NEPTUNE

“I touched the grass,” I said faintly. “It felt real, like the grass in the city. I thought I wasn’t supposed to know, so I didn’t say anything about it.”

I lay on the ground. I turned my gaze from the little boy and faced upwards at the collapsing skyscraper; the last of the standing buildings in our town. 

The sun was beautiful. It shone its radiance directly at me. A cool dusty breeze blew by. That was the only sound I heard. 

Time slowed. Small pebbles gradually fell on the ground around me. I couldn’t feel any that landed on my body. I could neither feel my arms nor my legs. I watched as the huge chunks of concrete slowly detach from the top of the skyscraper and begin their fall towards me. They covered the sun and cast a shadow upon me.

The boy stood. He walked towards the entrance of the skyscraper. Smaller rocks from above hit the ground where dust rose and slowly settled. The little boy stopped. He turned and faced me.

His eyes shone with a blue light. 

“Neptune!” 

I jerked upwards and landed on the wooden floor - hard. My pillow landed next to me. I lay there for a while, letting the pain settle.

“Neptune! Get your filthy body outta that room now. It’s seven and you’re getting late for school!”

One of the queerest things about me was how I still lived with the same mother that killed my father. Yeah, and also the dream I kept having. 

I got up and dragged myself to the bathroom. I stood in the mirror for a while, observing the black-haired sixteen year old girl. My red iris gave people creeps. I used that to my advantage. My thin lips helped me manage a perfectly molded sneer that sent people looking away in fear. I enjoyed that.

“Neptune!”

I raised my left arm and studied it. I did that every time I had the dream. I got the same result. The third scratch mark was gone. I had seven scratches on my top left arm. I didn’t know how I got them. They had no pain. I counted three. Every time the weird little boy appeared in any of my dreams, one scratch mark disappears. I thought of visiting a therapist but he or she will also end up looking for a therapist. I again wondered what would happen when all the scratches heal. 

I flushed my face with water. 

School wasn’t quite the best of places for me. I hated people. I hated talking too much. I hated being looked at. I hated looking at people. I hated the word itself. The lessons hadn’t begun yet so most of students were talking their brains out in the school hallway. I walked into the school hallway. Everyone went silent. That wasn’t the first time. They knew me. They knew how and who killed my dad.

As usual I would ignore the awkwardness, walk to my locker, pick my books and head off to class.

I didn’t even know what I was in school for. I had no passion or a dream career. I let things be the way they would turn out to be. I just – lived. I searched my locker for a physics textbook. It wasn’t there. Nobody ever dared to touch my things. Teachers included. I cross-checked. It still wasn’t there. I sighed and shut my locker door.

I didn’t bother to knock on the door before entering class. As usual, everything came to a standstill. Everyone silently eyed me as I walked to my desk. I didn’t blush. My hair never stood. I took my sit and eyed the teacher, who snapped out of whatever was going on in his mind and continued teaching. 

I raised my arm. Everyone turned and stared. I heard my desk mate counting to three. They always counted the scratches.

“Like charges repel, unlike charges attract.” I answered.

Mr. Ruvolski stared at me with a blunt, face. So did everyone. This happened every day. I was used to it. I stared back at the teacher. I raised an eyebrow and he again snapped out of what he was thinking. He turned and continued writing on the board. 

“Duck”

I turned to my desk mate. 

“Pardon”

The boy turned and our eyes met. He instantly looked away. He gave me nervous side glances to check if I was still staring. I was. He quickly switched to reading his book. I noticed the class had gone silent again. The teacher was staring. I stared back and he quickly looked away. I said I was used to this, but this has gone to a whole new level. It's really getting me worked up.

I blinked.

Mr. Ruvolski continued with his teaching. I was sure he never taught the way he did at the moment. Mr. Ruvolski usually threw rib crackers at the students. In my presence, he taught as if I was gonna blow up in the next five minutes. Everyone behaved in the same way.

Except for my mother. 

Karma always listens to our worst thoughts. A sudden rush of violent wind accompanied by stones and rubble from the wall swept through the whole class. I wiped dust off my face and spat some from my mouth. A stinging pain swept through my face as a breeze rushed in from outside through where the obliterated wall should have been. I touched my cheek with my thumb and found blood. 

I slowly stood up, dust dropping off. I examined my body. No major injuries; just the scratch on my cheek. Talk of unfairness. Everyone sat on their desks. Not a single particle of dust on them.

They still stared at me. 

“Oh come on!” I shouted.

  Mr. Ruvolski wasn’t staring at me. His head was tilted towards the large hole in the wall. I followed his gaze. I closed my eyes and pinched myself. I opened them.

The little boy still stood there. He still stared at me with the glowing blue eyes.

"Crap." I whispered under my bredth.