Gregory and Jared (Fiction)
Ξ July 25th, 2008 | → | ∇ Fiction, Writing |
He sits cross-legged on the floor in the center of the little room. His skin is bare to the purified air except for a pool of cotton around his waist. The only light radiates from a small sphere that sits on a low table before him. The light is flowing gradually from one color to another. White, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, then white again. The illumination is like liquid, sliding over the floor and walls, easing up the young mans still form and pouring down the legs of the table to the floor.
As he concentrates, the orb begins rise from the table, steadily levitating until it is above his head, showering it’s light upon his pale scalp. Gregory flexes his mental effort slightly and the light brightens to the warm glow of a setting sun. He focuses for a moment and fixes the orb where it rests, hovering in the air near the ceiling and uncrosses his legs. He rolls up onto the balls of his feet and the pool of fabric slides down his legs, leaving only his toes and heels exposed. He moves the table into the corner and returns to the center of the room, almost missing the presence of a man standing in the dark of the next room, just out of the lights glow.
“Who’s there?” He asks, wondering why anyone would be here at this time of night. Nothing he was doing was anything they hadn’t seen him do and studied for months already. There was no reason for them to be surprised.
“It’s me.” Jared says, his voice soft as he steps into the light. Gregory pauses for a moment when he sees the young orderly. Not wearing his white uniform, but dressed all in black. The fabric was tight to his torso, it’s sleeves ending about four inches above the wrist, where a silver band circles his right wrist. His black hair braided tightly and pulled up behind his head. Gregory has a momentarily chaotic vision of the other mans body pressed against his, skin sliding together, generating heat through friction and exertion.
Jared’s expression quirks for a moment, arching an eyebrow. He blinks and seems to refocus. “If you want to leave we have to go now. I can’t stay after tonight.”
“What? Why? What’s going on?”
“We don’t have time for all your questions Gregory. I don’t know that we have time to be talking here. You need to trust me.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because,” he smiles and extends his hand, “you aren’t alone in the world.” His hand opens and above the palm a purple flame springs to life, dancing in the air, shooting sparks up towards the glowing orb that still hovers near the ceiling.
