to see. We were both arrested immediately and brought to the prisons of my world.

We were placed in cells next to each other and he whispered to me through the bars. He told me about the mortal world and asked me many questions about my own-- and we exchanged details. The world of mortal kalons was as I viewed it from the clouds, and I described the boring, condescending unity of the high kalons-- how the colors they saw on mortals made them envious, and how they each claimed they had no need for colors or outstanding features, as such intricate patterns would only call attention to their own vanity. The man seemed appalled by that notion, claiming that each and every mortal kalon did not pick their colors to be extravagant or stunning-- rather they were born with them, and they were no more than an identity. Why, he asked, would one think colors were so vain?

I shrugged from my prison, fur a solid white. I asked if perhaps, to a world of unremarkable kalons, it might seem stunning and wild to be colored with glorious patterns which intermingled amongst each other and danced across each pelt. I asked, tracing my hand along my snow white fur, if it seemed fair to him that we, having declared ourselves better than mankind, did not receive any colors to bear for ourselves at all. He shook his head, saying that colors were identity-- and to be without that was simply tragic. I sighed and muttered to him that it was what we all wanted-- to be unique-- but none would admit it, as they were all too stuck-up and absorbed in being the most noble, or the most dignified, that none would ever speak aloud that they envied something so lowly as a mortal kalon. He asked why, and I gave another shrug. They are vain, was all I could tell him, they are vain and they seek to be beautiful, they seek to be remarkable.

The day of our trial quickly came, and in the open courtyard I saw the man kept in his cell at the front of the court, while I stood a considerable ways back at the podium assigned for me. The highest council stood before me and they assessed my testimony. I told them I had wanted no more than to save the life of the clueless man who had tried in vain to reach the clouds. I said it was a noble pursuit, something that no other mortal had done before-- and the council said that no other mortal should ever do it again. I was taken aback as they decided, with the slam of their mallet, that he was to be kept prisoner on high-- forever. I pled with them to take me instead, but they claimed that only this mortal knew how to potentially reach us-- and now he knew what was beyond-- which was already far too much to simply release him.

They said, however, I was not exempt from punishment. I felt myself lifted into the air, suspended in the raw atmosphere, as a shockwave of pain erupted out of my chest, branching out over my entire body in a matter of moments. I gasped at the pain and felt my arms and wings slowly move out away from my body, outstretched on either side. I fought to keep my eyes open, tears welling in them, as I felt the incredible blazing sensation of my fur being patterned with many beautiful colors. I watched as the gold spun into my fur and the dark navy hues formed stars and spirals-- I saw the blonde color of my hair, strands dancing before my eyes. I stared at the council in disbelief. They said that they had branded me a traitor with these stunning colors-- that they had given me two sets-- more than any other mortal, for I was more vain than any other, even the man who tried to steal the sun out of the sky-- the man they had imprisoned before me.

I was dropped to the ground, and the clouds wavered under my feet, shifting as if they were no longer meant to carry my weight. The council stated that from this point I would be cast away to the world of mortal men-- and I would stay there on the ground, now that the sky could no longer support the weight of my ego. They claimed it was righteous-- that I had tried to play God in cheating this man's death, that I had tried to be heroic where all were equal-- they said I deserved what I got, and as the clouds parted under me all I could see were the eyes of that handsome man. The expression transfixed on his face as I went down, plummeting to earth, is one I will never forget as long as I live. And, like that, I was gone. Forever cast to a world in which I did not belong.

I found that in the day I was navy blue, and in the night I was bright golden-- these colors stood out the most at the respective times-- and wherever I went, my colors shone out onto the land and drew all eyes to me. I could go nowhere without drawing attention to myself, and indeed, I loved my new colors though I could not allow them to make me vain. There was more I had to do-- an injustice I had to right. There was a man held prisoner above, and I was going to set him free.

1,992 words

the kalon is female and she lives in an area above the cloud-line where all the ‘high kalons’ live— they’re a race of colorless kalons who are all the same in every way, they help mortal kalons and rule over them (kinda) from above— but she is different, in that she watches mortals through a hole in the clouds. she falls in love (kinda?) with a mortal kalon— a man who tries to make fake wings to reach the sky— and one day he manages to take off, but in doing so he almost dies as his wings fall apart and he’s too high above the ground to stop himself from crashing. she saves him and pulls him into the clouds, swooping in to save him, and both of them are promptly arrested. The male kalon is kept as their captive, while the lady is given colors to show her vanity for playing god— for being the hero when she’s only as normal as everyone else, and she knew the rules of their world and willingly broke them, putting her in the same plane as the mortal kalons. Colors are a symbol of vanity for them— so she is given more colors than any other kalon, labelling her the most vain. She is then cast from her home and her main quest then becomes to find a way home— not for herself, but to save the one she loves. She searches the mortal world for a way to take the mortal kalon back home where he belongs.

[rem sleep]

[ 3 / 3 writing ]

- - Intro - 1,992 words
- - Story 1 - WHITE - - 2,155 words - - - Distant Past
- - Story 2 - COLOR - - 1,971 words - - - Recent Past
- - Story 3 - TWO TONES - - 3,009 words - - - Present

TOTAL WORDS - 9,127 words

[ 5 / 5 art ]

1 - HOLIEST
2 - DAYDREAM
3 - TITLECARD - WHITE
4 - TITLECARD - COLOR
5 - TITLECARD - TWO TONES

[rem sleep]

. . .

. . . Holiest by Glass Animals . . .

At the beginning of time it was all white. There was no color, and there never had been. When the high kalons came into the world, they brought with them many things. Order, justice, and many natural phenomena-- or so it is said. The earth came to be before all else, and as soon as mortal life began to exist complications arose. There became a great need for others to keep things in order, and so the high kalons came to power. Their living space was held above the living world, suspended in the clouds, and all things in their realm were completely and utterly devoid of color. As the days passed, the high kalons looked down upon the mortal world and saw all that was colored beneath them, though they did not understand why they did not have colors for themselves. They justified it in many ways, but the overall decision was that they lacked them not because they did not deserve them, but because they did not need them. Surely such gorgeous and powerful creatures had no need for any more extravagance, they said, it would be far too overwhelming. So, in the name of order, they decided against discussing it further, placing it as another law of their strict society-- none were to own or want for color.

. . .

I live in the clouds. It's a simple sort of existence, and the people and places I see are all relatively easy to handle. Things are quite easy here, as a general rule of thumb, because they are all quite similar. It isn't that they're not special, they just lack distinction, which makes them easier for the mind to handle. The buildings are grand in architecture with characteristic pillars and arcs, and each kalon I meet has grand wings and a beautiful complexion-- but regardless of those truths, they are quite similar. It becomes hard as days pass to tell each person and place apart, as they all blur together in a soft hum of background noise. They are remarkable in moments, then disposable in the next. I've always found it hard to describe, but the world on high is so professional and structured that it leaves shallow room for individuality to flourish, making things hard to discern or recall.

The structure of our world is easy to remember, however. It is all very distinct. There are three main branches of work-- the weather brach, which manipulates the natural phenomena-- the dream branch, which handles the slumbering adventures of mortals-- and the astrology branch, which deals in forming constellations and their stories. Each are quite admirable lines of work, and there are many who seek to invest themselves within the branches-- any one of them, really. They are the most sought-after positions of our world, and those who work in each line are powerful and respected. They are the true keepers of order-- outside our court system and law enforcement-- they are the ones who keep the mortal world running by the law of our world, the structure and order that we preach.

There are many things to do with ranking, many social standards one must meet and courtesies you must always extend. Each of us has a dwelling of equal status to another, though there are few-- the highest members of each branch-- who have a great and luxurious living. These select few are also the only ones to be able to meet with our Creator. I know little of them, as most others do, and on long afternoons you can often catch other high kalons chattering about them. Did they create us, or did they seize us? Who are they, in all reality? None even know their name, though many say it is because they want not for one-- they want not for identity or any distinction, and it is quite admirable. They remain impartial, making the best and most sound decision with no bias-- and it is why they are revered as the greatest leader of all time.

The days I experience as many others would. The morning comes and I awake, I go and complete my work and then I return home once more to sleep come the fall of the sun. I watch from my bedroom window as the clouds turn cotton candy hues, and smile as they then cascade themselves in a dusk navy. I curl up and close my eyes, wishful for the coming day. High kalons do not dream. We manufacture dreams, and so we are incapable of having them. It is as if you were to close your eyes and relax, though you were awoken briefly in the moments to follow. It is truly as if no time at all has passed, and the next day is there before you, opening your eyes with the soft rays of the morning sun.

I am employed at the dream branch, and I work each day in a rather well-kept office facility. From the confines of our cubicles we are allowed to browse portfolios, and from the information presented we conjure a dream. Upon placing a hand upon the portfolio, containing only a picture of the mortal we are to visit that night, it is as if we see their entire life in a moment. In one second, we glimpse all they are-- and we blink our eyes only to have them disappear once more. In that second we know them completely, and for the remainder of our day we conjure the perfect dream. Sometimes we conjure nightmares, but I do not particularly enjoy such assignments. There are some who do not take their work very seriously, and instead of putting thought into the projection, they make silly and unpredictable dreams. I cannot say I care for that either.

I enjoy crafting a masterpiece each day at work. I recline in my chair and sketch the hours away, jotting down footnotes and making notice of every detail of the mortal I have met. I take care in my work and I craft something I am sure will meet my quota. It is not a task of compassion, I would say, but rather it is a mechanical form of caring. From a distance I look in and see someone else who I cannot fully comprehend. Someone wild and colorful-- living a life of complicated social interactions and meaningless work-related strife. I see them and in the moment I browse their life, I almost understand, though it always slips away. I need not to understand, however, because my job is a simple one once completed enough.

I let them see their daughter have a happy marriage, smiling and doe-eyed. I show them the love of their life days before they will encounter her. I show them a promotion in their coming future, or a long afternoon with a trusted friend. I project to them any number of things that will bright the requirement of emotional response in. I would say I am quite masterful in my projections by this point in my career. I put such thought and effort into them that each detail seems so real it could be life itself. In my earlier days, I will admit, my projections were fuzzy and distant, but now they are clear as crystal.

To conjure, one must utilize the power within themselves. Each high kalon has something within that determines which branch you will work for-- a power, if you will. Some can conjure clouds or rain while others can move the stars. I can make dreams and nightmares, which drift into the minds of whomever is decided by my supervisor that night. It is an ability all others of my department share, and, as with most things, it is unified. With practice all of us reach the same level of mastery, and with that comes praise and promotion. From countless nights of looking in on the lives of mortals to conjure their ultimate bliss or terror, you become more knowledgable as to how best to do it the next night.

I come and go each day as a part of my routine, and very seldom do I make stops in between. I eat my meals with co-workers, periodically, and make idle small talk-- or I pass the open courtyard on the way home to check on the colorless blossoms of the garden there. The yard is a grand open space full of statues and flowers, though there is a mighty podium built into its center, and many others before it. This is because at one point it was used for trials-- back in the era of defiance. There was a time, I believe, that the high kalons were not happy with their lives-- and because of that they rose against the Creator in error. No one quite knows what they were upset about, but due to the conflict, the courtyard became a trial center, and after the trials were held, the branches were created and further rules were added to enforce the structure of our world.

I made a detour one afternoon, passing the courtyard though my eyes did not grace the flowers. I heard the chatter of the others in the area flutter around my ears but their words did not reach me. The day had been long and arduous, I simply wanted to return home, but I felt there was something I needed to brighten my day-- some chance encounter that might sway the dismal feeling left by one fleeting bit of guilt. I do loathe nightmares. It is not a personal form of care, no-- no high kalon would care for a mortal, either way, but it is not something I enjoy to do. I much prefer smiles over the woeful expressions of shock. Perhaps it is because without their colors, they would be almost like us. I do not enjoy picturing my comrades with those expressions, so perhaps the mortals are just close enough that it causes me displeasure.

I simply wanted something to distract me. The monotony of my life was dreary but it was safe, and it was all I knew, yet I longed for more. I stumbled upon an area in the clouds beneath my feet which parted, and I knelt down to peer through. The colors and light which shone through from the ground were captivating, and I leaned in closer to see more. The mortal world stretched out before my eyes with many different buildings and trees. The life below was astonishing in its unique traits, its abundance of beautiful abnormalities. In a world where I found myself blurring things together, this world was a stark contrast to the similarities I knew. Surely, I'd seen mortals-- but I had not dared to peek into their world. Something of such a nature would be naive. Why would the high kalons need to peer down at the lives of the mortals? It served no real purpose, and yet I could not break my eyes away.

I looked down from my point in the sky, and I saw that immediately beneath me there was a man. A stunning and colorful man with great colors woven into his clothes. He had sky blue eyes which he cast upwards at me, and I swear that in that moment we shared a glance. It was the first time I had ever seen eyes so entrancing. I saw him from far away, yet it felt like we were feet from each other-- captive in the gaze of the other present. I was awestruck. The man had a modest home behind him, and he went inside. I assumed it was where he lived, and so I sat there and watched for awhile. I saw birds cross the sky, I watched rabbits scurry from bush to bush. I saw the stars come out as the light vanished from the mortal world.

I watched the man come out into his yard with a telescope, and I saw him study the cloudy night sky. I watched as his gaze crossed me, and it loitered ever so slightly-- as if perhaps he really did see the spectral entity eyeing him from above, a goddess of the sky looking down upon a mere mortal man. It was ridiculous to assume he could see me, but perhaps it was just a stray hope-- a faint hope that perhaps someone so colorful would notice someone so bland, that someone unlike anything I'd ever known could show me something different. I stayed that night, and I fell asleep in the courtyard, peering down at the curious man who stayed with me, studying the stars until dawn.

2,155 words

[rem sleep]

. . .

. . .

color

. . .

The days came and went like that. I would steal glances at the man, working on whatever project graced him each day. He did stargaze, surely, but come the early morning hours he would tinker with things and scatter them about his lawn. He harbored great ideas, and he made quite interesting things. All varieties of knick-knack and pulley, he found ways to craft machinery of sorts where it had not yet been invented. He was an inventor, at heart, and he found strange and humorous things to occupy his time. I found myself wondering to check in on him each day, fascinated with his projects and humored to see their outcomes.

I began to stare longer at the mortal world. I would watch the colors of the sky turn and sway from hues of golden to pink and navy-- I observed the blades of evergreen grass dance back and forth, the raindrops cascading through the sky-- the light shimmy of white snow as it brought itself gracefully upon the land. I saw this man paint and create great works of art which radiated a truly beautiful color-- colors that were all their own and far beyond my eyes. I did not understand what I was feeling, at first, whether it was envy or love-- or perhaps even a slight guilt for my trespasses, but I felt something undeniable welling up inside me each day as I peered down at the world below.

The bland world in which I lived was nothing compared to the extravagance of what was beneath us. I could not fathom why we denied it so, our love for the gorgeous colors of mankind. Surely, even gods must want for something-- and undeniably, I wanted for this. I began to crave the long afternoons sitting and peering down-- I wanted so badly to be a part of the world I saw that it caused a great ache in my chest. I wanted to stand beside the man I saw create such marvelous things, I wanted to tell him the compliments I had weaseled away for him and kept in secret for days and weeks and months. Perhaps it had been years.

I dared not make a mistake for the longest time. I brushed off the concerns of my comrades, assuring them I was simply enjoying afternoon naps in the clouds, out in the pleasant breeze of the courtyard rather than within the confines of my own dwelling. I told them I was studying, sometimes, that I was watching to better practice my job of simulation. I told them I must understand reality to create another in the mind of a sleeping mortal-- and that our world was not the same reality as theirs. They cast me concerned glances, but flocked away from me-- leaving a gap of stagnant air between the flock and I. I saw their prim white feathers, their empty eyes and their pale, loveless smiles. Surely they were not all evil, no-- maybe none of them were-- but at that moment, I thought them so, because I did not feel as though I was one of them. They bundled up away from me and I dared not venture closer.

I found myself seeking companionship less and sneaking away to watch the earth more-- I saw nature breathe and flourish in the coming summer and I watched as the man prepared his latest craft. I will admit, I was shocked to see it. He stood, proudly poised, atop his roof with a large set of false wings on his back. They were long, lanky metal structures which branched out behind him, folding slightly and bending with the natural curve of the wood he had used. There was an intermingling of cloth and glued feather which caused it to resemble real, genuine wings-- great and they were surely a sight to behold. The feathers were of all colors and patterns, a rainbow of plumage was cast from the back of the inventor and he began a running start.

He leapt from the rooftop and into the air, the wind catching in his glorious wings for only a moment before he toppled with a wail to the ground. I stifled a chuckle and earned myself several glances from the nearby wanderers, high kalons out for a midday stroll cast their eyes to me with disdain, but I could only smile. This was unfortunate, yes, but as soon as I saw he was not harmed I felt fine chuckling at his misfortune. It was a silly idea, that a mortal could reach the sky, or mingle amongst clouds. Preposterous.

My judgement was called to question as he repeated this day after day, modifying his model with each night that passed. I saw all varieties of supplies, but the plumage remained there-- stunning and almost blinding in its radiance. I watched him fall to the ground, colliding with the earth as gravity reassured him that this was not his time. His time did come, one day. I watched as that second of being suspended branched into a few, slowly he moved up and away from the roof as his wooden wings hoisted him off the ground and brought him up into the open embrace of the atmosphere. I saw the joy on his face as he darted about, drifting with the current and swimming above-sea-- dancing to the rhythm of the wind.

I didn't realize it until he had been airborne far too long already, but as he moved upwards the structure began to falter. Wax melted off his great wings and feathers, now slightly tattered, drifted back to the ground where they belonged. Gravity had given him a small window of enjoyment, but now that it had done so, surely it had to right itself into the natural order. Mortal kalons could not fly. He was too high above the ground and I felt my heart race as I noticed his joyous look turn to one of horror as he noticed it as well. With only the slightest bit more melting, one wing snapped and he began to plummet downwards, reeling back into the world he was from.

I made a mistake, then. I had been so quiet and serene all this time but I could not stand by as this occurred. It was cruel and it was wrong-- he had not wanted for anything he had no right to have. We had wanted for color, I felt, but had never said it-- and he had been so bold as to pursue what he wanted, to reach out with open hands and claim it for himself. I could not look down upon those horror-filled eyes and not act. I pulled the hole in the clouds open with my hands, making it large enough to dive through, and I did-- my wings shooting out at full length behind me as I dove, embraced his flailing form and brought him back into the sky.

I hovered there above the open hole. I, snow white like all the others, was holding in my arms a man of great color with impromptu wings of all hues. These colors drew the eyes of all present, and I knew in the split second I had done so that this was the end of the line for me. I was fine with that, because as I held him I felt the man in my arms gasping for breath, heaving it into his lungs with an incredible desire to live. I cracked a faint smile as I mulled over my punishments, because he was safe and that was what had truly mattered. Perhaps somewhere along the line I became ill with a thing mortal people call affection.

The law enforcement soon swept the area, separated us and confined us to simple cages. They confiscated the colorful wings and tossed them through the hole in the clouds, watching as they fell to earth and shattered into thousands of pieces. The trial would ensue the next day, and I took this time to talk with the man who I had become so invested in. I told him my name was Siren. He said that his was Lance. We talked until the dawn of the next day, and I felt in my heart that he would be safe.

I wanted to believe that, but I should not have. On the day of the trial he was kept in a cage at the front and I was cast to an alter farther away. The courtyard had not been opened in such a fashion for many decades, and even the Creator was there, hidden behind a veil so as not to betray their lack of identity amongst the crowd. It took them little time to punish us, they did not care to listen to my story or his though I gave them regardless. I pled with them to hear me out, to listen to one of their own kind-- they said I was not so, not now that I had done this.

My punishment and his were as described in my original opening to you, and I do not wish to relive them again. I remember his expression of shock and dismay as they branded him a prisoner on high for the remainder of his mortal years, but he seemed more pained by my sentence. He watched my colors spring into life with fascination but as I was hoisted up and the ground under me faltered, he reached a hand out to the bars. I thought he had wanted to catch me, to hold me up from my impending fall as I had done for him. I offered him a small smile and mouthed three simple words-- 'I'll be okay.' -- and then I fell.

The earth came flying towards me at an unfathomable speed and I crashed with great force upon the surface. Shockingly, however, I took no damage-- the last of my pure white color drifted off me like a morning wing and trailed into the air like smoke. I watched my holiness shudder away from me, now cast to a strange sense of mortality, and I looked down at my hands-- which now had nothing but a blazing golden color. The night was young, and in it I was a beacon-- my colors an inferno on the night.

I could not move from my impact point, I could only look up at the sky, still dumbfounded. I saw the hole in the clouds close, undoubtedly sewn back together by another hand, and I felt my heart sink into the pit of my stomach as the reality of my situation sank in. I had traded places, in some way, with Lance-- I had stolen his color, been called more vain than any other, I had been told that I had cheated God and the Creator in saving Lance that day, but... shockingly I found myself not homesick for my own accord.

I reached out a hand feebly to the sky in the same way Lance had only moments ago. I opened my mouth to speak knowing he could not hear me and I swore, faintly, that I would return to set things right-- that I had not intended them to be this way and that, surely, I had no idea what was to come-- but I was not about to surrender myself now, not after all this time. I had wanted, so secretly and quietly that not even I had noticed it, to be unique-- and now I was given a chance. I could be my own person now-- but first, I had to right the wrongs I had done to get to this point. He did not belong in the clouds, and I was going to bring him home.

1,971 words

[rem sleep]

. . .

. . .

two tones

. . .

Life is strange in the world of color. Things are vastly different, strikingly unique, breath-taking in most every way-- and yet it is strange. I see the uncanny differences of the scenery and now that I walk amongst them I find myself feeling as though I do not belong. The new weight of my color gives me a strange sinking feeling in my stomach and I rest uneasy. I cannot find peace in this world, not yet, at the very least. I find that come each change of sun and moon, my colors change-- in the night I am gold and in the day I am navy hues-- and in either I stand out remarkably. I find it hard to vanish in the crowd, more so to avoid the eyes of curious mortals who eye my intricate colors with fascination.

I have wandered since the fall, scavenging to find food and stealing where I must. I am not proud of this, I will admit, but the worlds are remarkably different and I have not yet found a reliable and consistent source of food and shelter. I rest under the stars, tucked beneath tree branch covers, being looked down upon by the stars-- the eyes of the high kalons-- twinkling in the sky of colorless black. I wandered for a long while, straying from the house of the man-- it brought me pain to think of it, and to conjure mental pictures of the great creations within tugged at my heartstrings. I did not want to cry. More than anything, I knew I could not. If I broke down into tears, I felt as though they would keep coming in an endless stream, they would threaten to swallow me whole and I might never surface again. I knew my sorrows were numerable, and that I was far from home-- but if I allowed myself to fully acknowledge it, I felt that it would suffocate me-- it would drown my will to carry on.

And so I walked farther and farther away from the house of Lance, the inventor. I wanted to save myself then, more than I did him. Selfishly I failed to consider that I was burying my only traces of him, my only hints. I spent years roaming the earth, finding no one to call my own, and no place to dwell within. My body became heavy with the gravity, my eyes sunken from lack of proper rest. I chose my options very deliberately and I went about my day trying to survive, and grasping at the pieces to discover what exactly had happened to me. I couldn't force myself to fully accept it until much time had passed, and by then I had remembered it too late.

I returned to the point of my fall after about four years, and I stared at the town I looked over from above. I frowned as I saw that it had begun to grow outwards, though it lacked modern technology it still threatened to encompass all around it. I crept towards his house at the far end of the village, cast out from all the other houses-- sitting, contentedly, on its merry lonesome. I stopped about ten feet away and I stared at the door, bewildered by its closeness. I could walk only slightly farther to reach out and touch it, after all, and in that moment I recalled forever ago when I had seen it first from on high. I had humbled myself in that time-- or perhaps I had only grown accustomed to gravity-- but I recognized this view which came from having my feet on the ground.

I regretted then that I had not come sooner. Perhaps my time of straying gave me perspective, or understanding, but I doubted both theories. I figured that in all my time wandering I had hardly found myself, much less anything else. I had grown slightly more akin to the way the air flowed here below the cloud line, to the way the sun shone and the stars peered down at their viewers. I had become friendly with the grass and the raindrops, but I longed for the sky. Had I come sooner, I thought, I could have righted this all before such time had passed. Had I not taken so long to think of how-- or when-- perhaps I would've done something better.

I took a step closer to the house. Someone opened the door and looked back at me. She was small but her features were familiar and her hair was of a similar color to one I'd seen before. I matched them in my mind's eye as she spoke, her voice somewhat shrill and lacking in all the things I'd known from my own kind.

"Hey," she spoke, "Who are you? What're you doing at my brother's house? Haven't you any respect for the dead?" The little girl basically spat those words towards me and they stung with a strange poison which licked at my chest. I had not known they thought him deceased. My people lived far longer than mortals-- I supposed-- and perhaps a handful of years were enough to warrant someone's death. I now, more than ever, wished I had just gone sooner. Why had it taken me so long to think-- to clear the fog and cobwebs from my mind?

"I am here to inspect his belongings," I replied, "I believe I can retrieve him from his prison, but I am unsure how. Your brother is not deceased, he has been stolen away into another world... a world I have seen." I gestured up towards the clouds, then slowly lowered by eyes to lock with hers, "Please allow me to attempt to right my misdoings."

She stared for a long moment. "What do you even mean? Lady, you're nuts." She puffed out her chest, folding over her arms. "My brother has been dead for four years. Just... stop making fun of me and my family. We can't get him back."

"Listen," my tone came a bit more sternly, "Wait with me until the fall of night and perhaps then you will believe me. Just come sit with me a short while, let us talk... I wish to help your family, not to insult them. I know your brother." I gave a slight bow to show my hospitality, my wings fluttering out a bit on each side.

The girl glared through me and I felt her eyes, the same color as his, pierce my heart. It felt as if he, too, were judging me-- chastising my negligence, scorning my lazy mind and sluggish thoughts for not having come sooner. I felt as though my being might melt away before those cold, dark eyes which had likely gone harsh many years ago. "Fine, whatever. We're not gonna chat though, lady." She scoffed, "Just sit outside the house on the lawn, I've got stuff to do out here so... just stay where I can see you and don't try anything funny." She pointed at me with a gloved hand. "If you can really prove to me that you know my brother with whatever happens at nightfall, then I'll listen to you-- but until then, I'm working."

I stared right back at her and gave a slow, complacent nod. I had no idea what she was on about, but I figured it best not to ask. Taking a seat on the lawn, I watched as the little girl went about her activities. She had been bringing supplies to the yard beforehand, it seemed, as boxes were set up a ways in front of the house, and she continued to come and go, bringing more to add to her pile. Slowly but surely, she established a good portfolio of trinkets which all lay scattered about the same space. She brought out a strange thing, with her-- a wooden frame which looked like it would support something familiar. In my mind's eye the image of all those glorious feathers came to mind, and I found my words leaking out of my mouth before I could clamp my jaw shut.

"Are you making wings?" I inquired, tilting my head ever so slightly.

"Not really," she gave another irritated sigh, "It's called a glider, and it's just a pet project my brother was working on-- it seemed nifty, so I picked it up. We're a line of tinkerers-- if you knew him, you'd know that."

"I did know that," I replied, "He was a great inventor. He made many strange and beautiful things. I have seen them."

She sighed under her breath and returned to her work. I fancied she did not believe me, but I ignored this and watched her work. She was crafting a fabric of some kind, trying to stretch it into the frame in a way that would suspend it between the two poles of the structure, creating the shape of a thin bird in flight. I watched as she tried time and time again to stretch the cloth onto the structure, even as the colors began to leak out of the sky, draining from the atmosphere until it became dreary and black.

The girl watched, in turn, as my colors mimicked the same procedure. The navy colors of mine slid off my pelt like water, making way for the bright gold underneath. She stared at me for a considerable while before she spoke. "What are you?"

"I am from the sky," I said, "I am what is called a higher being-- though I do not think myself as such anymore. Your brother is there." I pointed upwards, "He is hidden in the clouds, but I saw him on that day-- four years ago. He did not die when he soared off his rooftop that morning. He embraced the sky and became trapped."

The girl stared at me, mouth dropped open ever so slightly. She wiped at her eyes feverishly after a moment, though I could not understand why. Her tone wavered, warbling a bit as it trailed out of her, "So you're saying he's been alive all this time...?" She asked faintly, to which I replied with a nod. Her voice came then sharply, "Why tell me only now? Why keep me waiting so long? Do you have any idea what it's like-- thinking your only living family is dead and gone for four years, only to be told that it was all a lie?!" She had balled up fists jousted downwards at each hip and she stared at me with wide eyes. Waterfalls cascaded down her face, and the darkness in her eyes softened-- if only slightly. She was crying. She was crying and staring at me.

"I do not have an excuse. I wonder the same thing myself, and everything I come up with does not suffice." I admitted lowly, "I acknowledge I have wronged you here again, but I want to return him to you. Though I care for him I cannot have him, and though he loves the sky, he does not belong to it. Please, allow me to enter the house-- I believe I know how I can reach him again, up high." There was a long moment of silence as we stared at one another. The full gravity of the situation nestled itself into my shoulders, resting more weight upon me. "Please."

She just tossed out an arm, pointing for me to enter. She stifled some sobs and as I passed her I felt a strange thing. I reached out with both arms to wrap them around her for a moment. I held here there, then released her a moment later. "I am sorry for my behavior," I whispered to her, and then I was gone. I do not know why I did that-- it came to me like a memory, as if it were always there, though I could not ever recall treating one of my own kind in such a friendly manner. I went in to his home, closing the door after me, and I closed the door on my thoughts to open them up to a different train.

His inventions stretched out before me and I searched, pawing through them carefully, to find the wings. There were draft model after model, but I could not find what I was looking for. The finished product-- I supposed-- would be my closest thing to a ride home. They had worked once-- could they again? The answer was more probable than anything else, and without Lance here to guide me, I could not figure how to fly with others of his.

"Hey," came the voice of the girl again. She was standing in the doorway, looking at me as I observed his old wares. "What're you looking for, anyway?"

"The final model of his flight device," I admitted, "It was the only thing capable of taking him into the clouds-- and if he is hidden within them, I need to breach them again. I cannot find them, however."

"They were destroyed in the crash. We didn't find his body, just... the wings, which had long since fallen apart and shattered..." Her voice wavered again, and I figured it too sensitive to ask for further detail. There was a still moment, then another, and the seconds passed that way for a time. "Why don't you just fly there? You have wings."

"I cannot." I replied curtly, "I have been cast to the earth and given color-- so no longer can I fly to my old home."

"Why not?"

"I was cursed, in a way. Punished. Cast out."

"No-- lady, but why? What did you do? You seem like an honest, good person to me... you probably only knew my brother loosely, or I would've met you before, but you're still trying to help him, so... I can't see what you'd have done so wrong."

"That's exactly it, however," I replied, dropping my gaze to the floor. A small smile traced my lips as I spoke, "My people consider themselves better than the people on the ground. I lived in the sky with a people who call themselves the high kalons, and they are all white and exactly the same in every which way. They look down on man and scorn him for his color-- they laugh at the uniqueness of life, and they scorned me for saving the life of a mortal man. That is why I cannot come home. That is why I have color."

"Are you kidding me?" She asked aloud, "Lady, you're gorgeous-- you seem so knowledgable and kind, why would someone hate over a silly reason like that? You're a hero, if that's true." She raised a brow and crossed her arms again, "I really hope you're not lyin' to me."

"I am not. I do not fancy lying. I would not lie about such a shameful thing, I figure... you have the right to know, however, as his sister."

"Well... thanks." She replied after a brief moment of pause, "Anyway, you can call me Pidge-- it's my nickname. It's kinda weird just being 'his sister', and I guess if you're not lying... then it's fine."

"By that invitation, I am Siren. It is a pleasure to meet you." I took another slight bow, which Pidge seemed a bit taken aback by. She giggled and mirrored my behavior. "Regardless... what are we to do with no wings?"

"We do have wings."

"What do you mean?"

"Mine." She ducked out of the doorway and I followed after her as she led me back to the pile of wood and cloth she had laying on the ground. "Hold the wooden frame, if you'd please?" I complied hesitantly, and as I held it she stretched the fabric out along the thing. The fabric shone in the night-- a bright and shimmering pattern which reflected every color. It was iridescent, I learned, and in this way it produced all the colors of the rainbow, much like the first wings that had carried Lance. "We can use these!"

"How do you know they'll work?" I asked.

"I don't." Pidge swept the glider onto her back and went up to the roof, motioning me to follow. Surely, I did, though not at an enthusiastic pace. I tucked myself in as well, using the handle bar she had attached to the bottom to keep us both secure. "Not knowing is a part of tinkering, though! It's the finding out that's fun!"

"Are you sure about this? It is... dangerous."

"If it's for Lance? Definitely! You should be able to agree with me on that-- right Siren? C'mon! If we're gonna save Lance-- four years late-- let's get going!"

I paused, looking down at the shorter girl. I gave a small smile and held tighter onto the railing of the hang glider-- the wings we were given for this night and this rescue. "Let us try."

She backed up slowly and I followed her moves as she ran forwards as I'd seen Lance do countless times-- taking a running start into the air. We hung there, suspended-- lifted into stasis for a second, then two-- it branched into a long moment and we slowly began drifting upwards. Slowly, slowly-- we brought ourselves into the sky. I felt as though I could reach out a hand and grab the clouds-- I felt I could hold them in my palm and reclaim them for myself. He was just as close as the cloud line-- and we were bringing ourselves there.

The moment ended.

The hang glider began to drift downwards.

I felt the momentum shift and I watched as the clouds which had grown close were pulled back away, and I felt tears well in my eyes. Four years too late, and we were off to a slow start. I grasped out with one hand, fingers extended, and I called out to him as we sank-- slowly and surely-- back to the surface of earth.

Grounded.

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