Electric-Dark

Electric-Dark: Chapter One: Dark

Herald Davis York, the founder of Coral, the institute for all young high school boys, has acquired many degrees that aided him in his successful institute. The school was a monumental leap in success if viewed on a job application. Also, the school was often in the news paper, mostly due to the gifted students’ science fair held once a year.
The first bell rang. It sent its noise far across the mass campus.
The cars that soon arrived all were driven by parents who let their children, students of the school out to charge their brains with knowledge. The kids were eager to learn, they waived their parents off happily while running through the double glass doors.

All the cars had swung its doors open letting out students. One however, was not so eager; either a parent wanting the embarrassing affection that kids hated or a child did not so eagerly want that “successful” knowledge the school entailed.

The car was a 2008 Black Porsche Cayman S with two white thin stripes lining the cars hood and trunk.

“Nathan, come on, I hate this school!?”

“No Anwar, and that’s the last time I’m going to tell you.” Nathan said turning to Anwar, who looked at his father, Nathan, in a face of sickness.

“It’s not going to work.” Nathan said still leaning back with one hand on the steering wheel looking to his right at Anwar, who sat in the passenger’s seat. “You need to go to school Anwar.”

“But it won’t count. Today is not really important; everyone knows the fist day’s a waste of time.” Anwar pleaded.

“Time you have plenty of. You know those video games are a waste of your time. You stay up all hours playing them. Now get out, no more arguing!”

Anwar knew once his father raised his voice it would turn out better if he listened to him. Especially when his left eye twitched, that meant he was really serious.
Anwar stepped out the car tuning out his father’s words, he always said them. (Don’t slam my door) Like his car was more important than his own son.

Anwar made his way onto the smooth concrete ground that stretched to the transparent double doors. Such expensive glass was new now days. The glass absorbed sun light, it was a remarkable new discovery, but Anwar hated it. That shine almost blew out his eyes. Normal Electricity automated doors were much better than solar powered ones, he thought.
The sensor on the door caught a movement in its beam and opened. It was faster than an electric automated door. Anwar wished it would swing its self into a million pieces faster.

His first day into high school life was not going the way his dad expected. He knew he would be picked on, he was among the few black students, and even they would pick on him. It’s because I’m lighter than them he thought. Because he had caramel skin and they had dark chocolate. Nathan would always tell his son, Anwar, “There are no racial issues in America anymore.” But every time he went to a school he was made fun of due to that fact. His black classmates put him in the white category, and his white classmates put him in the black category. So what category was he truly in?

At school he talked very little. He just listened to the soft whispers around him. They were most likely about him.
The teacher asked him a question and he said he didn’t know. The teacher took it as not paying attention. But he was. He went through all the possible answers in his head but they were all wrong. He did not have the right one so he really did not know.

His first day of school ended with a question: Why were rich kids always so stuck up. They brag about all the things they got when they know that everyone there has the same things being that they are also wealthy. They had every thing, yet I had hardly anything. Surely the new PSP, my nice clothes, my cell phone ---the G4, backpack, pens, pencils and my father’s car would attract eyes but where is the love in that? He thought. And not just eyes of men his father’s car attracted, but women too.

While walking out into the lobby and through the hated glass double doors he recalled his father’s loss, his mother. At least her picture, he had never actually seen her before; this was due to his birth, and he believes his father hates him because of his murder.
After Anwar’s mother passed away his father became oddly dispatched from his life. Coming home, eating, and then locking himself away in his room working on his art work on buildings. Anwar rarely talked to his dad. They were like roommates.

For the past week he has been returning to himself. And Anwar’s relationship with his father has been increasing. Buying a new car was supposed to help him with his new found goal: to care for me, but it just attracted unwanted attention.

The startling engine was the exact attention Anwar thought of, for the car had pulled up to the curve fast inside the long line of other expensive and unnecessary cars.
Anwar rushed over to the car hoping the staring faces would go away, followed by the greeting: “Hey son.
How was school? Did you have fun?”

Asking questions is what Anwar’s father thinks as getting close to someone or getting to know them. Anwar was annoyed by the constant questioning, it filled him with annoyance. It was like he was suspected of some kind of artifice crime.
The questions regarding his mother annoyed the both of them. The one at school ---is your mother or father white--- was the most agitating.

He got in and closed the door harder than necessary that, answered all of the questions Nathan had asked.

“What happened? It could not have been that bad.”

More questions.

“Nathan, I just want to go home and do my home work, if that’s all right?” Anwar replied.

“But it’s ice-cream Thursday,” Nathan said.

“We won’t be able to do things like that anymore; I have a lot of homework now.” Anwar said.
His stomach bit at him to the thought of cooling ice drowning his passive fury. He didn’t care, that’s why his attempts to try to get to know his own son will be futile. He thought.

Nathan, after a thirty minute highway speed trip, drove the car into the drive way.
The house was huge, not at mansion status but it was close to it. It was tall. In fractions it would be one third of Coral, Anwar’s most hated private school.
The two large windows at the top were horizontal each other, each window belonging to Anwar and Nathan’s bedrooms. The roof above them was unnatural; like a house designer got bored with modern houses for the roof was normal from the front view, but the back view the roof curved in like a dome. The lower roof, above the African mahogany lumber wood front door was squared out two angles that faced them.

Inside, Anwar described as an African history museum. Paintings of famous African Americans were hung on walls and the floors, coated with more African mahogany wood. The wood inside told more stories of the trees deaths, for on its smooth body were swirls of darker shades.

He walked for what seemed, literally, like four minutes to his room. Its bigness and hexagon shape were also odd for a “normal” house. His bed was in the center and along the walls were shelves of the books he loved to read. One wall had a flat screen LCD, which, underneath it were the PS3 and Xbox 360. Anwar’s dresser was lined at the wall closest his bed and closet. His dressers were full of proper clothes like his vest and white button up he wore with plain jeans. Nathan thought he spent his time in here playing games when he was really reading, or playing games. He did not play them too often.

The night was spent with Anwar doing his home work. However long he spent living with his father he could not get used to it. Everything was so shiny, so clean, everything was so perfect. He was used to living with his grandparents; they raised him to be the way he is. Not his father.
Anwar did not even call his father ---dad, just Nathan. That was his name wasn’t it. He thought.

Nathan was not even used to buying preservative foods. Only fast foods were good for him. Anwar was amazed how he didn’t gain weight. It apparently was a family curse.

Anwar rambled through the fridge, but, yet again it was empty.

“We don’t have anything to eat.” Anwar yelled.

What was the point of having a big house if no one could hear him when he called? What if someone kidnapped me?

He took out his annoying phone that he felt was unnecessary, just like the car. No answer from his oh too loving, oh too caring father.

Anwar yelled again but there was no reply that is when he decided to investigate.

No one! There was a note on Nathan’s overly large bed.

It read:

“Sorry you couldn’t come with. I went to get ice cream, I’ll be back. Look for something to eat in the fridge, love you.”

Now I’m going to have to get something from the store a block away. The only thing that was good about having a dad who didn’t care was that I could leave when ever I wanted. Well, in the emergency of food, another need that seemed to be a Sterling curse. He thought putting emphasis on his last name ---Sterling.

It was soothing to be outside. His whole life he used to play on his grandfathers farm. Anwar used to be farm boy, now all of a sudden he becomes rich because his father starts to care.

A block away he could see his house. It didn’t look so big now. The store was just a couple of blocks down. He heard some one’s voice and jumped.

It was Nathan in his racket maker.

“Where are you going?” Nathan called, with the car still creeping on Anwar.

“To get something to eat,” Anwar hollered.

“Come on in I got us both something.”

Anwar looked to the sky as a process to calm his inner anger. If I keep bottling this up it will hurt me. He thought.

Something caught his attention. A light in the sky, it was well brightened or else Anwar would have never saw it. Something dispersed from the light in the sky. It looked about six blocks away.

Anwar heard a voice, RUN! I beg of you Run! You will not like what is to come.
He was oblivious to his father calling him, and then he counted the times he tuned his voice out. It was becoming a habit. But this time Anwar for the second time had seen his father twitch his left eye. He was serious.

He could see the car and how it reflected something behind him also to the blinding light that hit his eyes as he turned around. The piece that left the light, had hit the ground.

He raced to the car but it was too late.

The after shock of the contact from light-thing to earth made the world move. A blast of wind came after. The wind was strong. Anwar felt himself fling like a small rag doll far into the air.
The landscape below him was shrinking, for the wind pushed him through the clouds higher and faster in the air. He flew so fast that trying to grab breaths of oxygen had little avail.
The expensive black Porsche was tossed a block away. Anwar could see, in the air, his father’s car roll, twist, and spin into a house, the house’s windows and the Porsche’s windows teaming into a weapon of blinding reflection.
He could see a crater now, and it was huge. It was the size of a campus of a university. The crater was Coral-deep, but it was shrinking. Constricted as the crater was he could make out the light that was in it; a bowl of baby blue light eating away at the land. Baby blue light was the sight that covered his vision. The display was not the only thing that pained his sensitive eyes but his skin started to burn. His entire body was on invisible flames hanging from the clouds. The light was the stove fire and he was the pot being heated.

His eyes stung, even closed, he thought his body had reached third degree burns, and it felt like his chest was contracting which meant the air that once expanded his lungs was gone because of little oxygen.

Anwar was scared to die. The thin amount of air made it hard to breath.
It felt like his heart was trying to run away from his veined socket. His emotion transmitter that provided him with longevity was trying to leap out, away from the inevitable splat.
All he could do was hold the pain of his chest that his healthy heart kept running into, close his eyes to some how reduce the sting of light which only reduced the light’s magnificent baby blue, and endure the burn that his body tried to fight away. It hurts, all this pain hurts. I just want to die., he thought.

It happened so fast that before he knew it he was one hundred feet into the air looking down like the clouds every day to a city of florescent lights, color, and build.