Fair Flame - L.E.P. Smith (ereader for android TXT) š
- Author: L.E.P. Smith
Book online Ā«Fair Flame - L.E.P. Smith (ereader for android TXT) šĀ». Author L.E.P. Smith
.ā Contempt is woven throughout his words, lacing them with a bitter taste.
āHowā¦how can you hear what Iām thinking?ā
I reel in shock when I hear the answer. āIām telepathic, Effie. I can hear your every word, every thought you have. But you can learn to block me out. You need to practise, and you could do this tooā
āYou mean I can learn to speak and see into your mind too? Iām not sure Iād want to. It doesnāt seem right.ā
I hear a gasp. I hear nothing for a long time. Too long. I feel something is wrong, it gets harder to breathe. The air in the room gets heavy, thick, I can almost taste it. Have they poisoned me? I can hear disconnected sentences floating into my mind; my mind begins to fog, my thoughts sticky, sluggish. One phrase said sticks in my mind. I don't think it will ever leave me; '
She's too dangerous...we'll have to kill her!
'
Darkness descends.
Chapter 3
This time, when I awake, the environment isn't feeling so friendly, well āfriendlyā may have been a strong word. Well, letās just say it was a rather hostile feeling. I open my eyes, look around, and lean forward to get up. I find I canāt. I feel like I weigh 500lbs, my arms are strapped to the bed, a hospital-style one, with the metal arms up the sides. The straps encircling my wrists feel tight, but not too uncomfortably so, but I still strain against them, pulling, fighting.
No-one comes. I feel like Iām there for hours, for all I know, I may have well been, or more, even days. Tears have been falling down my face, leaving a trail over my cheeks, a salty shadow, now that I canāt cry anymore. I have no tears left, none to shed. I lay there, my wrists burning with pain. The restraints are not just right anymoreā¦they now seem to have bonded with my own skin, merging and sticking, becoming part of me, for the time I have been lying here, I have been trying to escape. Turning my hands, I had been trying to slip my hands out of the manacles, but to no avail.
At this point, Iām all but ready to give up, to give in. I canāt physically stay awake any longerā¦. stay frustrated this way. I begin to shut down my mind, go to a meditative state that my dad taught me when I was little. I relax my toes, working up through my calves, my thighs, my stomach, until I reach my face. But before I manage to achieve the final stage, my flames are back. These are not quite the same, a more vivid colouration of the original ones. And these ones? Well, these ones burn.
My restraints begin to disintegrate, the heat is so great. The slightest touch of my fire is too much for the material and leather to take. I can taste the remnants floating in the air.
My hands break free, swinging up. I hadnāt realised that they had been straining against my bonds. I leap forwards, nearly flinging myself from off the bed. Unlike the first āflame-upā I had, these flames arenāt just contained to my hands and arms. They have spread to engulf my whole body. I feel a tingling sensation upon my skin. My wrists are no longer red raw. The surface has begun to heal over, as though the flames themselves are sealing the skin back together, leaving no marks, no remains of the manacleās cruel marks. Seeing this enthuses me to do something, anything to get out of this room.
These are my flames, arenāt they? I think to myself. So if they areā¦well, I should be able to control THEM! With this thought, I stretch my arms out in front of me, putting all my anger of being trapped, tied and taken away from my family into my hands, to my fingertipsā¦forcing my pain and anger towards the mirrored glass in front of me.
It shatters with a deafening BOOM. Glass showers down around me, glittering. As it hits the ground, the small insignificant shards make a cacophony of sound ringing in my ears. Musical, but haunting. The silence that follows is deafening. Whilst they finish falling, it seems as though time is slowingā¦I can see the shards spinning slowly in the air, the light that shines upon them, reflecting the light into a rainbow of colours that are bright enough to make me squint.
My breathing accelerates, gasps now escaping from my throat. My vision begins to waver, the view of the broken mirror in front of me nothing but a blur. I raise my hand to my head, coming away with a warm, wet substance on my fingers. I bring my hand towards my face, my focus going in and out, so it takes me a while to notice the colour.
Red.
I look up, peering through the breach in front of me. I can discern 4 people, their shadows all I can see through the haze of blood and dizziness. They donāt seem to move, the figures just stand there. I take a step closer to the gaping maw. I manage to slip upon the broken glass, sliding forward and falling flat on my back. My head hits the ground hard, driving pieces of glass into my skull. I can feel the blood starting to pour from my numerous wounds. As I look up at the ceiling, I notice itās an off-white colour; a hint of yellow, like itās absorbed many years of cigarette smoke. I wonder why something so mundane seems to leap out at me.
A hand appears in front of my eyes, obscuring my view. I vaguely notice that it's holding a syringe. At this point, Iām too full of pain to worry what it contains, what the liquid will do to me; will it reduce the hurt Iām feeling, knock me unconsciousā¦.or will it kill me?
Chapter 4
Whoa. That must have been some night out! Random dream. Thoughā¦not so good that I start my new job in half an hourā¦and I seem to have slept through 4 days.
Hmmmā¦.must have been really good! Well, need to set off, as I said, new job today, to go with my bar work. I had an interview a fortnight ago. Itās in a bookshop. I donāt know what made me apply. I was walking past one day, and noticed the sign in the window. A sudden urge took me, and I did it. I went straight in there and got an instant interview. When the guy behind the counter saw me, he gave me a look, as though he knew me. But it passed almost instantly.
Iām sure itās not the usual way that they do things, and the manager did say as much, but I cant help wonder why it did happen like that. He showed me around, and offered it to me. Oh well. Shouldnāt complain, I have been looking for a full-time post for a while now.
In the back of my mind, something niggled at me; but I ignored it. It happens sometimes, sometimes I listen, and others I donāt. Like everyone in the world I suppose.
I make it with mere minutes to spare. My breath pluming into the air, the temperature outside is barely above freezing this time of year.
As I walk through the door, Iām expecting Mike (the boss/owner) to glower at me. To my amazement, he hugs me. I freeze up, not really knowing what the hell Iām meant to do with my armsā¦.do I hug back? I decide a light pat will suffice. Whilst he has me in his bear hug, I take in the room. There are a few customers milling around, picking books off the shelves, looking at the spines, some well worn, some brand new: both mixed all together in the mish-mash of the dusty shop. A couple of school kids are giggling in the back. Iām guessing theyāre looking at the sex booksā¦who didnāt at their age?
As I start to turn back to Mr Custerson, my boss, I notice a guy sitting in the corner, at the desk. Heās crouched over a book wide open on the table. Heās oblivious to anyone around him. The door opens behind me, and his dark hair ripples in the light breeze.
āHeya Elizabeth!!ā I shudderā¦.Why is he so damn chipper?! No, I shouldnāt feel like that, itās good that someone is happy all the time.
'Please, call me Effie, never Elizabethā I correct myself, my words sounding too sharp āā¦please?ā
āRight, OK, Effie it is then.ā He seems to be tasting the word, rolling it around is mouth. āEffie. I like it.ā He sounds determined to remember it.
I canāt help but break into a smile. I like the old guy. āRight then, what have you got for me to do today?ā
āAh, right. First, I need to introduce you into your colleague ā this is Jamesā Mike swings his arm out to his right. He looks puzzled. He turns, searching.
āJAMES!ā
The guy working at the desk in the corner starts, cringing; his head swinging round, his eyes catching mine through the murk.
āMrā¦Mr Custerson?ā The poor guy looks bewildered. He pushes back his chair, which gives a slight scrape across the wooden floor. As he swings around, I can hear him muttering; ābloody hellā¦what does the old fogey want now??ā I realise that he isnāt mutteringā¦.heās thinking. No, that wasn't real. I shake my head, willing it to go away, but I cant help but hear his next thought before it fades ā Damnā¦oh yeah the new girlā¦well, Iām ready forā¦ā. NO! Not a thought, my own imagination running away with me. I had far too much to drink this weekend.
He walks towards us, his eyes looking everywhere but at me, or so it seems. It feels like he is looking out of the corner of his eye, studying, sizing me up.
When he reaches us, he gives a slight nod, acknowledging my presence. Custerson nudges the guy.
āAt least say hello James, you could do that, couldnāt you?ā He looks frustrated, as if this happens often. Maybe it did, he mustāve had other assistants working before me.
āWhy? Itās not as though sheāll be here long, no-one ever is, you know that. Whatās the recordā¦ 3 weeks wasnāt it?ā He laughs. āāTil he couldnāt stand this place any longer? And by looking at this one, I bet she wonāt do any better. No, she looks like a week-er to me.
Iāll bet you a weekās wages.ā He turns to glare
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