Mystagogue

I made my way to a small shady shack and got in line like everybody else. I sighed as I was standing at least two meters away from the actual door.

I noticed that the boy, standing in front of me, was speaking to himself, very much like I had just been. I wanted to tap his shoulder for him to snap out of it but my arm just laid dead next to my body.

A few minutes went by and the line hadn't really gotten any shorter, or longer for that matter. I was starting to think that this was useless and that I should turn back until the boarded up glass door opened and something didn't feel quite right.

The line of people hesitantly went in, excluding the boy and I. We exchanged a worried look as we heard some sort of screeching and blood curling screams. Then it became more and more evident.

My mother had told me about these people and how they wanted to experiment on us. They weren't going to magically cure us, they were going to use us as lab rats. So, in a swift and grand gesture, I grabbed the boy's arm and hurried away from the dead zone.

We ended up behind an abandoned building, catching our breath. He was confused, and probably angry, that I had taken him away from the so-called savior. I quickly thought of a way to explain this disappointment, but in the end it came out just like projectile vomiting.

"Th-theyweregoingtokillus, theyaren'tgoingtohelpus," I spat-out, regrettably. It killed me to see the flash of hopelessness in his hazel eyes but in a way, I believe, he was grateful.

He walked around, rather awkwardly, and rubbed his hands together creating heat because of the loss of feeling in the tips of his fingers. I heard a long defeated sigh and watched him run his fingers in his dark brown hair.

Slowly, he came back and sat on the freezing pavement next to my feet. I shrugged and did the same, his body was facing mine as if to start a conversation, but not a single sound came out of his half-opened mouth.

I half-smiled to encourage him to speak just as he started to pronounce; "I'm Brenton."

I didn't quite hear quite well so I choked out; "Brenton?" The corners of his lips curled into an amused smile. Mission accomplished, I thought contently to myself.

"It means fire, in old english, at least, that's what my grandfather told me when I was little," My head bobbed signaling him to continue. "You see, my family has a tradition, for every newborn child we give he, or she, an element name and w-"

Brenton stopped his nostalgic story mid-sentence and laughed awkwardly.

He scratched the back of his neck and spoke, "You never told me your name." I felt like a complete moron, I had forgot to tell him who I was, how classic of me.

"My name is Arella Bellamont," He nodded, "Just call me Elle." His eyebrows connected but he didn't look serious, he looked like he was thinking about something.. fun.

"Your name means messenger of God, right?" I was amazed, no, flabbergasted. No one that I have ever met knew the meaning of my name, they all thought that it had something to do with the little mermaid, Ariel.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Hell yeah, I'm curious.

He smirked and replied; "Just a wild guess."

We conversed for a while on about our pasts, and our present. While we spoke, Brenton told me about how he would flick through every television channel to find something about the Sex Pistols. He changed before he could see his beloved band perform, I felt bad for him but I've had worst than that.

"So tell me, where are you staying, you know like a hide-out?" I asked curiously changing the subject of families.

He looked at his shoes and said; "I still live in my childhood home, there's too many memories to just give it up and run for the hills."

Dammit, I didn't mean to get back on that topic..

"I'm sorry for bringing that up again, I jus-" I was about to give him the ever-so-famous 'I'm so so so sorry' line but he cut me off before the word vomit.

He put his hands in front of himself, palms up and said; "Hey now, it's fine, you didn't mean to. So, where do you stay?"

I panicked, I didn't want to admit that I lived in the abandoned warehouse that was built upon my childhood home. I don't have an have a bed, or working lights for that matter, but I have clothes in my old Madonna school bag that I stole sometime in the 80's. Its certainly degrading.

He stared at me, giving me goosebumps; "Um, I.. I live in..."

Brenton frowned and, I think, caught on that I wasn't currently residing anywhere in existence, well, house-wise anyway.

He took my hand and said; "You know, Elle, if you need a place to stay, you're welcome to stay at my house." I was awfully grateful but still, that was a lot coming from a person I had just met.

Then it hit me, why was I hesitating? I found an other of my kind that is against their demons, it's perfect! There isn't any flaw in this living plan.

I wasn't paying attention when he called out my name, but hell, I felt him slap me across the face.

"What. The. Hell." I spat out venomously leaving the boy dazed, confused and scrambling.

Wide-eyed, he answered; "I thought, well, it was after you, so, so I tried to get you back.. I'm sorry."

I shook my head. I couldn't help but smile, I mean I could count on him to make me snap out of it, it was pure bliss.

"It's fine, thanks. So, about your offer," He grinned from ear to ear, I was guessing that he was happy again, just guessing.

By now he was already on his feet staring down, letting out his hand to lift me up. On my feet, I didn't feel as cold as I did before.

He led me to this rustic-looking house that was clearly run-down. It did look remotely homely but it probably just was because he was standing in the door way illuminating its gloominess.

"Well, c'mon. We don't know if they followed us here and I really don't want to find out." He said sticking his head out of the doorway and motioning me to come in.

"Fine," I half-whispered, stalking into the creaky house like a grounded child.