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from-a-distant-end · 7 years ago

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original short story: Wilt | Chapter 1

The Elder Beaconmire is an elite subterranean society, submerged profoundly beneath the darkened bowels of the Volga River in southwestern Russia. We rest in solitude with towering buildings of stone jutting from the smoothed riverbed roads, our walls and homes, our temples and shrines all sat imbued with veins of natural luminescence, granted silver life by some unknown, worshiped force or entity. Sentient or inanimate, there appeared to be little mind paid in either direction. We are not proud, generous and cheerful citizens of a concealed city-state, nor prisoners unkindly and unjustly fated to live our lives hidden under waves and rocks, kept away from the entirety of the world. We are not spies, despite our secretive location. We are not assassins, nor any other mass produced, trained murder machine. Unless of course, we’re requested to be.

By Elder’s standards, we are and perfectly maintain to be, a large assembly of rigorously refined and forcibly gifted individuals, who not only excel unmatched in nearly any field, profession, and practice anyone could muster into fruition from even eccentric imaginations, but orchestrate the necessary and paramount competencies of said systematically inculcated tasks and actions with utmost decorum and polished skill. We are what we’re asked to be. And we’re better than you.

---

Oxial College, I realized gravely, was vividly bright and lively, endowed with blissful smiles and myriads of laughter from every and all, as though not a single fellow student had ever dealt with a fraction of an ounce of sadness. Even once in their lifetime. Grins were wide, from ear to ear, proud and eager, surely overcompensating for something I had accidentally overlooked. It was fake, they were fake, I pleaded silently with myself as I sauntered across the plush green lawn, books gripped tightly in hand and pressed against my chest this chilled morning en route to the headmistress’s office. The institute itself was structured as though a fortified castle and stretched into the heavens with grey and white walls of rough stone, with cobblestone paths winding from building to building.

It had to be facetious. I couldn’t conjure a single reason these strangers, these stressed, caffeine-driven college students, would discover any logical means to sustain themselves in such damn endless and potent happiness. And experiencing the equivalent of that intense joy was a task I, at least during the time of its presentation to me, thought impossible to mirror. To harbor emotions so deeply and genuinely without fear of an audience and their ever-growing, ever-changing opinion of me? Unthinkable. I was too immensely self-aware and had my emotion’s ease of access bled out of me years ago.

Yet there I stood before a porcelain sink as I straightened my tie, about an hour later, smiling vacantly at my reflection. It wasn’t as though we found or were gifted with something earning us the desire to carry these positive sensations, I determined with almost sickening immediacy. Somewhere inside me, my opinions were staunched, increasingly suffocated, natural reactions discarded absent of my commands. The giddy sentiments were so overbearingly strong, were forcibly commanded to be felt by our mind and hormones, and shared between everyone like a deadly virus — without permitting input from the various additional emotions humans held. Happiness consumed everything in its orbit, allowing itself alone to portray its glory upon our very faces at any and every waking moment.

No. I was nearly certain we were being drugged. My journey, my mission, was to determine why, how, and by whose hands.

The manner in which we could be subjected to any opiates or another drug of the same nature escaped me entirely and I accepted the unyielding weight as it lay resting on my shoulders. Over serving my life in the very hungry belly of Elder Beaconmire, I’d learned my preferences: It was enormously more rewarding to participate in an assignment one desires to witness unravel, one longs to see the result of. Besides, I had reasoned, it was likely due to the drug itself within our bodies that we lacked a reliable ability to recall any dire instances we may have been presented an opportunity to consume it. So where? Where could I have fallen victim to it, keen as I regarded my senses to be? An outsider aware of unusual and dangerous happenings?

Were the students given these drugs at mealtimes, mixed inside their food or drinks? Released through the vents and wafting from room to room, entering their lungs and bodily system like a haunting incubus? Injected with a syringe while they slumbered, unconscious to those awakened and prowling in the night with malicious intent to spread joy?

My chestnut hair rested sleepily unkempt upon my head as I allowed myself to remember the previous morning, a near lifetime ago:

“Priantierre,” my name had been barked sharply, like stinging venom, the bellowing voice drooping down from the Doyen’s balcony overlooking Elder’s hushed mess hall. She bore her stern gaze into me, through me, as murmurs fluttered about and eyes took to me with both bitter jealously and aggravated interest. I elected to, once again as I had for months now, ignore their attempts at evoking a reaction, and rose from the table I had been sitting at alone with just my older brother and sister.

Both were certainly less keen on concealing their worry regarding my summons than our lifelong peers. Sharing your life beside the same young men and women since birth, only to be pitted against one another in a daily battle of skills, decorum, and deftness proved to sever even the strongest of friendships and alliances.

“Hey,” my brother had mumbled dubiously with a wink before I could manage another step, “O Gracious Overlady has been ruthless since that recent accident. Don’t get wise with her today.”

“That had nothing to do with me, Illarion,” I defended.

“Like Hell it didn’t.” He scoffed lightly with a single wave of his hand. “Go, Priantierre, whatever. Trying to be supportive and offer caution. Forget it.”

My sister chimed in, her voice kept quiet. “Good luck, Priantierre. Tell us if it’s another task assignment this time, okay? Please don’t pack your things and disappear. Mother was devastated, you know. She didn’t need that coupled with,” she seemed to struggle for a moment. “Her illness.”

“Of course, Averniria,” I’d vowed hollowly, stalking away and towards our Doyen’s conference chambers. “I won’t leave without a goodbye.”

High walls loomed around me, lined with heavy tapestries. A grand fireplace warmed the room with a sensation differing greatly to that of the cold, blue sunbeams dancing upon the stone ground, distorted in their flow, and permitted entrance by the thick glass ceiling opened to the river above us. I’d be endlessly enraptured by the swaying swaths of light and their mesmerizing motions while within the confines of this space. Somehow, it was equally paired with prickling intimidation and a rising sense of unease that neither waned nor waxed despite my many visits, confrontations, and meetings I would be invited to attend. I had the cracks in the floors memorized, yet I still feared they’d swallow me whole.

Our Doyen then spoke as I stood myself before her, studying the puzzling manner in which she always somehow embraced both tragedy and benisons so intimately close to her. All while she proceeded to manage balancing her wholesome being with each and every person she was expected to portray — divide herself and her morals between the innumerable tasks of questionable ethics and values that befell her. Well, I resigned, she earned her title and position with ease and rusted elegance. And with her auburn hair and sparkling chocolate eyes, she kept most adolescent boys here on their toes, eager and dedicated to answer to her every order.

“Something arrived in our files that might be of preference to you, specifically,” she had been informing me before pressing a thin stack of crinkled papers bound in twine across her wooden desk.

My interest had instantly been piqued at the information they’d reserved the mission with knowledge I’d prefer it, however, needless to say it wasn’t quite a strenuous accomplishment to achieve. I proceeded to leaf through the sweetly scented pages, grinning to myself as I skimmed its contents. My grin fell just a second later.

A large percentage of partially visually impaired students. Professors with medical degrees. Toxins? Drugs? Unknown sources and methods. Students returning home, without having graduated, harmed with no recollection of who or what caused their injuries. Students never returning home whatsoever, and letters from parents, loved ones demanding to know what became of their children. Several lists of varying lengths consisting of those students’ names who fell under either circumstances.

“We’ve located an all-male college centered in the core of the Oxial Gardens. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” Our Doyen continued as I read. My reply was a single, curt nod, urgency and confusion silently beginning to boil inside me. “We have reason to believe the members of the staff, whether its professors, custodians, or some third party, are somehow harming the attending students. Blinding them,” she clarified, her fists shaking at the disturbing details of the job. “There’s been far too many concerned reports for the abundance of recorded cases on file to be mere coincidence. We task to you the secure operation of infiltration and information gathering. But we stress no action is to be taken without our approval beforehand. If this concludes to be the worst case scenario, it will do you no favors to be caught where you cannot escape. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

Despite the unfortunate situation surrounding it, my heart swelled at the notion of catching sight of the famous roses growing within the walls of the Garden with my own eyes. They were supposedly breathtaking, the blooms as crimson as blood and as large as a hand, fingers splayed and all. Fields and fields as far as one could see of those beautiful roses stretched across the land, lying just a short distance from the school grounds. Marriages were largely popular there, several hundred a year, I believed I had once studied, and visitors flew by plane or traveled by ship for such a sightly tour. Botanists flourished both in research and vivacity, a faultless vacation destination for lovers of flowers and shrubs and trees, flocked as though it was a holy site of sanctity and redemption for sinners or nonbelievers discovering the warmth and freedom of faith.

“You will have no companion beside you but those you make inside those buildings,” she’d guided me with finality towards the door. “Examine these papers. Know them better than your life. I grant you permission to keep contact with your family during your time away. I doubt it would draw unwanted attention to you. We’re giving you two months, sixty days, to complete this. However, with your history and skills, I expect it solved within half that time.”

Her words dripped from my lips softly as I allowed my finished tie to drop back down to my chest. “Yes,” I spoke to myself as I had to her that day, “your bidding is my blessing.”

—

I meandered my way across the large, plush lawn of the campus once more, enjoying the softness beneath my shoes as opposed to the rough and rigid stone floors of Elder’s main thoroughfares. Students huddled together in small study groups under the shade of tall oak trees or near bushes of sweet smelling rose bushes, or lay splayed with books and papers about them, dozing and relaxing before class. The light grey jackets of our uniform were scattered, mingling dots among one another as distant as I could observe, sharing laughter and smiles and conversation.

I understood then, in a rush of trepidation, I’d been the lone soul wandering without a friend or entourage — a surefire method to gathering that undesired attention to myself the Doyen had warned me against. I had received an abundance of distasteful glances and glares, envy doused remarks and scorns back between the walls and under the waves of my home, and sincerely pleaded not to find myself in the same predicament here. At the moment, I reveled in the knowledge that I was a stranger. A nameless face in the crowd. A single body amongst many.

My schedule lay squished in my classwork folder, and suddenly, like a ton of bricks, my heart slumped heavily at the notion I’d be a student. Regarded as a normal, functioning college freshman, a local boy from a local town, seeking mere education for the upcoming, unknown and terrifying chapters of his life. That was the role I was expected to flawlessly portray for these two months. I was no longer Priantierre of Elder Beaconmire, and had been stripped to simply Prian Chesnokov, a transfer student hailing from the neighboring country of Russia. It had been decided by the Doyens my silvery hair was to be dyed the more natural color of brown, to effortlessly blend in and camouflage with my new peers and I had been reluctant to conform. It was the lone attribute I possessed reflective of my sickly mother.

My absent, unpleasant attempt at a human facial expression must have morphed into some defeated glower, as I appeared to have caught the distressed scrutiny of another boy who’d been hovering over a textbook on a nearby bench. The aerated drug I may have caught a drift of earlier perhaps wore off, I thought, that’s the reason I don’t feel insanely amiable. Assuming, of course, my conjecture was correct on the matter and it was indeed a stimulant of some sort. The informational packet I kept stored away held blank spaces and potholes, and I sincerely began to wonder if I could perfect every piece they were lacking, or if I was merely expected to fill in only the absolutely necessary gaps.

I carried myself a touch more hurriedly as the stranger stood with just as much haste as I had adopted. “Excuse me?” He called out. His voice was sweet, calm, if not rather panicked at the moment, and resonated with me the memory of choir and churches. “Are you doing alright? You seem troubled, is there a way I could maybe assist you?”

Words fought in my throat as I continued swiftly. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine, but your concern is admirable. I really must be heading to class.”

With a world-shattering disappointment, and a dainty wisp of his fingers past mine in an effort to halt my escape, I realized he’d covered the distance I created between us with undying determination. He was hunched over, hands on his knees and breathing deeply as I pivoted to study my relentless pursuer.

“You walked about half the front of the school to catch up to me.” I frowned. “Can I help you with something? I told you I’m alright. I promise. Just a late starter trying to memorize the grounds before I find my way down a sewer grate somewhere.”

The stranger chuckled at this and stood upright, and I was able to analyze him much more closely. Jet black hair with a pair of small, round obsidian earrings, skin kissed with a warm tan, and a build similar to my own with slender shoulders and a fine waist. Yet he was taller than me, grinning wide, and I stood before him growing threatened by his mere forthright and mindlessly considerate manners. The minute stains on his wrist cuffs explained writer, where he favored blue inked pens, his thin calloused fingers suggested he’d mastered the violin or cello some years ago and hasn’t placed it down since.

“My name is Thomas,” he informed me simply, then inhaled slowly to calm himself. “Yes, I was worried about you because of your face and how,” he grappled with himself, then changed his mind. “You looked constipated, I’m sorry. You don’t anymore, which I’m really glad about. But I was nervous when I first saw you, then I thought maybe you were lost and that I could help you find your way. You still look sort of ill. Could I get your name?”

I wanted to die.

Was that a pickup line? I sensed danger, of somewhat homosexual proportions, and I cursed myself for my unique name for what I imagined was the very first time of my entire life. “No,” I blurted.

He was crestfallen, but managed to save his smile. “Okay. I’m sorry. Could I escort you somewhere then? Maybe the nurse, or even your class if you’re having trouble getting there easily. The campus is rather huge, and even took me a week to find my own bedroom. You could imagine how foolish I felt,” he chuckled.

“No. Thank you. I have to know where I’m headed without guidance. You won’t always be there for me,” I attempted lightly, as nausea sprouted inside me. I had to vacate immediately. I’d requested an additional audience with the headmistress, both as an excuse to wander the corridors, and in hopes to gather a second glimpse at her office and the layout I’m expected to have committed to recollection.

“Oh, but I could be,” he offered gently, with a bit too much amorous urgency. “May I just say that you caught my eyes for more than just how nauseated and angry you looked. You…” he allowed himself an entire glance up and down my body at least three times. I felt myself retreat a step. “Well, you’re beautiful, lost stranger.”

A rose, plump and the deepest red of love and adoration, suddenly sat in his grip, outstretched to me. A love confession? “Listen,” I began, and, as tenderly as I could manage, guided the rose back to him. “This isn’t a Western movie, and I appreciate your gesture. Honestly, I do. But I’m a freshman and I can’t subject myself to distractions like love and relationships. I have to focus every moment on school and homework.” I presented a kindhearted smile as well. “My parents would kill me if I get anything less than top grades,” I added for measure, begging with every deity and divinity alive and ruling that Thomas would accept my declination, depart the way he’d come.

His eyes certainly teared at their corners, yet he nodded. “Of course. Please, just at the very least, graciously take the flower to your dorm. Maybe by the window in a vase, so I’ll know where to find you again?”

I’m not interested. “It’d be my pleasure. I’ll do so upon my arrival.”

Thomas beamed at me as though I was the Sun, Moon and Stars. After a shy moment’s hesitation, he tossed me another kind smile and nodded again, slinging his bag back over his shoulder to begin walking, thankfully, away from me. I sighed listlessly as I observed the rose, my upset over the whole ordeal deepening at the perfection he’d gifted to me. With my own eyes and in photographs, computers, television or otherwise, I’d never seen a flower so flawlessly crafted by nature. It would be a heavy crime to discard of it, truly.

A large piece of me yearned to sustain its life as the stranger wished of me to do, never witness its petals shrivel or its stem bend under its own weight. The fragrance was sweet and bold, and I found myself gazing at the place Thomas had been standing patiently mere seconds ago. Guilt slammed into me. I longed for his return so I could express my more sincere gratitude than what I had presented him with. There wasn’t a purpose to my chilled words, how readily I turned from him, turned him from me, as he had only meant the very best.

Well. It’s done, and I could no longer locate him in the scattered sea of grey uniforms even if I agonizingly endeavored to. I dropped the rose to my side, wondering then where I’d come across a vase accessible for student use, and ambled on to the headmistress’s office, allowing myself to regain focus to my original obligation. If I was to gather the information Elder sought, why shouldn’t I begin at the very heavens of this towering totem pole? As far as I was concerned, Thomas wasn’t even a piece of a carving let alone a face on the pillar.

#short story #lgbt #original writing #my writing #Priantierre #my story #mine #my edit #which is just my tag for the stuff i make so ignore it

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