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ｗｈｅｎ ｙｏｕ ｇｅｔ
ｗｈａｔ ｙｏｕ ｗａｎｔ
- You sigh heavily as the pale spot of sunlight on your wooden desk fades, leaving your office room in partial shadow. The papers you've been filing all day, stacked in neat piles over two inches high, fall into darkness as your pale lamp light flickers. The yellow, artificial light casts burnt goldenrod shadows across the neat piles and your tired face. Dark circles dance as you sort the papers, once by one, by category. They're all your patients, or to-be patients, all victims of post-traumatic stress disorder. You are nearly done, to return home to your family and friends. One of your papers falls to the floor, but you're too tired to pick it up. Your finger taps in anticipation.
A knock on the door symbolizes someone to see you. Your black chair rolls away from the desk as you irritably think, I'm nearly done, I don't have time to see another person. "Come in," you call tiredly, and a young teenage girl walks in. Her long, wavy brown hair has a fading purple streak down each side, and her brown eyes are nervous and inexperienced. "Why might you be here at this time, miss?" You inquire to the young girl as she approaches you timidly.
"Oh, I'm Claire; sorry," she says breathlessly, in a nervous voice. "I'm the person wanting to see one of your patients, please. I realize it's late, and I do hope I'm not disturbing you." She twirls a strand of her hair in her finger nervously as her feet tap in anxiety. You sigh as you check your watch. You do have time for just a short visit, for her. "I'm looking to adopt one of your patients...Patient 009."
You freeze as your eyes subconsciously drift to the paper on the floor. You can see Patient 009's information printed neatly on the front, with the picture of his face. the paragraph of his bio still sends little shivers down your spine. "Are you sure? You want to get to..." You swallow hard. "Get to know him, and visit him a bit?" Claire nods a small, shy nod. Sighing, you walk into the other room, the darkened room, and you search for the room that holds the Kiamara. The fifth room to your left holds the subject, and you slowly open the door.
"Are you awake?" You call softly, and you can see two pale, crystalline white eyes open, like a cat's. "Good, I can see you're awake now. There's someone who wants to see you, to adopt you. Her name is Claire; don't try to scare her off." The eyes blink in understanding and a faint, shadowed figure's head bobs up, then down, in a slow nod. You can see the messy mane of hair draped over one side of his face quiver as his body shakes in the dark. Slowly, the light pours into the dark room as you open the door and a small, undersized, dark grey Kiamara pads out, trembling. His clear eyes flit about nervously as he pads out into the room where Claire awaits. You walk in behind him and you hand Claire his bio. "I'll leave you two alone," You say, as you walk out of the room and close the door. You hear it lock behind you.
Claire looks at the piece of paper titled Subject 009: Hawthorne. Sex: male, age: unknown (adult years), all that boring stuff. She scanned under the part about his personality. There was a brief paragraph describing him, and even though she was positive that she already knew him, her brown eyes danced across the page anyways, taking in all the little printed letters. It read as follows:
Hawthorne has two sides of him: a side that does the hurting, and a side that is the injured. The side that you first see is his powerful, aggressive, and closed-off side. His temper breaks easily, and he’ll go from quietly sitting to a raging, powerful, screaming voice. Note: his mood swings are unpredictable. He’ll insult you and verbally abuse you until you leave him alone, and he will resort to force. He doesn’t often do this, though. His temper is uncontrollable, and if you manage to push him or insult him, he is capable of breaking bones. His movements are fast and erratic, and his tail lashes a lot when in this phase. His pupils are mere points in his milky eyes. This is his shell, a shell made of anger, hatred, and flame.
But then there is the other side, the wounded side, the side that he hides and cradles and nurses and truly who he is. He’s a very timid person, and is terrified of most everything, but especially the dark, heights, and fire. This is the side that his past created, and he is very ashamed of it, hence the fire shell. His voice is very small and weak, actually, and he doesn’t like to talk. It breaks easily when becomes upset, which is often. He steps lightly, and he quivers all the time, always in fear. He is an insomniac, and often cannot sleep. He loves to sing though, and his light, tenor voice can often be heard, floating through the still, cool night air like a phantom’s eerie call. He also loves clear marbles. He collects them and puts them on window shelves, so that the light cam stream through them.
In conclusion, Hawthorne is timidness, trapped in a shell of rage.
"So, Hawthorne," Claire says gently, looking directly into the dark-furred Kiamara's mirror-like eyes. "I see that you have some scars on your muzzle and ears?" He tenses, and his tail curls tightly. "Care to tell me how those happened?" She can see a shuddering sigh run all through his body, making his feathery dark hair tremble.
"No," He says to Claire, in a husky but trembling voice, like it was exhausted from too much screaming a faint rumble of thunder from a storm just past. "It's none of your business." He growls at her, and she flinched. "Why do you even want to know? Did my therapist send you? Tell her to bug off!" His ears flattens against his head and he growls again, but it dies in the back of his throat. She can see his silver eyes film with tears.
He takes a shuddering breath, of rage or sadness, she doesn't know, and he speaks. "It never really started at a specific point," He breathed. "It just sort of bred in me after a long time. Not the scars, no, but the desire to make my father see who I was."
“Tell me again, daddy!”
My father sighed wearily as he chuckled, bringing me closer to him. “Our family comes from a long lineage of noble war Kiamaras,” he began, his voice a deep rumble against my small, childish frame. I could feel the rhythm of his heart vibrate through me like a gong. “Every man of the family fights and becomes a soldier, and every woman a nurse and healer. I showed a very keen interest in aerial fighting, so the masters, the humans, stationed me to the air force. And now your dad helps the pilots in the war, up in the sky.”
I giggled, imagining my father flying through the air on a plane. “Someday will I be in the air force to, daddy?” I asked, my voice still high pitched from childhood. He chuckled, rubbing his paw on my short mane, paw pads smooth from stepping on gravel.
“You can be whatever you want to be, son,” he rumbled warmly. “And I’ll always love you. But it would be nice to have you join me in the skies.” His warm, fatherly eyes crinkled around the edges and his rough fur seemed soft.
“We’ll be the best ever!” I said happily, snuggling against his warm belly and feeling warm, dark sleep overcome me. The last thing I heard was his happy chuckling as he hummed, his deep voice an insomniac’s perfect lullaby.
“Tomorrow’s your initiation, dear,” my mother scolded me as I fought her trying to get me in bed. “You need your rest so you don’t get sick on the plane.”
I groaned, not tired in the least. “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore,” I huffed as I turned away from her, my voice now a low tenor drawl, like most teenage boys. “Dad would have let me stay up later than this.” I sighed as I looked at the crinkled photo of my dad, hanging up on the wall.
My mother sighed and looked at it as well. “He’ll be home before you know it, Hawthorne,” She said sadly, a pale smile on her tired face. “He’s flying his plane like he always does, and defending us from harm.” I nodded, daydreaming about how I was gonna someday fight with him side by side.
“Now get to bed!” My mother said sternly, and I mumbled a word not worth repeating under my breath as I climbed into bed. I shut my eyelids, trying to sleep. Behind my eyelids, I could see visions of me in the air, soaring, and my plane’s sleek skin shining in the sky.
Once my mother’s footsteps receded back into her room, I silently snuck out of bed and snuck out of the house. I could see my mother’s candle go out, and I knew she would be out like a log within a minute. I sprinted out of the house, into the woods, and when I saw a silhouette of a figure leaning on a tree, I ran right up to it.
“Yo man,” I said breathlessly. “Are you still up for this?”
“Totally,” it said as it stepped into a puddle of moonlight on the forest floor, revealing a thin gangly Kiamara named Flint. “It’ll get us aced in initiation for sure.” We were both entering the air force after initiation tomorrow.
“Come on!” I said, running north. “The base is about twelve miles north. We should be able to make it before the sun rises tomorrow, and be able to get on the planes before their launch. “
“Maybe your dad will be there,” he said to me, following me. I nodded, thinking of my dear father. The thought of him sent adrenaline through my veins, and all I focused on for the next few hours was the pounding of my feet against the dirt.
Finally, the day broke, and we found ourselves inside the desolate grey building known as the army base. The planes were glittering with their fresh paint, and the silhouettes of Kiamaras were visible in the yellow, artificial light. Flint and I nodded as we found two planes, next to each other, small enough that they might go undetected and unnoticed if they disappeared.
“Alright, I’ll take the one on the left,” I muttered, making sure that nobody was watching. “That way there will be about fifteen minutes until they have their regular morning drills, and we can impress all the instructors!” I laughed, seeing myself as the head of my class and making my father proud.
“I dunno if this is a good idea, man,” Flint said nervously. I could see him trembling. “I’m sorta scared.”
“Don’t be a wimp,” I said jokingly as I climbed into the cockpit. “You’ll be fine.”
I clambered into the pilot’s seat and I marveled at how easy it felt to sit up there and be in control. I grinned devilishly and waved to Flint in the other cockpit, who had tripped over a lever or something. We laughed at each other through the glass windows.
Suddenly, a siren’s scream ripped through the air, a familiar sound of an attack. I panicked, the loud screech making me stumble and fall off the seat. I hid behind the leather chair, and heard as angry footsteps ascended into the cockpit. A silhouette of a dark-furred Kiamara sprinted into the seat and flicked a few buttons. I almost screamed, for the Kiamara piloting the plane was my father.
“Dad!” I shouted fearfully just as he jerked the plane upwards to take off. He glanced around, and the sudden movement made the plane jerk forward and launch into the air. I screamed as the air suddenly grew deafening with the sound of gunfire and the light up with shots.
“Hawthorne!” He yelled as the plane careened through the air erratically. I could see Flint’s plane take off in the corner of my eye. “What are you doing? It’s not safe!”
“Dad, watch out!” An unfamiliar plane was hurtling towards us, its guns flashing with bullets. I screamed again as I felt another jolt and suddenly, we were going down.
Time seemed to slow down as the window broke and cool air rushed in. My plane collided with Flint’s and glass shards rained on my face. The wing of their plane broke through the already destroyed window and knocked my father and me out of the plane. We plummeted to the ground in slow motion and as we hit, the world went black.
The black static was noisy with gunfire.
As I came two, The ground around was sticky with half-dried blood. My ears and nose throbbed as I blinked, and saw glass shards in my face. Tears were dried in my eyes. Two figures were lying next to me, and both I recognized with a terrible twist.
“Flint! Dad!” I choked in a scream that only came out as a whisper. Flint’s side was unmoving, and his breath was stolen away. I choked out a horrified sob, seeing a pool of blood underneath his head.
My father’s side was still faintly breathing, and I rushed over to him, whimpering. “D-Dad!” I blubbered, collapsing on him. I saw a deep cut on his temple, oozing blood slowly. His warm eyes were cold and pleading, and I could feel his last breath die on my bloodstained fur.
“Dad. Please come back.”
I didn't leave that spot for a while. My friend and my father were both dead.
And it was entirely my fault.
Silhouette - Owl City
Fix You - Coldplay
Yellow Light - Of Monsters & Men
Autumn Leaves - Ed Sheeran
Hear Me - Imagine Dragons
Afraid - The Neighbourhood
Song of the Caged Bird - Lindsey Stirling
Flight of the Crow- Passenger
Mercy - One Republic
Atlas - Coldplay
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