I pulled out my key and unlocked my locker. Nothing appeared to be stolen or disturbed. I didn't want to show weakness by appearing suspicious, so I put my books in and closed it. Then lay on my bed with a piece of paper and a pen. I was going to write to Amman.
I felt their probes. They were trying to read my mind. All of them. They wanted to say "Look, I can do it too. You're nothing special." So this was their big plan? How infantile.
I concentrated on the piece of paper and what I was going to write Amman. That's when a psychic recoil hit me. It was swift, like an electric shock. A twisting sensation tingled down my spine. With no warning, my head began to ache. Someone, in this room, was trying to project themselves into my perception.
There was a problem this time, they were good. Very good.
Thank goodness for Mira's training. I took a deep breath and subsided the feeling. I decided to show off a little myself. I can't manipulate or control anyone with my psychic powers, but I can inject my own thoughts into their mind with psychic recoil. I shot out a tornado of recoil waves as they continued hammering at my psychic barrier. Either the person was extremely experienced, and was now in my mind. Or they were blocked out, suffering from a fierce headache.
Who the hell was that?
The original recoil I received told me the direction, all I had to do was slip, so I did.
After a few minutes of honing in on their position, I found it was one of the freshies, the one who had been lying on her bunk doing homework throughout the exchange I had with the older girl.
I dug deeper.
She hadn't plotted with the others to show me up. She wasn't trying to humiliate me; she just wanted to know more about me. So she thought she's do a little slip to see what I was thinking, and I pulverized her and left her with a cracked skull and splitting headache.
I'm an expert in empathy, but this is how I respond?
Feeling horrible, I rolled over and turned to look, she was lying on her bunk, just as before, but this time with a crumpled expression, sweat forming on her forehead. I rolled back. It was her fault for trying to slide into me in the first place. It was none of my concern that she was weak. Or at least, that's what I wanted to believe, but I couldn't help but feel sorry.
"Lena? What's wrong?" I heard from behind me. One of the other girls noticed.
"She's just homesick, probably starved for attention."
"No, really. Look at her. She's crying."
The girls gathered around her trying to find the cause of the problem. One suggested that she might be sick, another thought she needed a stasis.
The girl from before walked over to my bunk, I continued writing to Amman.
"It was you, wasn't it?" She accused me with a ringing tone of superiority echoing in her voice.
"No, I had nothing to do with it. It's her own fault, she just needs to calm down and relax her mind." I lied.
"Pfft. Yeah, okay. If it wasn't you, then how do you know so much about it? And if you knew, why didn't you help?"
"Well, I'm not exactly welcome here, you made that more then clear enough. Also, there's nothing I could do. It's something she has to deal with."
I was caught off guard as her hand slide across my face. The slap echoed through the room, leaving a large red make on my right cheek.
"Look Isaac, let me tell you-"
"No," I quickly cut her off, "You're the one who singled me out. You're the one who made sure I knew that no one cares about me. You're the one who was so vindictive, so stubborn, that you took it upon yourself to ridicule me and make me feel unwanted. Yet here you are criticizing me for not 'being part of the group.' For not rushing to help. And in all of your insight and objectivity you took the seeds of your own actions and manipulated them to make sure it's me who must be to blame. Well I didn't do anything. I might actually be able to help, but I'm sure you would be first to object. I realize I'm a male. I realize I'm Russian. You said yourself that just because of that, I'm not going to get any special treatment, but here you are bringing attention to me just because of my gender or ethnicity. You're a horrible person, leave me alone. I haven't done anything."
"How the hell are you to say why I singled you out? You're just a dumbass freshy-"
"Because," I interrupted again, "I know what you're thinking. I know exactly how you feel, as you feel it. And you're heaping to the brim with prejudice and sexism. You utterly despised me from the moment you saw me. That's a fact."
"You stay the hell out of my mind."
"You're completely right. You're the victim here. It was all my dastardly powers. Everyone's out to get you."
"Shut up."
"So you come over to my bunk looking to fling groundless accusations at me, and I'm the one who needs to shut up?"
"I'm sorry, okay! But I'm not sexist!"
I jumped out of bed, ready to finish giving her a piece of my mind.
My mouth opened as if to start telling her off, but she just stood in front of me, her face in her hands. I watched as her bottom lip quivered.
I sat back down. With the softest voice I could muster I tried to calm her down. "Apology accepted. I didn't mean to explode like that. It's been a stressful day."
Another girl ran over to me. I just now realized that everyone had been watching.
"You said you might be able to help Lena, right?" She appeared to completely ignore the conflict between me and the older student. Meaning she must've been genuinely concerned, that caught my interest.
"Maybe, probably. Does she get headaches a lot?"
"Yeah, all the time, but never this bad."
Lena was staring at me from across the room. She had brown eyes and soft dirty blond hair. Most of the girls these days had short boyish hair-cuts, but Lena's hair was long, touching down to her shoulder blades. She was tall and skinny, but laid sideways on her bunk, weeping.
This is going to be pretty painful, but she's really cute.
"I'll see what I can do." I replied after a few moments pause.
All eyes were on me, as I walked across the room.
Why can't they just go back to their homework? Do any of them realize how hard what I'm donig is? Well, I suppose they don't even know what I'm doing.
I sat down on Lena's bunk, she turned and stared at me with wide eyes and an apprehensive look.
"You're a liar." She said.
"Why is that?" I asked calmly as I cleared my mind and focused my thoughts.
"Because you said you had nothing to do with my headache, but I got it from trying to project myself into you." She answered with an exhausted tone.
"Indeed. All I did was write a letter to my father. I felt someone pressuring themselves against my mental wall, so I shoved them off. I never sent any recoil, or used any psychic dampening. You have to be careful when it comes to entering another psychic's mind. You never know how much experience they have with protecting themselves." Here I am, lying to make Lena happy. What a horrible person.
"You just said you did a projection into Ashley's mind."
"I try not to. Bits and pieces find their way into my mind sometimes. There's nothing I can do to stop it." That was also a downright lie, but 'Ashley' was watching. I had to put on an act for her, although I doubt I can stop a grudge from forming.
Well, I can call myself appalling as much as I want later, but I can't forget the task at hand.
"Do you ever get headaches?" Lena began for me.
"Not anymore, I use to have horrible migraines. Sometimes several times a day."
"How did you stop it?"
"Simple. It'll take a lot of practice, but there's something called psychic meditation. It helps."
"How do I?" Lena still cringed as she spoke. Her throbbing head was obviously to the point of bursting. This was going to be hell on Earth.
"I can't teach it to you when you're in this much pain. Can I get permission to enter your mind?"
"If it will help, sure."
"Don't think about anything you wouldn't want me to know."
I let all of my mental restrictions go, focusing all of my attention on Lena. I saw myself sitting cross-legged across the bed from her. My eyes were closed, my face was neutral. My uniform looked great on me. That was good, I wanted to look cool.
I was barely scratching the surface of Lena's mind, but this was a good place to start. My chest slowly began to raise and lower as I started taking long deep breaths. I imagined sending the message to my lungs to slowly raise, then slowly lower. With enough focus and patience, the recoil from my thoughts started hitting Lena. I noticed her chest eventually follow suit. I can't manipulate anyone or take control of their minds, but I can try to show them what to do. Creating psychic recoil that actually carries a message in it is difficult, and if I send too much I'll only worsen the ailment I'm trying to cure. Finally, my recoil got the rest of the way through. Lena and I were now completely in phase with one another. Her breath was an exact mirror of my own.
I jumped into her head all the way now. The pain was intense, but nothing I hadn't felt before. I saw my face crumple up as the splitting agony hit my nerves. Sending the mental recoil now was a breeze. I focused hard on thinking of absolutely nothing, save breathing. My mind was completely clear and Lena soon followed suit. The pain gradually subsided, and Lena's thoughts returned.
I couldn't help but catch a few wisps of information before I pulled out of her consciousness.
Darn, she has a boyfriend.
I opened my eyes to see Lena staring back, awestruck.
"That was amazing!" She praised.
"No problem." I said softly. I guess I just didn't want to admit it to myself, but I had a huge crush on Lena. It was discouraging to know that she already had someone, but that's life.
I got up, and went back to my bunk, mentally exhausted and deeply depressed.
"Wait!" Lena ran after me and stood by my bed. She played with her thumbs as she spoke. "My name's Lena Hunther, I'm 13, thanks for everything."
Hunther? Mira's granddaughter? Her?
Everyone else chimed in, without missing a beat.
"I'm Ashley Gates, 16. Sorry for earlier."
"I'm Nicolette Muller, 13. Me and Lena have been friends since we were babies."
"I'm Claire May, 16. Nice to see a guy who can pull his weight around here."
One by one the introductions continued, then came a hodgepodge of personal inquires. A dozen names, each with a dozen questions, and one mentally exhausted me.
The girls pulled me from my bunk out to the huddled pile of mattresses in the center of the room.
"How did a Russian boy end up in America?" Someone asked.
"Long story, it doesn't really matter." I replied, drained.
"Do you know any Russian?"
"Yeah, some."
"How did you learn how to do that?" Lena asked.
"Just something I picked up." I'll tell her that story another time.
"What all kinds of powers do you have?"
"Only one that I'm good at."
I fought so hard to gain their respect, but now that I had it I became uninterested and distant. Preteen politics are a glorious thing.
"Who were you writing to?" Ashley asked.
"My dad."
"Is he Russian too?"
"Nope, I was adopted."
"Really? Cool! How old were you?"
I looked at the faces around me and saw the intensity, the interest, "Well, actually I don't remember much, but somewhere near Warsaw, when my father was studying abroad..."
Well, I guess I have the energy for a story or two. . .maybe three.
Showing posts with label space. Show all posts
Showing posts with label space. Show all posts
Thursday, March 6
Thursday, February 28
Installment D
I took a deep breath. Rays of sunshine leaked down from the rows of windows covering the ceiling, exposing the fragments of dust and dirt floating innocently in the air before me. I tried to clear my mind of all distractions. The useless strife that preoccupied my life became as insignificant as the particles of dust that filled the clear silver hallway before me. The sound of footsteps filled the hall as I continued walking slowly through the corridors of the Psychic Academy, my new home.
Before, I had always filled my mind with as much as I possibly could in order to stop my headaches and prevent myself from slipping into the minds of others. However, Mira showed me the procedure officers use to block unwanted mental invasion, and it worked like a charm for me. This led to private meditation lessons with Mira every week, and I soon found myself in total control of my powers and subsequently my headaches. I stopped having to preform strenuous physical exercise daily, and, more than anything, my muscles felt the effects of the exercises I'd already completed.
My father, an ex-military man, had shown me a variety of work-outs, which I preformed several times a week until Mira proclaimed that I was an expert in psychic meditation. Now, I rode my bicycle, carried heavy sacks of groceries, and preformed athletic activities with ease. Every day, I felt more of my strength returning. My muscles became hard, not exactly that of a body builder physique, but noticeably rounder.
With my father by my side, I continued to walk through the rays of sunshine, which filled the bleak gray hallways, toward the office of the Psy Academy's principle.
I was wearing my favorite outfit, a long sleeved pink shirt and a pair of electric blue wind pants covered with my favorite cartoon character. It had been quite popular when I was a child, and I thought other's would think he was still memorable, therein removing some of the social stigma surrounding my gender and race.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Dozens of girls lined the hallway, some stood to talk, while others walked to class. I was enrolling half-way through the year. My face blushed and my hands broke into sweat. I was scared. All the girls wore white and gray uniforms, my florescent ensemble stuck out like a businessman performing in a circus. I tried to go by my father's example, which was looking forward and walking with a calm steady pace. I instinctively did the same, but girls still giggled and pointed.
Eventually we got to the principle's office, which was noted by a small square break in the hallway where the secretary's desk sat. A few chairs where lined up adjacent to the office door. I was lucky to see they were empty. A trouble maker waiting to see the administration probably wouldn't have made for the best experience to start off my academic career here.
The secretary told me to sit in one of the chairs while Amman entered the principle's office. I caught the secretary's eyes as she peered over her desk with a disgusted facial expression. I crossed my arms, and turned my head the other way. I couldn't say if she noticed my contempt , but perhaps outrage wasn't the best response. I decided to switch to a cross-legged position with my hands in my lap. Having to wait patiently was my biggest pet-peeve.
"Hey there Pinky, are you lost?" one of the passing students spoke to me with pure malice. I should have just ignored her. I should have just sat silently.
"No, today's my first day." I responded, anger rising.
"How old are you?" Her voice was sly and mischievous.
"Twelve, I'll be thirteen in a month."
"I'll give you till your thirteenth birthday till you quit. Don't think you're the first guy who's tried to come here."
I wanted to respond, but she walked away with a swift step. A group of girls walked by, one pointing in my direction. Laughter immediately broke out between them. If the secretary noticed any of this, she certainly didn't show it. Then yet another group of girls came over to put in their two.
"Hey there little guy, are you a boy, or just a really ugly girl?"
"I'm Russian too."
"Yeah, no duh," the girl lowered her face until it was centimeters away from my own, "It's obvious enough that you're a god damned freak, you don't have to go singing about it."
"And it's obvious enough that you're clueless," I quickly responded this time so she couldn't run away, "Also, your mother would absolutely die if she heard you talk like that."
My anger had reached the level of blinding rage, leaving my powers free to run rampant. Images and memories filled my mind of this girl's mother. Her father died of radiation poisoning left over from the war when she was four years old. Her mother loved him, and would never begrudge someone simply because they were the opposite sex, that became immediately apparent whether I liked it or not.
"How the hell would you know?" The girl's response was faltering between white hot indignation and gale force fury.
"Think about everything your father did for you and your mother, would he stand hearing you proclaim such prejudice?"
I felt her mind trying to inject itself into mine. She was trying to break open my senses, my memories, my very morals and beliefs. Our eyes locked and her lips pursed in effort as her thoughts rammed against my mind like a bird trying to fly through a window.
The girl's face turned a bright scarlet. Her hand rose as if she meant to slap me, but instead she turned rapidly and walked away. Her friends close behind her, whispering and murmuring.
I should have just sat silently. I don't need to make things any harder than they already are.
The door opened and Amman gestured me inside. The principle's office was dimly lit. It had carpet, and the walls were lined with wooden shelves of books and mementos. It bore no resemblance whatsoever to the generic gray that overcast the rest of the school. It was homely and welcoming rather than uniform and ordered. The principle sat behind her desk, holding a few sheets of paper. Amman stood in the corner, learning against the wall.
"I'm sorry if any of my students have been antagonizing you," the principle apologized as I walked in.
"It's alright, it's not like they really caught me by surprise."
"He's had run-ins with prejudice before. Mostly on the Russian account, but I'm sure dealing with the gender issue will be just as easy to overcome." Amman said. I couldn't tell whether he was trying to defend me or dismiss me, maybe both.
"This instance might be a little more extreme, I fear. I wish I could stop the students from bearing such hatred, but I can only do so much." As she spoke, her face portrayed the deep disappointment she must have felt.
"It's not just your students, I slipped while I was waiting in the hall. Your secretary-"
"Isaac!" Amman stopped me, then shot a hot glance in my direction. I realized my mistake, but it was too late now.
"Yes," the principle ignored our inner dispute, "I've talked to my secretary about her beliefs, she promises me that she wouldn't indulge in any more prejudice while working for me, but I fear her hate runs deep.
"I apologize again, I'm Principle Anna Brix, but you can just call me Anna, or Brix. I'm honored to welcome you to my academy. I'd like you to know, that I'm behind you all the way. If any students, or goodness forbid, any teachers give you trouble, let me be the first to know. I'll do everything in my power to see you receive an equal opportunity under my administration."
"Thank you so much. I really do appreciate that." I responded with a smile.
"I assume you both have a heartfelt goodbye to tend to, I'll be sitting here in plain sight if either of you should need me." She carried a wise aura but spoke with a sarcastic tone.
"I guess this is goodbye." Amman walked towards me, his soft smile accentuated by the shadows of the dim lamps resting on Brix's desk.
"Yep, I'll see you during quarter break."
"Be sure to write to me," Amman bent down to his knees to hug me. He held on tight for several seconds before letting go and walking backwards, slowly, towards the door.
"I'll write everyday."
"I didn't raise any papa's boy. You'll write me when you have something to write about."
"I'll write everyday." I reiterated with a sarcastic tone.
We exchanged a few more goodbyes, then Amman was gone. A feeling of loneliness suddenly crept up my spine, but I fought back with a calm breath and a clear mind. I had just now realized how hard it will be without Amman with me. I was already homesick.
"I'll show you to your room, your baggage is already there. We really tried to get you a room by yourself, but it was difficult. The school's already overcrowded to it's brink. You'll only have to share with a few others, though most of them will be older. I've noticed that the older students are a bit less prejudice, but that doesn't guarantee anything. Two of the girls are actually in your grade. I would recommend trying not to attract their attention, you might have them in some of your classes. Speaking of, your schedule should be in an envelope on your bunk. If it's not, just come back to let me know, I'll get you a new one." Brix was like a nit-picky mother readying her child for school, but that might not be too far off. Regardless, I followed Brix's directions to my room, the school was easy enough to navigate. I was there in no time.
Space was abundant in the wide sky blue dorm. Brix said I'd have to share with 'a few' others, but I found myself standing in the doorway of a long room full of at least a few dozen other students, with bucks covering the walls in odd alternating patterns. Some were bunk beds, others slept only one. There didn't appear to be any set pattern governing bed organization, but in the middle of the room was a pile of bunk mattresses, some were stacked to make couches, others were bent and folded to make lawn-chair shapes, even more were left simply piled up in the center of it all. They had been removed from the bunks covering the right wall, which left only the bunks in the back and on the left left side of the room to sleep in. Rooms were obviously meant to hold twice, or even thrice as many students.
All because of my gender, how ridiculous.
Several girls sat on the mattresses doing homework, playing video games, or reading, but all eyes turned to me as I entered.
A deep breath and a prolonged blink, then my mind was once again cleared. I didn't want to seem threatening, so I bent my head down, let blush appear on my cheeks and said to the room with a soft shaky voice "Hello, my name's Isaac. I'm suppose to be sleeping here."
Around the room similes started popping up, curling the faces of my future roommates, now completely preoccupied with the figure standing in their doorway. I took a step forward and gently let the door close behind me.
"Brix already had a talk with us about prejudice." One of the girls from the middle pile said as her attention returned to her hand held video game.
"We've already talked you over. No one in here is prejudice, so you can desist that hellish act and grow some balls." Another girl added, from her bunk.
"I-"
"Shut up, we don't care," another girl from the far back chimed in, "We're not those rich prissy bitches that think women are the ultimate life form, but that doesn't mean we're going to throw you any bones. To us, you're just another freshy hurting to get hazed."
"Well then," I began as I walked over to my bunk, my bag sat on the top of the bunk bed to the front left corner of the room. The majority of the girls' bunks were near the back of the room. I was perfectly fine with that. Laying before me were several pairs of uniform, and the envelope containing my schedule. "I thought this was going to be a cake walk, but I guess I might have to deal with conflict and, God forbid, opposition. What will I do to-"
"Shut up, no one thinks you're funny, pinky." The same voice from the back of the room interjected her thoughts.
"Oooh, I get it, because I'm wearing a pink shirt. Clever. That's honestly the first time I've-"
"Allow me to reiterate. You're not funny. Shut up."
I was lucky the corner I had been allocated was so dark compared to the rest of the room, I noticed some of the florescent lights were turned off. The girl I had been quarreling with lay on the bottom bunk of the bed in the opposite corner of my own, probably doing homework or something. I took off my clothes, as humiliating as it felt, and redressed in the gray uniform I had so longed for earlier that day. The other students' uniforms were once-pieces, and zipped in the back. Mine was a two piece, with a zipper in the front, like jeans. I could imagine why males would find the girl one-pieces uncomfortable. The uniform was all generic, save the yellow and navy 'all seeing eye' emblem adorning the shoulders and upper left chest. I personally liked it.
I didn't have to look around, I just let a little bit slip so I could feel the minds of the other girls. A few of them let smiles creep up the sides of their mouths as I changed. It was rather awkward and demoralizing, but I didn't let it get to me. I cleared my mind again and started unpacking, then I realized. There was no place to put any of my belongings. The room was completely bear except for the bunks, but the other girls obviously had possessions. My breath picked up rate slightly as I tried to think of where the storage might be.
Under the bunks? Nope, there was nothing under any of the other bunks. Lockers somewhere else? No, that would be too inconvenient. If that were the case the other girls would have more with them.
Smiles lit up the faces of several of my room-mates as they saw me franticly looking around. They all stayed silent. If they wanted to play nasty, so could I.
I mentally slipped and searched the room for a thought about clothes, nothing turned up. Then for a thought about homework, nothing. Then about me, everyone's minds lit up like Christmas trees. I slipped into the girl who had been ridiculing me earlier. There it was, in plain sight. She told me more than I ever could have asked for.
I knelt down. The floor was carpet covered with a small square pattern. Every few dozen centimeters there was a floor door. One per bunk. About half a meter on each side, there were three squares that you could press in, then lift the floor to reveal a spacious gap, perfect for books, clothes, etc. I hated all these wannabe futuristic stabs at "innovative" or "original" architecture, but I have to admit that this design really does save space, and I'm sure there are even more compartments throughout the middle of the room.
I felt the mouths of the room one more time. To my displeasure, only a few were open in shock or bewilderment. However I'm sure surprise was currently sweeping over the room.
I unpacked my belongings into the compartment, all the while doing a shallow slip into the girl from before. She had a mischievous plan to start hazing me once I left the room to grab my books, but I decided to shoot it down. I learned from her that there were keys to each compartment, mine had been placed between the mattresses in the pile composing the makeshift couch. Without skipping a beat, I finished unpacking my bag, put it under my bunk, pulled my schedule out of its envelope, and while looking it over walked to the couch, grabbed the key from between the the girls doing homework, walked back to lock my belongings in, and then left to grab my books.
The book room was just closing as I got there. I was lucky the school was so easy to figure out. The classrooms were all neatly designated, and large signs posted above every hallway intersection made it simple to get to anywhere, from anywhere, just by following the signs respectively.
"Oh! You're the new student Brix has been talking about. Welcome to Psy Aca." The way the book lady spoke made it seem as if I were entering a mystical foreign land. I kind of thought it endearing.
"Yeah," I handed her my schedule, "I'm just here to grab some books before tomorrow."
"Let's take a look. American Military History, Ancient History, Modern World History, Dif. Algebra I, English Writing & Grammar, Russian Military History, Dif. Science I.
"That's quite a load for your first year. I can pull up your file on the computer and drop some of these electives for you if you want?"
"No, I actually made sure that I got those. It'll be okay. I'm going to need something to divert myself with anyway, I think homework would be an excellent substitute."
"Oh. I see, you're right."
I wish I had Max's knack for making small talk, but it looks like I always end up bringing up whatever is on my mind. I should learn to keep my worries out of every one else's business, especially if I want to go far here. The book lady was obviously uncomfortable with the discrimination factor, but she hasn't done anything wrong. I should hold my tongue.
I returned to my room quickly after finally securing my mountain of books. I was lucky to be so athletic.
The only thing waiting for me back at the room was more melodrama.
I hate melodrama.
"Hey there Pink!"
All the girls were gleaming as I entered the room again. They all wore mischievous smiles and impish eyes.
"Come on in, Pink!" one of the girls in the back shouted.
I didn't have to slip into anyone's mind to know something was up.
Before, I had always filled my mind with as much as I possibly could in order to stop my headaches and prevent myself from slipping into the minds of others. However, Mira showed me the procedure officers use to block unwanted mental invasion, and it worked like a charm for me. This led to private meditation lessons with Mira every week, and I soon found myself in total control of my powers and subsequently my headaches. I stopped having to preform strenuous physical exercise daily, and, more than anything, my muscles felt the effects of the exercises I'd already completed.
My father, an ex-military man, had shown me a variety of work-outs, which I preformed several times a week until Mira proclaimed that I was an expert in psychic meditation. Now, I rode my bicycle, carried heavy sacks of groceries, and preformed athletic activities with ease. Every day, I felt more of my strength returning. My muscles became hard, not exactly that of a body builder physique, but noticeably rounder.
With my father by my side, I continued to walk through the rays of sunshine, which filled the bleak gray hallways, toward the office of the Psy Academy's principle.
I was wearing my favorite outfit, a long sleeved pink shirt and a pair of electric blue wind pants covered with my favorite cartoon character. It had been quite popular when I was a child, and I thought other's would think he was still memorable, therein removing some of the social stigma surrounding my gender and race.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Dozens of girls lined the hallway, some stood to talk, while others walked to class. I was enrolling half-way through the year. My face blushed and my hands broke into sweat. I was scared. All the girls wore white and gray uniforms, my florescent ensemble stuck out like a businessman performing in a circus. I tried to go by my father's example, which was looking forward and walking with a calm steady pace. I instinctively did the same, but girls still giggled and pointed.
Eventually we got to the principle's office, which was noted by a small square break in the hallway where the secretary's desk sat. A few chairs where lined up adjacent to the office door. I was lucky to see they were empty. A trouble maker waiting to see the administration probably wouldn't have made for the best experience to start off my academic career here.
The secretary told me to sit in one of the chairs while Amman entered the principle's office. I caught the secretary's eyes as she peered over her desk with a disgusted facial expression. I crossed my arms, and turned my head the other way. I couldn't say if she noticed my contempt , but perhaps outrage wasn't the best response. I decided to switch to a cross-legged position with my hands in my lap. Having to wait patiently was my biggest pet-peeve.
"Hey there Pinky, are you lost?" one of the passing students spoke to me with pure malice. I should have just ignored her. I should have just sat silently.
"No, today's my first day." I responded, anger rising.
"How old are you?" Her voice was sly and mischievous.
"Twelve, I'll be thirteen in a month."
"I'll give you till your thirteenth birthday till you quit. Don't think you're the first guy who's tried to come here."
I wanted to respond, but she walked away with a swift step. A group of girls walked by, one pointing in my direction. Laughter immediately broke out between them. If the secretary noticed any of this, she certainly didn't show it. Then yet another group of girls came over to put in their two.
"Hey there little guy, are you a boy, or just a really ugly girl?"
"I'm Russian too."
"Yeah, no duh," the girl lowered her face until it was centimeters away from my own, "It's obvious enough that you're a god damned freak, you don't have to go singing about it."
"And it's obvious enough that you're clueless," I quickly responded this time so she couldn't run away, "Also, your mother would absolutely die if she heard you talk like that."
My anger had reached the level of blinding rage, leaving my powers free to run rampant. Images and memories filled my mind of this girl's mother. Her father died of radiation poisoning left over from the war when she was four years old. Her mother loved him, and would never begrudge someone simply because they were the opposite sex, that became immediately apparent whether I liked it or not.
"How the hell would you know?" The girl's response was faltering between white hot indignation and gale force fury.
"Think about everything your father did for you and your mother, would he stand hearing you proclaim such prejudice?"
I felt her mind trying to inject itself into mine. She was trying to break open my senses, my memories, my very morals and beliefs. Our eyes locked and her lips pursed in effort as her thoughts rammed against my mind like a bird trying to fly through a window.
The girl's face turned a bright scarlet. Her hand rose as if she meant to slap me, but instead she turned rapidly and walked away. Her friends close behind her, whispering and murmuring.
I should have just sat silently. I don't need to make things any harder than they already are.
The door opened and Amman gestured me inside. The principle's office was dimly lit. It had carpet, and the walls were lined with wooden shelves of books and mementos. It bore no resemblance whatsoever to the generic gray that overcast the rest of the school. It was homely and welcoming rather than uniform and ordered. The principle sat behind her desk, holding a few sheets of paper. Amman stood in the corner, learning against the wall.
"I'm sorry if any of my students have been antagonizing you," the principle apologized as I walked in.
"It's alright, it's not like they really caught me by surprise."
"He's had run-ins with prejudice before. Mostly on the Russian account, but I'm sure dealing with the gender issue will be just as easy to overcome." Amman said. I couldn't tell whether he was trying to defend me or dismiss me, maybe both.
"This instance might be a little more extreme, I fear. I wish I could stop the students from bearing such hatred, but I can only do so much." As she spoke, her face portrayed the deep disappointment she must have felt.
"It's not just your students, I slipped while I was waiting in the hall. Your secretary-"
"Isaac!" Amman stopped me, then shot a hot glance in my direction. I realized my mistake, but it was too late now.
"Yes," the principle ignored our inner dispute, "I've talked to my secretary about her beliefs, she promises me that she wouldn't indulge in any more prejudice while working for me, but I fear her hate runs deep.
"I apologize again, I'm Principle Anna Brix, but you can just call me Anna, or Brix. I'm honored to welcome you to my academy. I'd like you to know, that I'm behind you all the way. If any students, or goodness forbid, any teachers give you trouble, let me be the first to know. I'll do everything in my power to see you receive an equal opportunity under my administration."
"Thank you so much. I really do appreciate that." I responded with a smile.
"I assume you both have a heartfelt goodbye to tend to, I'll be sitting here in plain sight if either of you should need me." She carried a wise aura but spoke with a sarcastic tone.
"I guess this is goodbye." Amman walked towards me, his soft smile accentuated by the shadows of the dim lamps resting on Brix's desk.
"Yep, I'll see you during quarter break."
"Be sure to write to me," Amman bent down to his knees to hug me. He held on tight for several seconds before letting go and walking backwards, slowly, towards the door.
"I'll write everyday."
"I didn't raise any papa's boy. You'll write me when you have something to write about."
"I'll write everyday." I reiterated with a sarcastic tone.
We exchanged a few more goodbyes, then Amman was gone. A feeling of loneliness suddenly crept up my spine, but I fought back with a calm breath and a clear mind. I had just now realized how hard it will be without Amman with me. I was already homesick.
"I'll show you to your room, your baggage is already there. We really tried to get you a room by yourself, but it was difficult. The school's already overcrowded to it's brink. You'll only have to share with a few others, though most of them will be older. I've noticed that the older students are a bit less prejudice, but that doesn't guarantee anything. Two of the girls are actually in your grade. I would recommend trying not to attract their attention, you might have them in some of your classes. Speaking of, your schedule should be in an envelope on your bunk. If it's not, just come back to let me know, I'll get you a new one." Brix was like a nit-picky mother readying her child for school, but that might not be too far off. Regardless, I followed Brix's directions to my room, the school was easy enough to navigate. I was there in no time.
***
Space was abundant in the wide sky blue dorm. Brix said I'd have to share with 'a few' others, but I found myself standing in the doorway of a long room full of at least a few dozen other students, with bucks covering the walls in odd alternating patterns. Some were bunk beds, others slept only one. There didn't appear to be any set pattern governing bed organization, but in the middle of the room was a pile of bunk mattresses, some were stacked to make couches, others were bent and folded to make lawn-chair shapes, even more were left simply piled up in the center of it all. They had been removed from the bunks covering the right wall, which left only the bunks in the back and on the left left side of the room to sleep in. Rooms were obviously meant to hold twice, or even thrice as many students.
All because of my gender, how ridiculous.
Several girls sat on the mattresses doing homework, playing video games, or reading, but all eyes turned to me as I entered.
A deep breath and a prolonged blink, then my mind was once again cleared. I didn't want to seem threatening, so I bent my head down, let blush appear on my cheeks and said to the room with a soft shaky voice "Hello, my name's Isaac. I'm suppose to be sleeping here."
Around the room similes started popping up, curling the faces of my future roommates, now completely preoccupied with the figure standing in their doorway. I took a step forward and gently let the door close behind me.
"Brix already had a talk with us about prejudice." One of the girls from the middle pile said as her attention returned to her hand held video game.
"We've already talked you over. No one in here is prejudice, so you can desist that hellish act and grow some balls." Another girl added, from her bunk.
"I-"
"Shut up, we don't care," another girl from the far back chimed in, "We're not those rich prissy bitches that think women are the ultimate life form, but that doesn't mean we're going to throw you any bones. To us, you're just another freshy hurting to get hazed."
"Well then," I began as I walked over to my bunk, my bag sat on the top of the bunk bed to the front left corner of the room. The majority of the girls' bunks were near the back of the room. I was perfectly fine with that. Laying before me were several pairs of uniform, and the envelope containing my schedule. "I thought this was going to be a cake walk, but I guess I might have to deal with conflict and, God forbid, opposition. What will I do to-"
"Shut up, no one thinks you're funny, pinky." The same voice from the back of the room interjected her thoughts.
"Oooh, I get it, because I'm wearing a pink shirt. Clever. That's honestly the first time I've-"
"Allow me to reiterate. You're not funny. Shut up."
I was lucky the corner I had been allocated was so dark compared to the rest of the room, I noticed some of the florescent lights were turned off. The girl I had been quarreling with lay on the bottom bunk of the bed in the opposite corner of my own, probably doing homework or something. I took off my clothes, as humiliating as it felt, and redressed in the gray uniform I had so longed for earlier that day. The other students' uniforms were once-pieces, and zipped in the back. Mine was a two piece, with a zipper in the front, like jeans. I could imagine why males would find the girl one-pieces uncomfortable. The uniform was all generic, save the yellow and navy 'all seeing eye' emblem adorning the shoulders and upper left chest. I personally liked it.
I didn't have to look around, I just let a little bit slip so I could feel the minds of the other girls. A few of them let smiles creep up the sides of their mouths as I changed. It was rather awkward and demoralizing, but I didn't let it get to me. I cleared my mind again and started unpacking, then I realized. There was no place to put any of my belongings. The room was completely bear except for the bunks, but the other girls obviously had possessions. My breath picked up rate slightly as I tried to think of where the storage might be.
Under the bunks? Nope, there was nothing under any of the other bunks. Lockers somewhere else? No, that would be too inconvenient. If that were the case the other girls would have more with them.
Smiles lit up the faces of several of my room-mates as they saw me franticly looking around. They all stayed silent. If they wanted to play nasty, so could I.
I mentally slipped and searched the room for a thought about clothes, nothing turned up. Then for a thought about homework, nothing. Then about me, everyone's minds lit up like Christmas trees. I slipped into the girl who had been ridiculing me earlier. There it was, in plain sight. She told me more than I ever could have asked for.
I knelt down. The floor was carpet covered with a small square pattern. Every few dozen centimeters there was a floor door. One per bunk. About half a meter on each side, there were three squares that you could press in, then lift the floor to reveal a spacious gap, perfect for books, clothes, etc. I hated all these wannabe futuristic stabs at "innovative" or "original" architecture, but I have to admit that this design really does save space, and I'm sure there are even more compartments throughout the middle of the room.
I felt the mouths of the room one more time. To my displeasure, only a few were open in shock or bewilderment. However I'm sure surprise was currently sweeping over the room.
I unpacked my belongings into the compartment, all the while doing a shallow slip into the girl from before. She had a mischievous plan to start hazing me once I left the room to grab my books, but I decided to shoot it down. I learned from her that there were keys to each compartment, mine had been placed between the mattresses in the pile composing the makeshift couch. Without skipping a beat, I finished unpacking my bag, put it under my bunk, pulled my schedule out of its envelope, and while looking it over walked to the couch, grabbed the key from between the the girls doing homework, walked back to lock my belongings in, and then left to grab my books.
***
The book room was just closing as I got there. I was lucky the school was so easy to figure out. The classrooms were all neatly designated, and large signs posted above every hallway intersection made it simple to get to anywhere, from anywhere, just by following the signs respectively.
"Oh! You're the new student Brix has been talking about. Welcome to Psy Aca." The way the book lady spoke made it seem as if I were entering a mystical foreign land. I kind of thought it endearing.
"Yeah," I handed her my schedule, "I'm just here to grab some books before tomorrow."
"Let's take a look. American Military History, Ancient History, Modern World History, Dif. Algebra I, English Writing & Grammar, Russian Military History, Dif. Science I.
"That's quite a load for your first year. I can pull up your file on the computer and drop some of these electives for you if you want?"
"No, I actually made sure that I got those. It'll be okay. I'm going to need something to divert myself with anyway, I think homework would be an excellent substitute."
"Oh. I see, you're right."
I wish I had Max's knack for making small talk, but it looks like I always end up bringing up whatever is on my mind. I should learn to keep my worries out of every one else's business, especially if I want to go far here. The book lady was obviously uncomfortable with the discrimination factor, but she hasn't done anything wrong. I should hold my tongue.
I returned to my room quickly after finally securing my mountain of books. I was lucky to be so athletic.
The only thing waiting for me back at the room was more melodrama.
I hate melodrama.
"Hey there Pink!"
All the girls were gleaming as I entered the room again. They all wore mischievous smiles and impish eyes.
"Come on in, Pink!" one of the girls in the back shouted.
I didn't have to slip into anyone's mind to know something was up.
Thursday, February 21
Installment C
"What's that you're drinking?" Monika, the lab assistant, asked while going through the routine checks.
"Tea." I responded as she measured my blood pressure.
"What kind?"
"The worst kind."
"Worst kind?" She moved on to listening to my heart and lungs via stethoscope.
"Coffee."
My arms and legs constantly feel heavy. I've been on sick leave for the past month. Amman asked me if I wanted to just quit school, and then have him home school me, but I assured him that I plan on returning, eventually. Until then, I just wait everyday for Amman to come home with tomorrow's homework. Funny thing, when I'm sick, thanks to Amman, I learn everything a day before everyone else. Well, not necessarily. Sometimes the lessons are postponed when the headaches strike; I have abrupt scathing migraines, usually lasting two to three hours.
Two weeks after her presentation at school, Mira came to visit me at home; I articulated rather 'aggressively' that it was probably not in my best interest for my LL-3 sector to be activated. I proceeded to politely plead with her to find a a safe, viable solution that would cease all psychic function from my mental apparatus, if at all possible.
Next, I politely expectorated a lovely fragment of saliva in the general direction of her feet, then exited the room, lamenting. These actions prompted the obligatory scolding from Amman, but later that day I received via email an apology in the form of 10-point, black, aerial text. In this genuine piece of Mira's heart, I found out that she had once been my father's grade school teacher, and was invited to take part in the search for a procedure to make a working psychic apparatus go dormant. Naturally, I was ecstatic.
My father received an email outlining times, the exact location, and the necessary precautions concerning the research. As an extra added bonus, Mira decided to reminisce about Amman and a childhood girlfriend of his, whom he apparently made storm out of the classroom weeping back in the 5th grade.
I had no objections thus far.
So, every few days I found myself being driven the long awkward stretch to the Psy Operations building.
What a horrible place. Every pair of eyes that met mine sent looks of pure loathe and despise. My father, being a civilian, couldn't accompany me, so I had to walk alone all the way from the front doors to the clinic wing, then off to the laboratories. Usually they just have me swallow this pill, or give me that injection. Then they see that there's either absolutely no change, or I leave even more lethargic than I was to begin with. I found the lack of progress somewhat demoralizing, but stayed strong, hoping for a breakthrough.
I've been relaying on things like coffee to give me my energy, but Mira protested by buying me a jump rope. She says I'll feel stronger if I exercise.
"You like your new jump rope?" my father asked one evening as I concentrated on synchronizing my jumps filling the night air of our backyard with the soft swoosh of the rope on the grass.
I stopped jumping. "I think it's helping." I held it out to him. "Would you like to give it a try?"
"Sure!" Amman reached for the jump rope. I had no idea how fit he was. In seconds, the rope had whirled around him like an impenetrable force field. His face did not contort, nor show any signs of discomfort despite the impressive display of physical ability.
Remarkable.
"Doesn't quite have the nostalgia of a hula-hoop, does it?" I asked him, trying feebly to sound smart.
"That was a little bit before my time."
"What? Those thin, cheap, plastic hoops are older then this old man who can jump rope like a pro-athlete?" I noticed he wasn't even breathing hard.
"Well, to be fair, the jump rope has always been a form of exercise and recreation. The hula-hoop is dead for all practical purposes."
"At school they have hula-hoops every Physical exercise period," I answered.
"Well, looks like they aren't nearly as dead as I thought they were."
"You're not saying you didn't have a hula-hoop when you were a kid?"
"You did your homework. I did have one, just like everyone else. They were one of the only toys the government let us play with. Everyone had one. The thing is, I never touched it. Didn't really care for it."
"What else could you have? Besides the hula-hoop?"
"For me? Four varying shades of colored crayons, and a sail boat. Never had any sisters. Couldn't tell you want sorts of things girls were given. Now, let's talk about something else."
I wanted to know why my father didn't like hula-hoops, but suddenly a pain shot through my eyes to the back of my skull. I clutched my head and fell to the ground, gasping for air.
"Oh, for Pete's sake," my father muttered as he put an arm under my back to support me. "These headaches are becoming unbearable. What's Monika doing?"
Headaches were a normal part of life now. They came and went, sometimes bad, like the one I was having now, and other times unbearable. "I'm okay," I said to Amman, squeezing my eyes shut and willing the pain to subside.
I found myself occupying a lot of time reading, which helped to contain the headaches. My brain didn't hurt when it was occupied, or rather if my brain was occupied it couldn't know it hurt. I became an expert on things like the Second American Civil War, which happened a few decades back. I learned that my father fought as a rebel commander. I also found out a lot about technology, and the evolution thereof. That sort of stuff was just a byproduct of my interest, though. What I truly loved was history, world history from World War II and after. Naturally the books were only fluent in American History, but I got my fix one way or another. Luckily enough for me, reading not only calmed my headaches, but it also kept my powers in check. Whenever a book wasn't around, I would doodle frivolously, or write.
A few days ago I learned just how vital it was to keep my powers under control. I 'slipped' and jumped into Max's mind while he was visiting for lunch. I lived through him in a sensation I could never describe no matter how hard I tried. I was still myself, but heard what he was hearing, saw through his eyes, even tasted the soda in his mouth and felt it go down his throat. Unfortunately at that moment in time Max had been remembering an old memory of his best friend back on the moon. He was making a mental comparison of him to me. We really were remarkably similar in personalities. His name was Sean. So, with boyish delight, moments after I regained my full, undivided consciousness, I asked Max if he kept in touch with his old friend Sean. Max began to tear up and left the room. His mother, who had been visiting my father, later explained that Sean died of skin cancer at the age of 6.
Since then I've been trying not to 'slip.'
"Well today's the day!" Monika exclaimed.
"Hopefully." I replied as lab assistants hooked me up to a moderately sized machine. One of them kept giving me dirty looks. Most of the Scientists didn't carry any grudge against men, but she had me on the Russian account, too, which is bound to piss some people off. I felt my mind start to somersault but I pulled my eyes away from the hard-eyed Scientist and thought of facts from the 2nd Civil War.
Today's the day I'm suppose to have my powers turned off, according to Monika. She had been the lead researcher and developer of the new procedure which sends a special wavelength electromagnetic pulse into your psychic apparatus, which supposedly disables it. Maybe the wavelength varies depending on the person, or maybe it doesn't work. Otherwise the main branch of the military would be all over this lab like a field full of ants on a cherry, so they could turn the device into a weapon against Russian psymen.
"Ready?" a voice asked me over the intercom. It was male, calm and pleasant. Probably a computer. All the researchers stayed in the adjacent room with a large pane of glass separating us. Their white lab coats were covered by a huge glare, but I could still make out most of their faces. They looked skeptical.
"Anytime," I answered apathetically.
A rush of dissociation flowed into my brain. It wasn't my first time experiencing a stasis field. I closed my eyes and let my head rest softly on the rest behind it as the machine buzzed swiftly around my cranium.
I looked down at the shiny white shoes. The stockings had a run in them, so I pushed my lab coat down slightly to try to cover it up, then looked up to see me lying on the long lab bench, my shirt off and probes attached all over my chest. A machine spun around my head, buzzing. I toke a quick glance at the closest computer console to check the ratings. According to the sensory probes I was still outputting well over 300p's of psychic impulses. I realized I wouldn't be able to stop it, but maybe I could bring it down to 200p's or so. My powers would surely shrivel and die after that kind of drop.
I reached down and started pushing buttons. One to increase the spectrum, another to re-verb the waves being emitted in my stasis field. I wrote down the changes on the clipboard I was holding.
My brain's electro wave output level was down to 60p's. All the waves and emissions would probably detract a lot from my immune system, through. I better send myself off with some antibiotics and cold medicine.
I looked down again, startled. I had to throw up, badly. As I looked up I saw vomit creeping down the side of my chin. I put my hand up over my mouth to keep it from spilling out. Purely out of habit, I took a look at the screen one last time before running to get a bucket. My psy level was well over 1000p's. I tried to run, but slipped and landed firmly on my nose. The warm blood crept across my face as I lay glued to the floor, the taste of copper met my lips as the blood pooled. My assistants were calling out behind me. "Monika, what's the matter? Monika, are you hurt?"
Wait a second, I thought, I'm not Monika, I'm Isaac.
"He broke the machine?" My father erupted with laughter, grinning from ear to ear.
"That's right," Mira responded, "His psy levels were higher than Monika's. He slid into her mind, and she didn't even notice it, but Isaac could answer all of Monika's questions and indulge us with deep detail when asked what Monika thought and felt. He verifiably was Monika."
"So?"Amman interrupted, "I know Isaac's slipped into people's minds before, in fact just last month he-"
"Sliding to such a high degree, unnoticed, into a high-ranking psy officer with special training in warding off psychic intrusion is an act worthy of high praise for a 12-year-old boy." Mira interrupted back.
"That's just great and all, but I'm waiting for you to explain the new plan to get these powers to die out."
"There is no new plan," Mira said. "They're probably going to be with him for the entirety of his lifetime."
"The entirety of his lifetime is what I'm worried about."
"In my personal opinion, I think he'd do great at the Psy Academy. I think you should enroll him there. They'd take him, no doubt."
"He's been to the Psy Academy. He's obviously Russian, and male."
"It's getting better. These days teachers and staff enforce a zero tolerance, no discrimination policy. My granddaughter told me all about it."
"We've been there. He's not going," Amman's voice had shifted from light sarcasm to his regular stern teaching voice.
Mira tilted her chin upward but said nothing.
"I didn't know you had a granddaughter," Amman said into the awkward silence.
"Her names Lena, she's a wonderful girl, and a pacifist."
"Then why is she going to the Psy Academy?" he asked.
"Just because you're going there doesn't mean you have hopes of becoming a military officer. The majority of the students go into math, science, business, psychology, technology, you name it. And I know you don't want to hear it, but I think the Psy Academy might be the only option when it comes to controlling that boy's powers. Think about it, Amman. Where else can provide him with the means necessary to focus and control his abilities?"
"That's all very well, Mira, but can you guarantee that Isaac won't be killed before graduation?"
"No, I can't guarantee that it'll be a cake walk, but I can guarantee that what doesn't kill him will only make him stronger."
Amman picked up a glass and filled it with scotch. "Well, we'll see what Isaac has to say after we tell him all this."
"I think he already knows," Mira said softly, a twinkle in her eye.
Mira and Amman both turned their heads to look at me as I lay on a couch, sleeping. They were both thinking of the same thing, but their attitudes towards it couldn't have been more different.
Amman drained the glass and closed his eyes, his face set in a grimace.
"I'll be off then," Mira rose from her seat and began walking towards the door.
"I'll contact you later," Amman voice was quiet, he continued to stare at me. "Good bye, and thank you for everything."
"It's my pleasure, really. I'll look forward to your mail." Mira glanced at me as she shut the door. "Sweet dreams."
"Tea." I responded as she measured my blood pressure.
"What kind?"
"The worst kind."
"Worst kind?" She moved on to listening to my heart and lungs via stethoscope.
"Coffee."
***
My arms and legs constantly feel heavy. I've been on sick leave for the past month. Amman asked me if I wanted to just quit school, and then have him home school me, but I assured him that I plan on returning, eventually. Until then, I just wait everyday for Amman to come home with tomorrow's homework. Funny thing, when I'm sick, thanks to Amman, I learn everything a day before everyone else. Well, not necessarily. Sometimes the lessons are postponed when the headaches strike; I have abrupt scathing migraines, usually lasting two to three hours.
Two weeks after her presentation at school, Mira came to visit me at home; I articulated rather 'aggressively' that it was probably not in my best interest for my LL-3 sector to be activated. I proceeded to politely plead with her to find a a safe, viable solution that would cease all psychic function from my mental apparatus, if at all possible.
Next, I politely expectorated a lovely fragment of saliva in the general direction of her feet, then exited the room, lamenting. These actions prompted the obligatory scolding from Amman, but later that day I received via email an apology in the form of 10-point, black, aerial text. In this genuine piece of Mira's heart, I found out that she had once been my father's grade school teacher, and was invited to take part in the search for a procedure to make a working psychic apparatus go dormant. Naturally, I was ecstatic.
My father received an email outlining times, the exact location, and the necessary precautions concerning the research. As an extra added bonus, Mira decided to reminisce about Amman and a childhood girlfriend of his, whom he apparently made storm out of the classroom weeping back in the 5th grade.
I had no objections thus far.
So, every few days I found myself being driven the long awkward stretch to the Psy Operations building.
What a horrible place. Every pair of eyes that met mine sent looks of pure loathe and despise. My father, being a civilian, couldn't accompany me, so I had to walk alone all the way from the front doors to the clinic wing, then off to the laboratories. Usually they just have me swallow this pill, or give me that injection. Then they see that there's either absolutely no change, or I leave even more lethargic than I was to begin with. I found the lack of progress somewhat demoralizing, but stayed strong, hoping for a breakthrough.
I've been relaying on things like coffee to give me my energy, but Mira protested by buying me a jump rope. She says I'll feel stronger if I exercise.
***
"You like your new jump rope?" my father asked one evening as I concentrated on synchronizing my jumps filling the night air of our backyard with the soft swoosh of the rope on the grass.
I stopped jumping. "I think it's helping." I held it out to him. "Would you like to give it a try?"
"Sure!" Amman reached for the jump rope. I had no idea how fit he was. In seconds, the rope had whirled around him like an impenetrable force field. His face did not contort, nor show any signs of discomfort despite the impressive display of physical ability.
Remarkable.
"Doesn't quite have the nostalgia of a hula-hoop, does it?" I asked him, trying feebly to sound smart.
"That was a little bit before my time."
"What? Those thin, cheap, plastic hoops are older then this old man who can jump rope like a pro-athlete?" I noticed he wasn't even breathing hard.
"Well, to be fair, the jump rope has always been a form of exercise and recreation. The hula-hoop is dead for all practical purposes."
"At school they have hula-hoops every Physical exercise period," I answered.
"Well, looks like they aren't nearly as dead as I thought they were."
"You're not saying you didn't have a hula-hoop when you were a kid?"
"You did your homework. I did have one, just like everyone else. They were one of the only toys the government let us play with. Everyone had one. The thing is, I never touched it. Didn't really care for it."
"What else could you have? Besides the hula-hoop?"
"For me? Four varying shades of colored crayons, and a sail boat. Never had any sisters. Couldn't tell you want sorts of things girls were given. Now, let's talk about something else."
I wanted to know why my father didn't like hula-hoops, but suddenly a pain shot through my eyes to the back of my skull. I clutched my head and fell to the ground, gasping for air.
"Oh, for Pete's sake," my father muttered as he put an arm under my back to support me. "These headaches are becoming unbearable. What's Monika doing?"
Headaches were a normal part of life now. They came and went, sometimes bad, like the one I was having now, and other times unbearable. "I'm okay," I said to Amman, squeezing my eyes shut and willing the pain to subside.
***
I found myself occupying a lot of time reading, which helped to contain the headaches. My brain didn't hurt when it was occupied, or rather if my brain was occupied it couldn't know it hurt. I became an expert on things like the Second American Civil War, which happened a few decades back. I learned that my father fought as a rebel commander. I also found out a lot about technology, and the evolution thereof. That sort of stuff was just a byproduct of my interest, though. What I truly loved was history, world history from World War II and after. Naturally the books were only fluent in American History, but I got my fix one way or another. Luckily enough for me, reading not only calmed my headaches, but it also kept my powers in check. Whenever a book wasn't around, I would doodle frivolously, or write.
A few days ago I learned just how vital it was to keep my powers under control. I 'slipped' and jumped into Max's mind while he was visiting for lunch. I lived through him in a sensation I could never describe no matter how hard I tried. I was still myself, but heard what he was hearing, saw through his eyes, even tasted the soda in his mouth and felt it go down his throat. Unfortunately at that moment in time Max had been remembering an old memory of his best friend back on the moon. He was making a mental comparison of him to me. We really were remarkably similar in personalities. His name was Sean. So, with boyish delight, moments after I regained my full, undivided consciousness, I asked Max if he kept in touch with his old friend Sean. Max began to tear up and left the room. His mother, who had been visiting my father, later explained that Sean died of skin cancer at the age of 6.
Since then I've been trying not to 'slip.'
***
"Well today's the day!" Monika exclaimed.
"Hopefully." I replied as lab assistants hooked me up to a moderately sized machine. One of them kept giving me dirty looks. Most of the Scientists didn't carry any grudge against men, but she had me on the Russian account, too, which is bound to piss some people off. I felt my mind start to somersault but I pulled my eyes away from the hard-eyed Scientist and thought of facts from the 2nd Civil War.
Today's the day I'm suppose to have my powers turned off, according to Monika. She had been the lead researcher and developer of the new procedure which sends a special wavelength electromagnetic pulse into your psychic apparatus, which supposedly disables it. Maybe the wavelength varies depending on the person, or maybe it doesn't work. Otherwise the main branch of the military would be all over this lab like a field full of ants on a cherry, so they could turn the device into a weapon against Russian psymen.
"Ready?" a voice asked me over the intercom. It was male, calm and pleasant. Probably a computer. All the researchers stayed in the adjacent room with a large pane of glass separating us. Their white lab coats were covered by a huge glare, but I could still make out most of their faces. They looked skeptical.
"Anytime," I answered apathetically.
A rush of dissociation flowed into my brain. It wasn't my first time experiencing a stasis field. I closed my eyes and let my head rest softly on the rest behind it as the machine buzzed swiftly around my cranium.
I looked down at the shiny white shoes. The stockings had a run in them, so I pushed my lab coat down slightly to try to cover it up, then looked up to see me lying on the long lab bench, my shirt off and probes attached all over my chest. A machine spun around my head, buzzing. I toke a quick glance at the closest computer console to check the ratings. According to the sensory probes I was still outputting well over 300p's of psychic impulses. I realized I wouldn't be able to stop it, but maybe I could bring it down to 200p's or so. My powers would surely shrivel and die after that kind of drop.
I reached down and started pushing buttons. One to increase the spectrum, another to re-verb the waves being emitted in my stasis field. I wrote down the changes on the clipboard I was holding.
My brain's electro wave output level was down to 60p's. All the waves and emissions would probably detract a lot from my immune system, through. I better send myself off with some antibiotics and cold medicine.
I looked down again, startled. I had to throw up, badly. As I looked up I saw vomit creeping down the side of my chin. I put my hand up over my mouth to keep it from spilling out. Purely out of habit, I took a look at the screen one last time before running to get a bucket. My psy level was well over 1000p's. I tried to run, but slipped and landed firmly on my nose. The warm blood crept across my face as I lay glued to the floor, the taste of copper met my lips as the blood pooled. My assistants were calling out behind me. "Monika, what's the matter? Monika, are you hurt?"
Wait a second, I thought, I'm not Monika, I'm Isaac.
***
"He broke the machine?" My father erupted with laughter, grinning from ear to ear.
"That's right," Mira responded, "His psy levels were higher than Monika's. He slid into her mind, and she didn't even notice it, but Isaac could answer all of Monika's questions and indulge us with deep detail when asked what Monika thought and felt. He verifiably was Monika."
"So?"Amman interrupted, "I know Isaac's slipped into people's minds before, in fact just last month he-"
"Sliding to such a high degree, unnoticed, into a high-ranking psy officer with special training in warding off psychic intrusion is an act worthy of high praise for a 12-year-old boy." Mira interrupted back.
"That's just great and all, but I'm waiting for you to explain the new plan to get these powers to die out."
"There is no new plan," Mira said. "They're probably going to be with him for the entirety of his lifetime."
"The entirety of his lifetime is what I'm worried about."
"In my personal opinion, I think he'd do great at the Psy Academy. I think you should enroll him there. They'd take him, no doubt."
"He's been to the Psy Academy. He's obviously Russian, and male."
"It's getting better. These days teachers and staff enforce a zero tolerance, no discrimination policy. My granddaughter told me all about it."
"We've been there. He's not going," Amman's voice had shifted from light sarcasm to his regular stern teaching voice.
Mira tilted her chin upward but said nothing.
"I didn't know you had a granddaughter," Amman said into the awkward silence.
"Her names Lena, she's a wonderful girl, and a pacifist."
"Then why is she going to the Psy Academy?" he asked.
"Just because you're going there doesn't mean you have hopes of becoming a military officer. The majority of the students go into math, science, business, psychology, technology, you name it. And I know you don't want to hear it, but I think the Psy Academy might be the only option when it comes to controlling that boy's powers. Think about it, Amman. Where else can provide him with the means necessary to focus and control his abilities?"
"That's all very well, Mira, but can you guarantee that Isaac won't be killed before graduation?"
"No, I can't guarantee that it'll be a cake walk, but I can guarantee that what doesn't kill him will only make him stronger."
Amman picked up a glass and filled it with scotch. "Well, we'll see what Isaac has to say after we tell him all this."
"I think he already knows," Mira said softly, a twinkle in her eye.
Mira and Amman both turned their heads to look at me as I lay on a couch, sleeping. They were both thinking of the same thing, but their attitudes towards it couldn't have been more different.
Amman drained the glass and closed his eyes, his face set in a grimace.
"I'll be off then," Mira rose from her seat and began walking towards the door.
"I'll contact you later," Amman voice was quiet, he continued to stare at me. "Good bye, and thank you for everything."
"It's my pleasure, really. I'll look forward to your mail." Mira glanced at me as she shut the door. "Sweet dreams."
Wednesday, February 13
Installment B
"Really? So that makes you a psyman?" I gleamed. I've always had an extraordinary interest in ESP.
"Yep, and I'm here today to give you all the aptitude test."
Ten minutes later I found myself in the same white rectangular room, although the rows of desks were now full of chatty, anxious preteens. I sat with Max near the front of the room, while Jessica, the girl I had a crush on since 2nd grade, sat directly behind me. It was shaping up to be a pretty good year so far, I thought. Max and I talked away our worries, while I tried to inconspicuously glance back at her. Mira and my father were standing directly in front of the projection screen, a meter or so from the door.
"You know, you can still go to the Psy Academy even if you're not an esper. If you're really that interested in them, just become a scientific researcher or something. You can spend all day studying them, and get paid for it."
"No, I'm not the type for that kind of commitment. I'm interested in just having psychic powers, not dissecting brains or running tests. Besides, you know how sexist and xenophobic those people are. I'm not just male, I'm of direct Russian descent. I'd be eaten alive."
Jessica decided to lean forward and chime into the conversation, "You're of Russian decent? How in the world did you end up in America?"
"I have no idea. They found me near Warsaw when I was just a baby. Amman was studying abroad at the time, before we were at war with Russia, and after he saw the state Europe was in he considered it his duty to lend a helping hand. So he walked to the nearest homeless shelter to give a donation, but on the way he saw me through the orphanage window. He said I was staring right at him with my big hazel eyes, and he couldn't help but try to find me a home back in America. The rest is history."
The three of us turned our heads to stare at Mr. Erlenmeyer.
My father and Mira appeared to be discussing something serious, but then they both stopped and faced the class. Everyones' attention was abruptly directed towards the front as my father clapped his hands with a force that could've killed a small woodland creature. Dead silence quickly filled the air.
"Hello class," he glanced around the room, "I'm happy to see that you all know each other. I guess we can skip introductions and dive straight into the curriculum. You can call me Mr. Erlenmeyer. Let's start off with a little treat that I've arranged for you all today. A good friend of mine, Psy Ensign Mira Hunther, is going to talk to you all about ESP users and then administer the test that'll tell you whether or not you have ESP aptitude. Ms. Hunther, if you'd take the floor?"
"I certainly would," Mira took a step forward with a gleaming smile. She wore basic civilian cloths, plain gray pants with a forest green button down shirt. Although she still wore her dog tags, as well as the psyman emblem pinned nonchalantly to her collar.
As my father (or, excuse me, Mr. Erlenmeyer) introduced Mira two more psymen walked into the room. One of them carrying a box full of odd semi-circle contraptions.
They wore tight green heavily armored uniforms. The two looked ready for a fierce battle, not exactly appropriate for a classroom, but I assumed all psymen had to wear them until they either finished their military service or got promoted like Mira. The thing all of them had in common was the yellow and navy 'all seeing eye' that marked the Psy Corps division on their shoulders. I wondered why they called themselves psymen, when nearly all of them were women. It seemed to me like psyperson, or psywomen would've broken out long ago, but maybe that just doesn't roll off the tongue quite the same.
I sat in admiration as Mira continued her brief lesson.
"Good afternoon everyone. I'm sure you've all seen on the news or read in the paper about all the work being put into ESP aptitude, right? Well, today's the day it'll all come together, so who's ready to see if they have psychic powers?"
The two privates began distributing the white plastic devices without regard for Mira's still going speech.
"About thirty percent of the human population has ESP aptitude. Of those thirty percent, only five percent are male. This is because the physical node which creates and manipulates the electromagnetic waves linked to ESP-like functions is located in the corpus callosum. For some reason, the physical appendage has yet to begin showing up in males. The life expectancy of a male with mediocre ESP powers is anywhere from 5 to 25 years, and for a male with very weak ESP powers it's anywhere from 20 to 50 years. However a female with any strength or type of ESP capabilities can make it to 150, easily. The reason for this drastic difference is as of now unknown, but ESP is the fastest growing field in research, so don't be surprised to know the answer to that by the end of this year."
"Excuse me, Mira," My father interjected and turned to address the class, "You don't have to worry about any terms you don't know. You'll be covering this more extensively next year, anyway."
Well, that made sense as to me as to why there aren't any men in the psy army. But then why are they giving the testing modules to the males too? Even, if one of the guys in here just so happened to have ESP aptitude, it basically just means he'll die abnormally fast. Why put someone through that experience? Probably in the light of fairness. Mira's likely thinking that no one in here's actually going to have real ESP powers. A girl or two might set a reaction off, but probably nothing notable. I hate people who take such useless risks.
"Of those that do have ESP aptitude," Mira continued, "only around half of them ever use it. Usually the powers die out after a few years, or never become strong enough to serve any practical implementation. But, those girls that do develop powers are considered a natural resource. Psychic abilities are re-inventing the fields of entertainment, to marine-biology, to waste disposal, and everything in between. Chances are, you're all going to work with an esper sometime in your life. And they're becoming more common everyday. When I was a young girl, about 5% of the population total had psychic abilities. The numbers just keep going up. Within our lifetimes, we'll probably see male espers become common, and perhaps eventually everyone will be able to talk without even opening out mouths.
"Usually mental abilities begin to form around the prepubescent period in females, or as early as the toddler years in males. Sometimes, a person will have something called extra-sensory perception aptitude, or ESPA. That means this person has the physical lobe which creates and manipulates electromagnetic waves, but it's dormant. For most cases, the lobe can be activated by surrounding the brain in a specially calibrated electromagnetic field that we like to call a stasis. However usually the lobe remains dormant forever. Scientists from all over the world are still researching around the clock to discover alternate methods of awakening this psychic apparatus. Sometimes even a person older then me will suddenly find themselves in the presence of psychic powers. This is usually too much strain for the brain to take, so that's why we make sure everyone knows whether or not they have ESPA or not early in life."
I couldn't help but take notes. Espers are so amazing. Mira walked over to one of the privates and held up the semi-circular device.
"These stasis devices are going to measure the electromagnet pulses originating from the center of your brain," Mira continued, "All you have to do is place it over the back of your head when I give you the go ahead."
I saw Mira glance at me as I feverishly scribbled. A pity she spoke so quickly.
"Don't worry guys, you don't have to know any of the scientific terms, you're not going to be quizzed over any of this. It's just some information officers are required to divulge whenever administering ESPA tests.
"Now, everyone can go ahead and place the instruments over your head, just like this."
As Mira spoke, she placed the object over her head, letting it rest on her ears. At once, an arsenal of lights on the back lit up a bright purple. Mira's eyes immediately glazed over.
"Don't worry, it doesn't hurt a bit." One of the psymen reassured us as we stared at Mira with wide eyes and open mouths.
Each light was probably color coded, I thought, and stood for a different ability. That was obvious enough to assume.
So, I found myself gently placing the device over my head, and felt oddly relaxed as it graced my ears with its light smooth surface. It was hard to keep a train of thought. Everything started mingling together, it was impossible to concentrate on any one object. I felt dizzy, like the room was moving around me, but I soon realized that I was the one swaying.
My concentration returned to me suddenly, as if the flood gates opened and conscious thought swept through the inside of my head. I looked around to see the other students in the same opiate-like daze.
One of Mira's soldiers had taken the device from me. My father was still standing by Mira, an alarmed expression on his face. He came over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "One of your lights turned on. It was dim, but it was on. You're the only one." My father said as he leaned down next to me. It was sort of awkward, us being at school, and him being my teacher. But none of the other students were conscious, so I suppose I could save face easily enough.
"Perspective projection, as it's called today. Located in the LL-3 sector, It's the ability to place yourself in another person's mind and experience exactly what they're experiencing. It's probably active to some degree now." Mira's soldier spoke to my father.
I looked at Mira and thought there was no way she got all that information just from seeing which light turned on. She must have been using her own powers. As fascinating as that was, it didn't especially help the current situation.
"So, how long does Isaac have to live?" My father asked in return, annoyed by her lack of concern.
"There's no way to be sure. Maybe five years, maybe 50. It all depends on the person."
"So, what happens now?" I asked the room in general.
Mira wore a serious, almost stern, expression, but her voice was almost motherly. "If it's alright with you, Isaac, I'd like to take you to the Psy Academy for a closer look."
"Yep, and I'm here today to give you all the aptitude test."
Ten minutes later I found myself in the same white rectangular room, although the rows of desks were now full of chatty, anxious preteens. I sat with Max near the front of the room, while Jessica, the girl I had a crush on since 2nd grade, sat directly behind me. It was shaping up to be a pretty good year so far, I thought. Max and I talked away our worries, while I tried to inconspicuously glance back at her. Mira and my father were standing directly in front of the projection screen, a meter or so from the door.
"You know, you can still go to the Psy Academy even if you're not an esper. If you're really that interested in them, just become a scientific researcher or something. You can spend all day studying them, and get paid for it."
"No, I'm not the type for that kind of commitment. I'm interested in just having psychic powers, not dissecting brains or running tests. Besides, you know how sexist and xenophobic those people are. I'm not just male, I'm of direct Russian descent. I'd be eaten alive."
Jessica decided to lean forward and chime into the conversation, "You're of Russian decent? How in the world did you end up in America?"
"I have no idea. They found me near Warsaw when I was just a baby. Amman was studying abroad at the time, before we were at war with Russia, and after he saw the state Europe was in he considered it his duty to lend a helping hand. So he walked to the nearest homeless shelter to give a donation, but on the way he saw me through the orphanage window. He said I was staring right at him with my big hazel eyes, and he couldn't help but try to find me a home back in America. The rest is history."
The three of us turned our heads to stare at Mr. Erlenmeyer.
My father and Mira appeared to be discussing something serious, but then they both stopped and faced the class. Everyones' attention was abruptly directed towards the front as my father clapped his hands with a force that could've killed a small woodland creature. Dead silence quickly filled the air.
"Hello class," he glanced around the room, "I'm happy to see that you all know each other. I guess we can skip introductions and dive straight into the curriculum. You can call me Mr. Erlenmeyer. Let's start off with a little treat that I've arranged for you all today. A good friend of mine, Psy Ensign Mira Hunther, is going to talk to you all about ESP users and then administer the test that'll tell you whether or not you have ESP aptitude. Ms. Hunther, if you'd take the floor?"
"I certainly would," Mira took a step forward with a gleaming smile. She wore basic civilian cloths, plain gray pants with a forest green button down shirt. Although she still wore her dog tags, as well as the psyman emblem pinned nonchalantly to her collar.
As my father (or, excuse me, Mr. Erlenmeyer) introduced Mira two more psymen walked into the room. One of them carrying a box full of odd semi-circle contraptions.
They wore tight green heavily armored uniforms. The two looked ready for a fierce battle, not exactly appropriate for a classroom, but I assumed all psymen had to wear them until they either finished their military service or got promoted like Mira. The thing all of them had in common was the yellow and navy 'all seeing eye' that marked the Psy Corps division on their shoulders. I wondered why they called themselves psymen, when nearly all of them were women. It seemed to me like psyperson, or psywomen would've broken out long ago, but maybe that just doesn't roll off the tongue quite the same.
I sat in admiration as Mira continued her brief lesson.
"Good afternoon everyone. I'm sure you've all seen on the news or read in the paper about all the work being put into ESP aptitude, right? Well, today's the day it'll all come together, so who's ready to see if they have psychic powers?"
The two privates began distributing the white plastic devices without regard for Mira's still going speech.
"About thirty percent of the human population has ESP aptitude. Of those thirty percent, only five percent are male. This is because the physical node which creates and manipulates the electromagnetic waves linked to ESP-like functions is located in the corpus callosum. For some reason, the physical appendage has yet to begin showing up in males. The life expectancy of a male with mediocre ESP powers is anywhere from 5 to 25 years, and for a male with very weak ESP powers it's anywhere from 20 to 50 years. However a female with any strength or type of ESP capabilities can make it to 150, easily. The reason for this drastic difference is as of now unknown, but ESP is the fastest growing field in research, so don't be surprised to know the answer to that by the end of this year."
"Excuse me, Mira," My father interjected and turned to address the class, "You don't have to worry about any terms you don't know. You'll be covering this more extensively next year, anyway."
Well, that made sense as to me as to why there aren't any men in the psy army. But then why are they giving the testing modules to the males too? Even, if one of the guys in here just so happened to have ESP aptitude, it basically just means he'll die abnormally fast. Why put someone through that experience? Probably in the light of fairness. Mira's likely thinking that no one in here's actually going to have real ESP powers. A girl or two might set a reaction off, but probably nothing notable. I hate people who take such useless risks.
"Of those that do have ESP aptitude," Mira continued, "only around half of them ever use it. Usually the powers die out after a few years, or never become strong enough to serve any practical implementation. But, those girls that do develop powers are considered a natural resource. Psychic abilities are re-inventing the fields of entertainment, to marine-biology, to waste disposal, and everything in between. Chances are, you're all going to work with an esper sometime in your life. And they're becoming more common everyday. When I was a young girl, about 5% of the population total had psychic abilities. The numbers just keep going up. Within our lifetimes, we'll probably see male espers become common, and perhaps eventually everyone will be able to talk without even opening out mouths.
"Usually mental abilities begin to form around the prepubescent period in females, or as early as the toddler years in males. Sometimes, a person will have something called extra-sensory perception aptitude, or ESPA. That means this person has the physical lobe which creates and manipulates electromagnetic waves, but it's dormant. For most cases, the lobe can be activated by surrounding the brain in a specially calibrated electromagnetic field that we like to call a stasis. However usually the lobe remains dormant forever. Scientists from all over the world are still researching around the clock to discover alternate methods of awakening this psychic apparatus. Sometimes even a person older then me will suddenly find themselves in the presence of psychic powers. This is usually too much strain for the brain to take, so that's why we make sure everyone knows whether or not they have ESPA or not early in life."
I couldn't help but take notes. Espers are so amazing. Mira walked over to one of the privates and held up the semi-circular device.
"These stasis devices are going to measure the electromagnet pulses originating from the center of your brain," Mira continued, "All you have to do is place it over the back of your head when I give you the go ahead."
I saw Mira glance at me as I feverishly scribbled. A pity she spoke so quickly.
"Don't worry guys, you don't have to know any of the scientific terms, you're not going to be quizzed over any of this. It's just some information officers are required to divulge whenever administering ESPA tests.
"Now, everyone can go ahead and place the instruments over your head, just like this."
As Mira spoke, she placed the object over her head, letting it rest on her ears. At once, an arsenal of lights on the back lit up a bright purple. Mira's eyes immediately glazed over.
"Don't worry, it doesn't hurt a bit." One of the psymen reassured us as we stared at Mira with wide eyes and open mouths.
Each light was probably color coded, I thought, and stood for a different ability. That was obvious enough to assume.
So, I found myself gently placing the device over my head, and felt oddly relaxed as it graced my ears with its light smooth surface. It was hard to keep a train of thought. Everything started mingling together, it was impossible to concentrate on any one object. I felt dizzy, like the room was moving around me, but I soon realized that I was the one swaying.
My concentration returned to me suddenly, as if the flood gates opened and conscious thought swept through the inside of my head. I looked around to see the other students in the same opiate-like daze.
One of Mira's soldiers had taken the device from me. My father was still standing by Mira, an alarmed expression on his face. He came over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "One of your lights turned on. It was dim, but it was on. You're the only one." My father said as he leaned down next to me. It was sort of awkward, us being at school, and him being my teacher. But none of the other students were conscious, so I suppose I could save face easily enough.
"Perspective projection, as it's called today. Located in the LL-3 sector, It's the ability to place yourself in another person's mind and experience exactly what they're experiencing. It's probably active to some degree now." Mira's soldier spoke to my father.
I looked at Mira and thought there was no way she got all that information just from seeing which light turned on. She must have been using her own powers. As fascinating as that was, it didn't especially help the current situation.
"So, how long does Isaac have to live?" My father asked in return, annoyed by her lack of concern.
"There's no way to be sure. Maybe five years, maybe 50. It all depends on the person."
"So, what happens now?" I asked the room in general.
Mira wore a serious, almost stern, expression, but her voice was almost motherly. "If it's alright with you, Isaac, I'd like to take you to the Psy Academy for a closer look."
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