chapter one
Creature Chronicles: The Fifth Element
It’s been ten years since I’ve smelt the burning melanin and heard the bad men and their stinky, evil magic ravage my old village.
It’s been ten years since the Tygoni and their hatred decimated a part of me I can never take back from their dirty, thieving fingers. Ma and Po and Yohan are forever a memory, wispy dreams within another dream. Forever chunks of who I was supposed to be, skidding along the horizon before the Tygoni crash through and smear the blood of my people across their proud chests.
It’s been a decade since Big Mimi wrapped her scratchy shawl around me and whisked me away to the realm of the mortals. These strange people have ways all their own. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or mortified to have become indistinguishable amongst them. If Ma and Po were to come find me, impossibly, would they even recognize me as their own? Would Yohan, now forever a young boy, see his twin sister in me?
Waking to an overcast sky and a toe-nipping draft, I pull my tattered quilt tighter around me and snuggle down deeper into my bed. This quilt is the last piece of my old life that I have. All of my old things are probably decomposing in the leftover carnage of my lost home. Blinking my eyes open lazily, I catch glimpses of the calendar hanging above my desk. A fat star is scribbled over today's date. It's the anniversary of my village's massacre. Every year on this day I take some paper lanterns down to the creek and set sail my wishes. It keeps me from grieving too terribly. Mimi sometimes makes me a nice dinner. Fries some plantains over blackened rice and sweet potatoes. When she’s in a particularly good mood I can convince her to call me out of school and we’ll marinate some peaches for a cobbler.
But, the cobbler isn’t even the best scenario. On those odd years when Mimi is feeling a little bitterly nostalgic herself, she pulls out her old book of Imani recipes and lets me help her mix up a pot of balancing brew. Bad emotions come from an imbalanced spirit. The brew helps align the soul with the mind and create a balance that leaves a euphoric feeling for a couple of hours before fading and leaving the person’s spirit renewed. It’s potent stuff and takes hours to prepare, even longer to activate. I dare say I prefer a big pot of brew over the cobbler. Mimi usually gives me more menial tasks when using Imani magic. She says my powers are still developing and if I strain them doing more powerful magic than I’m ready for it could have adverse affects on my body and soul. So when she allows me a peek into the world of big kid magic, I savor every moment of it like it may be my last.
Staring blankly at my desk, weaved with ivy and green plants spilling out of their pots and winding down the sides of the table, I take a few more, long moments to shudder away the melancholy before I’m kicking the quilt away. I can smell breakfast before I’m even at my bedroom door, slipping out to pad down the stairs barefoot. The sitting room is dark, curtains drawn and looking even more sinister than I’m used to seeing it. It’s full of Mimi’s books and records. Growing up, I was never allowed in there because she was afraid I’d tear something or get my sticky, little kid fingers all over her pages. Even after growing up and now being allowed to peruse a book or two, I usually only spend a few moments plucking at a few bindings before grabbing some reading and going up to my room or out to the garden in back. There’s a hammock hanging across double-doors that open up to a cobblestone path leading to the garden and greenhouse.
Flipping corncakes with one hand and frying up some turkey sausages with the other, Big Mimi starts when she sees me walking in, nearly knocking the pan over and sending the sausages flying. “Damn, Yulyi. Do you want to see me in my grave? Make noise when you walk in a room.”
A little disgruntled and still halfway asleep, I try my luck with some sarcasm as I slide into a chair at our fat, round, wooden table. “We should get a little bell. Tie it around my neck. You’d know I was coming before I do.”
Big Mimi turns, slow and sinister, with her cornmeal-crusted spatula poised like a paddle. She clears , eyes severe. My neck prickles and I lament immediately.
“Sorry,” I say quietly, guiltily. “I’m still a little sleepy.”
Big Mimi huffs and turns her attention back to breakfast. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful this morning, little girl. Or I would have got your for that smart mouth of yours. Now, is there a reason you’re being so disrespectful?”
Feeling like a mouse caught in a trap, cheese hard and sour between my jaws, I shrug. “I had that dream again, Mimi.”
Immediately, she turns off the stove, and tosses the few corncakes into an awaiting paper towel. Then she wipes her hands on her apron and walks over to me, balancing her wide hips in the chair next to mine. I already can tell by looking into her big, dark eyes that she’s worried for me. I’m worried for me, too.
Can dreams evolve?
I’ve been having one dream ever since I was a child. The strange thing about it is, every year or so something else is added to the dream. Like I’m watching a movie in pieces, and every few months I unlock another five minutes or so.
“Seo Yulyi Blue.” Mimi places her calloused hand on mine. Distracted for a moment by her prominent veins and defined knuckles, I nearly miss what she says next. “It’s just a bad dream. It’s not true. Can’t ever come true. The Tygoni lost our trail a long time ago. I made sure of it. So...just go get ready for school and I’ll have a plate waiting down here. Go on.”
Without taking the time to loiter in the sitting room and run my fingers over the dusty bindings of Mimi’s books like usual, I head straight upstairs and go to the bathroom. Pulling aside the curtains made of ivy and forest debris (Mimi’s handiwork, of course) I turn on the hot water and jump in. I try to distract myself by being more meticulous about lathering my skin with coconut soap, circling my bamboo scrub in different patterns and closing my eyes, shutting off my sight so I can really hear. Hear the different sounds of the grove beyond. Birds chirping in the trees just outside the window. The water gurgling in the creek some paces past our greenhouse. Woodland creatures ambling about and breaking twigs and crackling leaves beneath their feet. All of this I do in order to not think about my dream. My strange, movie-like dream I have convinced myself for years isn't prophetic in nature.
But the strange call of a bird I don’t recognize eerily resembles the noises the Tygoni made to each other as they slinked through our village so many years ago and plunged their cursed spears into Imani flesh. The same blood-curdling noises in my dream, where I’m lost in a forest and then stumble into a clearing. The sky is an unearthly crimson, boasting a gathering of black clouds that shroud the sun and send the world into a grey mist. Battered all around by that throaty, resounding jumble of Tygoni tongue, I’m fumbling through the trees again, driven by terror and in search of a nook I can squeeze into that frees me from their beastly calls.
With no sense of direction I somehow find my way back to my village. The carnage is too much for my weary soul to bear. I burst through a random cottage door and slam it behind me. Pulse thrumming against my chest like a woodpecker’s beak against an old oak, I shrink to the ground and curl into fetal position, nauseous and unable to catch a proper breath. There’s screaming. Children screaming. Men and women begging for sweet mercy. Then the cottage’s door swings open and I look up, squinting through a haze. The intruder’s face is a mystery, framed in red mist. I only make out Ma’s beaded, green bracelet, Po’s prized staff, and Yohan’s beloved, lavender blanket dangling from their belt. An empty space in the middle is usually the last of what I see before I’m waking, damp where I’ve sweated through my pajamas and heart aching for people I’ll never know again.
I don’t have nightmares. Plural. Just the one. It’s always the same, only more is added to it. Like I’m playing a video game and once my twisted and battered conscious defeats a boss, I level up to explore a new, even more grizzly area. I’ve told Big Mimi about all of the developments up until the intruder’s belt of “trophies”. She tells me I have nothing to worry about. Even if the Tygoni took time out of their busy schedule of comitting genocide to notice escapees, they’ve stopped looking by now. It’s been ten years after all. Surely they’ve moved on to an even greater and more heinous conquest.
Before I start pruning, I get out of the shower, wrap myself in a fluffy towel, and run to my room as fast as I can without slipping on the wooden floor and giving myself a concussion. Shivering all the way down to my bones, I bundle down on the edge of my bed and dig my toes into the shag rug, shuddering from the draft. It’s always cold in the morning. Even during the most sweltering days of summer, it’s just a bit chill in the morning. But, Autumn mornings are more than my bare legs and shoulders can take. Mimi tells me it’s stupid that I refuse to switch bedrooms with her despite always complaining about the cold. But, her room doesn’t have double-doors that swing out onto a side patio and have a direct route to the garden and is only a stone’s throw to the right of the grove. Not to mention when I’m having trouble sleeping, I can just snuggle up in the armchair next to the glass doors and count the stars until I’m passed out again. At times, they seem like a portal. I could step through them and slip right into another reality.
After some warmth has returned to my skin and the goosebumps are settling, I tuck the folds of my towel in tight and head to my dresser to pilfer for an outfit. Twenty minutes later, I’m swathed in cocoa butter, sporting my trusty Autumn jeans-and-sweater combo, and my black, wavy hair is pulled into a bun. Some hot corncakes and turkey sausages are waiting for me when I go back downstairs, but Mimi is now gone. She’s left a note on the crickety, kitchen table that reads:
Gone into town to shop. Have a good day, sugar.
-Mimi
Sitting for breakfast, I go over my homework and work through the sweet and buttery corncakes. My English paper is coherent at best. It’s not the most spectacular thing I’ve ever written. And I’m certainly dreading how Mrs. Hyn, who nearly cut me for using ‘thus’ improperly, grades my subpar assignment.
Living so far out of town means school busses usually look at my address and laugh, a real knee-slapping, gut-busting kind of laugh. I ride the public bus to school. It's an hour and a half ride with a transfer and a ten minute walk. Most days I'm falling asleep, head lolling against the seat and only snapping my eyes open in panic periodically at the sound of the bell ringing, gripped with fear that I've somehow missed my stop twenty minutes into the ride. Other days it's prime time to finish homework. And rarely, very rarely when I'm trying to catch up on sleep or schoolwork, I sketch. Times like those, I realize that I'm much more for the brush than I am for the pen or pencil. Something about my hands being covered in cracking paint makes me really feel like I'm creating.
* * * * *
Art 3 is like it sounds. Done with most of the basics, we’re mostly left to our own devices during classtime. We’re working on our first project of the year right now. The topic is home. We can use any of the mediums we’ve learned through the first two years and the first month of our third year to create our own representation of home. My heart twinges, as it usually does, at that word. But then I think of the grove and Mimi’s gapped smile and I think it won’t be as hard as I’d like to think it might be.
Ten minutes into individual work time and Ms. Jay claps to get our attention. I’ve been so focused that when I look up and see a boy standing next to her it seems like a jolt. Feels like magic. But, she must have had to walk in with him at some point.
“Class, I know you’re really focused right now and I’m sorry to rock your groove. But, I want to introduce a new classmate.” She gestures to the boy standing next to her. He looks about six foot with dark, straight eyebrows peeking through his shaggy, auburn hair, almond-shaped deep brown eyes, and plush lips. “This is Kim Taehyung He’ll be joining us this year. Would you like to say something?”
“Uh, yeah.I just moved here with my aunt and uncle. I like to draw, I guess. Nothing too serious. Just some sketches here and there. I do bike designs, too.” His voice is smooth.
“Okay, Taehyung.” Mrs. Jay clasps her hands together and looks my way, gesturing to the seat next to mine. “You can have the easel next to Yulyi. She can let you know what we're doing.”
He nods and heads his way over to me, eyes on me as he walks and an easy, amiable smile on his face. Is it stupid that my stomach quivers? That my palms moisten? Can it be I'm such a dweeb that my body starts to betray me at the mere sight of a cute boy? Because that would ing .
“Hey,” he says, swinging his backpack to the floor and balancing on the stool in front of the easel.
“Hey,” I say back. “So, basically, we're using any medium we've learned so far to represent home.”
“Abstract.” He snorts.
“It's art, right?”
“Well, back where I’m from, art is color by numbers,” he says this is such a way that my heart hurts for him. Kind of a plain resignation.
“Where are you from?” I ask out of burning curiosity.
He smiles at me, sad. “A town I ached to leave every moment, but now that I have, it’s bittersweet. There is only one school of thought, and if you don’t learn from it, you’re considered an idiot. There’s a mold and if you don’t fit in it, you cut the odd pieces and shove yourself in.”
“No offense, but that sounds like a cult.”
“No offense, but that’s rude as .”
“I mean, the way you talk about it, people would think you hate it anyway.”
“Even if you’re dad’s a raging, abusive alcoholic drinking himself into the grave...he’s still your dad.” Taehyung shrugs. “I can call him a hopeless drunk with a death wish, but you can’t. Kinda like how I can beat my brother into a pulp, but if anybody else touched him, I’d wring their neck.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have siblings.”
“You’re an only child?”
Winded, I force a nod and shrug as if to say “that’s how it is”. That’s not how it is. I should have a sibling. I should have a whole family.
“Must be nice,” he says.
“Yeah, nice.” I bite my lip to discourage a dissatisfied grunt.
“So, what's yours gonna be about?” Taehyung leans closer to my easel, completely uninvited and curious. I stretch my arm out to block his view and he looks up at me, questioning.
“That's kinda personal.” I raise my eyebrows.
“You know about my cult,” Taehyung says with a smirk. “And my drunkard father.”
Dropping my arm, I say, “You weren't being hypothetical?”
Again, he snorts. “I wish.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes parents .” He straightens himself back up in front of his own easel with a shrug. “What's yours like?”
Without hesitation, I say, “I live with my grandma.” Hopefully, he’ll take my slim reply as a hint I want to drop the subject. Instead, he must see it is an open invitation to probe and figure out more because he asks me what my grandma’s like. Anxious to get out of this conversation, I’m deeply relieved when the bell rings and I turn to him with a fake regretful shrug and a weak ‘maybe next time’. I pack up my things at a speed I never have before, all while trying to not break anything and look like I’m busting out of a prison. As I’m weaving between kids and making my way to the door, I feel a hand around my arm and instincts have me snatching my body back, affronted.
Taehyung throws his hands up and gives me some space. “Sorry, sorry. I just...I don’t-Uh, can I have your number or something?”
“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Can I have your number?”
“Why?” I snap. “So you, a total stranger, can ask me more personal questions about my life? Look, you may be the oversharing type, but I’m not. Call me old-fashioned, but I think we at least need to be friends before you can ask me about my deepest, darkest secrets.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking all sad and genuine. My easily appeased emotions incline me to forgive him. Damn them. “I’m new to town. My home’s kind of a wreck and I could use someone to talk to. I’ll only ask your favorite ice cream flavor and if you’re a morning or night person.”
Unable to hide my growing smile, my lips twitch. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Fine.” We exchange phones and numbers. When he hands mine back, he looks like he has a question to ask. And I suddenly have the feeling I won't shake him easily.
“Has anyone given you a tour yet?” I ask.
He lights up. “Are you volunteering?”
“I guess.” I shrug. “ If you stick around after school, I can show you around. I'm here for Green Thumbs Against Urbanization today anyway. Cool?”
“Cool.” He smiles a lopsided kind of grin I try not to swoon at. Then he reaches in his backpack and pulls out a map that's been highlighted to high heaven. Regardless of all the marking, Taehyung is staring at it like it's transforming, squinting at the criss-crossing arrows as not to miss it's final form. With a heavy sigh, I slip the map from his hands and flip it over to see his schedule. It's too early to decide if it's luck or ill-fate that he shares my next class.
Leaning over my shoulder and looking at the paper, Taehyung says, “I'm directionally challenged. So, looking at this does nothing for me. Just a bunch of arrows and fat dots. Assistance please?”
Staring back at him, I let out an incredulous breath. “You're useless, aren't you? Just useless.”
“Not sure,” Taehyung says with a growing smirk. “I'm sure you could find a few uses for me.”
I fake gag. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe. Is it working?” he asks.
“No,” I say resolutely. “But you're lucky I'm feeling altruistic today.”
“Praise!” He sweeps his hand in front of me. “Lead the way.”
As we're walking through the hall to get to the stairs at the end, I notice people are staring. My first instinct is to wipe whatever it is on my face. Mid-wipe, I realize I'm walking with the new kid and I drop my hand. To other people he must look pretty mysterious and maybe even a little cool in his way. He seemed that way to me, too. For, like, thirty seconds. But, then he opened his mouth and that aura of coolness dissipated into nothingness.
I'm doing my best to explain to Taehyung the different parts of the school, tracing my finger across the map's markings and trying to get him to visualize real places instead of flat shapes. That's what I'm doing when we walk into second period Psychology. I look up in snips and glances on our way to my seat, hoping I can get this through to him so I don't have to sacrifice another break between class karting Columbus around. That's why I don't notice Frederik standing there, unfamiliar papers in hand and looking ready to tear into me.
“True Blue,” he says with a simper and slaps the papers on my desk when I get there. Irritated just by his presence, I roll my eyes and slide the papers over to put down the map, still explaining to Taehyung.
“Hellooo.” He waves his hands in front of my face. “Blue Sky. The papers. Me. Planning on acknowledging any of it?”
Turning my head, I regard the papers with a nod and then I'm back to Taehyung again, hoping Frederik will vanish in thin air as I explain how the class numbers work to Taehyung who's still squinting in confusion.
“Yo. Blue As The Sea.”
“What do you want?” I finally say, aggravated. “I can read the papers. I don't need a debriefing from you, Freddie Flinstone.”
Frederik bristles and sneers.
“Call me by my name, I'll call you by yours.”
Icy, green eyes flashing with anger and blonde hair ashing over to grey, Frederik huffs. “Read the damn papers. They're on the agenda for the meeting.”
He practically stomps over to his desk and plops down, comically infuriated. Frederik is like a cartoon villain. Impossibly pestering, but incapable of doing any violent damage. I feel bad for him sometimes. How awful it must be to feel high strung and uptight for literally no damn reason? The mere thought is terrible.
“Freddie Boy seems testy,” Taehyung says, and I look up at him. “Definitely the type to sit at home, drinking pointedly non-alcoholic beverages and wagging his finger at the corrupted youths.”
“What can I say?” I shrug. “Frederico is a big guy on campus.”
“A big pain in your ?” Taehyung guesses.
I stage gasp. “You read minds, too?”
“So, this uh, Green Thumbs Against Establishment-”
“Urbanization,” I correct him.
“Same thing, no?” He tilts his head in question. “Is it important to you?”
“I guess,” I say. “I joined back in sophomore year. I made vice president earlier this year, but guess who made president?”
“Darling Freddie Boy?”
I nod with a heavy sigh. “He's making it hell on earth for me. But I care too much to quit. Damned conscious.”
Taehyung takes the paper and holds it up, reading it aloud. “To commemorate 20 years of servicing the community, we here at Wyndell Botanical Gardens are throwing a festival.”
Excited, I take the paper from him and read it for myself. “I love Wyndell Gardens. Wow, who would’ve thought Freddie would ever bring me any sort of joy? Something must be in retrograde.”
“So…” Taehyung slides more off his seat and closer to mine. “You busy this Saturday?”
Setting the paper down, I toss him a strange look. “Why…?”
“Because I know a cool place that’s throwing a festival. And I think you’d be interested.” He smiles a dumb, goofy smile.
Rolling my eyes but unable to hide a tiny grin, I say, “I’m the local. That’s my line.”
“Well, what’s taking you so long?” Taehyung huffs in mock discontent. “I’m greying over here.”
“First, Green Thumbs after school,” I say. “Then we’ll talk.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
A/N: First chapter is out! This took me literal weeks. Hoping to keep an update schedule of every Monday. Like, piece a chapter together during the week and update weekly. Sound good? -Mia
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