The spark

Thick snowflakes fell onto my hand as I stretched my arm out of the window. I shuddered and bit my lip in a silent scream as the freezing breeze seemed to creep under my skin and grace my bones. I was so close I could feel it. Just a little more, and I would feel that spark in my fingertips that I longed for.

I had been close to feeling it last Saturday when the snow layers had been even thicker than they were now. In a desperate attempt to feel that flame, I had stood up and almost bent outward, reaching for the full moon that taunted me in the distance. My balance had almost failed me, and there had been a moment in which I thought my family might find my freezing corpse in the morning.

“Mom says dinner is ready!”

The screeching sound of my brother’s voice from behind the door made me yelp and jump off the windowsill in a hurry so he wouldn’t see me. He already was constantly worried and the fact that he didn’t seem to understand basic privacy didn’t help me want to relax around his curious eyes. As if on cue, the door opened with a bang, and in stepped the menace of my nightmares.

Mismatched socks, long brown trousers, and a big green wool sweater that had random auburn dog hair stuck to various places. Dirty blond hair that was a bird’s dream home and sharp green eyes that could pierce through anyone’s soul and mind. I glared at him with as much malice as I could conjure up, and he just raised his eyebrow in a silent question.

“What are you doing…?” he trailed off as he noticed the open window.

“Seriously, Mateo?” He sped around me to slam the window shut and secure the hatch. I puffed up my cheeks in annoyance but didn’t utter a word as he turned towards me yet again to give me that stern look of disappointment.

“You’re going to get sick one of these days.”

“I don’t care” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” he asked with a deepening frown.

“Nothing.” He looked me up and down. I could feel him finding the different pieces and puzzling them together. It was not the first time he had seen me in such a position

.

The first night that I arrived at my foster family’s house, I had gone out into the garden and stood there looking at the bright moon. I tried to feel if my magic. I felt it grow out in the grass between my toes, but when I tried to use it, creating something simple like a snow cloud in my hand, I couldn’t do it.

My new brother had stuck his head out from the front door with a worried look. A few seconds later, a blanket was put over my shoulders, and the older boy sat down beside me in the cold night grass. We got scolded the next day, and yet he never complained about that night or any of the others.

Those nights, I told him about my lost home, and he listened very intently, his eyes widened and his lips parted in amazement. My kingdom can only be located with a special map and the moonlight on a snowy day.

At its heart of my kingdom stood a pure white castle, its four towers reaching so high they seemed to touch the clouds. The castle walls glimmered faintly under moonlight, as if dusted with frost that never melted. Surrounding this majestic center was a village filled with houses of every size and style, each showcasing a charm unique to its maker. Most of them wear cozy red-painted cottages thought. Strings of delicate fairy lights wove around their doors and windows, glowing softly in the evening like warm embers. These weren’t just for decoration each light held a protective magic, flickering to life when the air grew heavy. The village wasn’t large, and that was the best part of it.

“Okay,” he managed a small smile and gestured towards the door. “After you, your royal pain-in-the-ass highness.” My eyes softened at that, and I felt a bit of shame for being so rude.

I hoped he knew that it was just frustration. As I turned on my heel and walked towards the door, I could feel his presence close behind me and a hand softly tousling my hair in a gentle fashion. I sighed in defeat, giving up on trying to stay mad or indifferent to the older male.

At the last step of the stairs, I was hit with the scent of newly baked bread. I followed the homely smell into the small kitchenette that was slightly cramped for four people. Luckily, we never sat in the kitchen and preferred to gather in the living room, where we could have our meal under thick blankets and the open fire. Our mother was putting soup into deep bowls. She was a slender woman with soft hazel brown hair tied into a high ponytail, moving like flowing water.

As a professional dancer, she practiced every day. When she was in a giddy mood, she liked to spin in small circles. And what could make her happier than the day before Christmas?

“Come on, boys, it’s getting cold,” she said as she spun around on her heels and gave us two plates.

The smell of cinnamon mixed with butternut squash was a welcoming one, and my brother and I had a hard time not sprinting into the living room to devour the meal. She made a tsk sound with her lips, and we stopped in our tracks, seeing that we had forgotten the newly baked bread to go with the soup. She had cut two big slices and handed them to us. I took mine with my hands, and my brother took it in his mouth directly, very determined to balance it all the way to the living room between his teeth. Dad had already sat down on the sofa and swallowed half of the meal.

“You kids are too slow. I’m already on my second helping.”

“No patience, Dad. None at all,” my brother teased as he slumped down beside the older man.

I went to sit on one of the love seats instead, with our bronze Irish setter at my feet. I folded a blanket over me and started to sip straight from the bowl. Spoons had never been part of my upbringing when it came to consuming anything liquid. It should always be straight from a cup, easier access and more convenient to bring around on adventurous endeavors around the kingdom’s hidden nooks and crannies.

The house was filled with warmth. Our mother had made sure of that the minute December had come around, decorating from top to bottom. Every little corner needed the smallest red bows or glittery tinsel at every entrance. Big and small packages with different patterns and colors lay out under the Christmas tree that was slightly slanted, almost falling over the small TV it stood beside. A teasing fight had broken out when my brother and I had tried to put on the lights, leaving the poor tree with some trauma.

On top of the fireplace were numerous intricate figures.

One was of a castle with high towers and long corridors perched on a valley of pine trees. It was tinted in a faint blue color, making the white snow decorating its roofs and base stand out. Beside it was a horse standing on its hind legs, painted white as snow. Each of them was my pick during my first Christmas. My foster mother had encouraged me to help with the decorations. She had told me to pick out things that reminded me of my home. I had tried my best that Christmas to do as she asked and gathered all the small pieces that were similar to my real home.

I looked for that little spark since the first day the police took me away from the snowy road where I had accidentally found myself. It had been a fascinating new spot, until a strange metal machine coming towards me at high speed. I knew I had fallen into some portal somehow, but I hadn’t realized I would end up this far from home. My search went through treetops, across weathered ground, and even into skyscraper elevators. Once I was living with my second family, I started to realize that the spark inside me was acting strangely.

It zapped from my spine to my knee, then to my cheek and into my arms, but I couldn’t relocate it in my fingertips. Neither could I see it through my veins or under my fingernails like I used to. There was only a faint red shimmer, visible for a millisecond before it vanished into nothingness. It made me feel numb as the color faded away. I had started to cry, which alarmed my foster family, who, with worried eyes, asked what could possibly be wrong. It was hard to explain that I felt like someone had ripped my chest open, dragged out my soul, and then shredded it in front of my teary eyes.

I did try to explain my feelings to the best of my ability, but the confused looks that appeared on their faces made me shut my lips tight. I didn’t want to go back to the white clad doctor that my parents had taken me to, just so he could say nothing was physically wrong with me.

Fiddling with the hem of my shirt, I looked up at the figurines in longing for my home. I saw my brother catch my gaze and follow it toward the glazed porcelain.

The next thing I knew, he was by my side, sitting on the armrest of the sofa with playing cards in his hands. He shuffled through them and showed me a couple of card tricks. We played, and for a second, the pain withered away as we laughed and teased each other. Looking up at my brother looking through his cards and behind him seeing my parents having a conversation in the light of the fire, I felt my magic glow warm in my chest, quiet but steady.