Outliers

I couldn’t walk any faster towards the doors. I twist the knobs roughly, growling. He sits at his desk, reading something off a large screen. He doesn’t acknowledge that I’ve burst into his room with fury.

“How dare you say such a thing?!” I yell.

His finger pauses from scrolling the holographic screen. I walk closer.

“What? Was your plan to marry a dead raccoon, but you got stuck with me instead?”

“Get out,” he orders calmly.

I’m opposite to calm. I’m boiling over what happened earlier with his father.

“You can’t just say things like that—to the king! To the king!”

“I said get out.”

I huff, “You can’t just push me around!”

He stands, making his chair glide back.

“You opened your big mouth. Were you going to tell him you’re an Outlier too?”

I grimace, “Would he be more impress if I were a dead raccoon?”

Prance pulls a smirk on his lips.

“Any day.”

I shake my hands angrily. All he is a spoiled prince that has too much time on his hands. I want smother him. He takes a step, fully facing me.

“Now,” he says, eyeing the door behind me, “Get out.”

“I’m running away,” I wrangle.

“I won’t look for you,” his voice ices me over.

I finally twirl and stomp away from him. I rush down the stairs and out of the cursed mansion. The sun lowers. I can barely breathe. My legs run down the thoroughfare until I reach the middle of the town.

I lose myself between the streets and boulevards. I hide my clenched fists in my coat pocket. The buildings and holograms are brighter at night. The breeze catches my iridescent skirt. No one here knows what I am. They simply pass me by. Why can’t we all live in peace? My soul is aching. Why can’t I breathe properly? I try to fight the tears nearing the edge of my eyes. Suddenly, I see Miss. Peterson walking along with bags in her hands. My eyes widen and I don’t wait for another second to pass. I run up to her, desperately.

“Miss Peterson!” I scream loud for her to hear me.

Her heads shoots up, spotting me running towards her. I drop to my knees at her feet, out of breath.

“Please, Miss Peterson. Please! Don’t leave. I need you to help me,” I beg.

“Shh!” she shushes me. She glances cautiously around, “What on Earth are you even doing here?”

“I was kidnapped. Please, you have to help me.”

“Get up,” she hisses.

I jump to my feet. She looks me over, probably wondering how I gained such wealthy wear. She keeps glancing over her shoulder.

“You…” she begins to ask, but then quickly dismiss her thought. “Just follow me.”

I rub my stained cheeks. She walks ahead of me.

After she lets me enter her home, she shares a word with the nanny. The nanny leaves and Miss. Peterson lets me sit by the kitchen table. It’s a comfortable little house. She prepares me a hot beverage.

“The children are asleep,” she says in a sigh.

I nod my head, guessing she needs me to keep it quiet.

“Did you find your match?” she asks, handing me the small white cup.

I shake my head and then she frowns.

“Then how are you here?”

Though I know Miss Peterson, I feel distant to her. I don’t know if I can tell her everything.

“I was kidnapped,” I say.

She looks again at the expensive coat on my back.

“You’re doing well?” she raises a brow.

“This is deceiving,” I tell her.

She takes a breath in and taps her nails against her granite table.

“What do you want from me?” she asks.

“I—can I stay here, until I figure out a way to go back home?” I request.

She quickly shakes her head.

“Do you realize how dangerous this is, you even being here? If they find out…”

“Who?” I interrupt her, disbelieving. She lowers her eyes. “Since I’ve been here, no one knows, no one even suspects me being an Outlier.”

“Shh,” she closes her eyes, as if the word is forbidden to even whisper.

“You keep ignoring me. Why?” I press.

“We’re not to be affiliated with you people,” she frustrates.

I pause, “You… people?”

What is she talking about? She’s like me. Or has she erased that from her memory.

“Do my people disgust you?” I question, letting go of my cup.

“I meant rebels.”

I look away. She leaves a long silence between us. I know that’s not what she really meant.

“You will have to stay in the basement, only for the night. You have to leave by dawn,” she offers, “Don’t let anyone see you.”

She lifts herself from the table and walks away. I follow her orders and find my way towards the forgotten basement. The air is frosty and damp. I wrap myself in an abandoned blanket and settle in a corner. It’s black down here, so I close my eyes. It makes no difference. I slowly balance my breathing. I try not to dream.

I’m awoken by a loud thud from the ceiling. I jump out of fright and listen. I hear frantic yelling and screaming. I hear Miss Peterson’s crying voice and a stern deep voice threatening her. I lower my head. It sounds as though he’s beating her. This is the life she lives here. Finding your match has nothing to do with loving your other half. All it’s good for is future genetic compatibility. What’s more to know? I stretch out my wrist that’s hidden for so long. I plan to keep it that way. I try to drown out what’s going on upstairs. These emblems are curses.

I race up to the main floor. Miss Peterson is sprawled on the floor, as an older man stands over her, sweating with alcohol.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” I shout.

Miss Peterson’s face drowns in terror, “Sage? No!”

The slithering man waves his broken bottle my way, “Who the hell’s this?”

He suddenly crashes the bottle on her. I breach and push him down. He whacks me, cursing to the heavens. I land on the ground, making my shoulder to snap.

“Sage, get out! Sage, get out!” a bloody Miss Peterson screams.

My head spins, but I get back up. I grab a metal vase and knock him in the head. The monster finally falls. It’s quiet again. I pant. I hear glass shards trickle from Miss Peterson, as she moves.

“This?” I pant, “Is how you live?”

“Sage,” she says weakly.

I go down to help her, but she draws away.

“Just leave,” she murmurs.

“Why would you let him do this? I know it’s none of my business, but I couldn’t let him keep… There has to be another way.” I talk.

“Don’t come back,” she whispers, looking away.

My upper lip twitches, confused. I don’t understand her. I hesitate, my hands still trembling. I rise and escape through the door.

I spent two days in the back tunnels where the industrial train passes. My clammy fingernails have turned familiarly dirty. There’s a drip across from me. I shake, as the temperature gets colder. My hair is still moist from last night’s rain. I’m determined to find the port. It’s probably another 5 hours walk, how this city is endless. My stomach has gotten used to being fed daily that now that I’ve gone without food, I’m suffering.

They’re not drops I’m hearing, they’re footsteps. I go ahead and start running. Before I can reach the end of the tunnel, I’m pushed to the ground. I shriek, as I plummet. The person behind me pulls on my coat. I slip out of it, letting the thief win. He disappears in the darkness. I sigh in relief. It becomes ten times colder. I tuck my fingers beneath my arms. I walk out of the tunnel.

The sun sets at the border. I find the port. It stays naked without boats. Breathing heavily, I rush towards the booth. Comfort escapes my heart, once I see a sign. It’s hard to make sense of what it means.

“Hey!” someone calls out to me.

I turn around, hugging myself from the cold.

“Get away from there! The port is closed down! Go home!”

“What?” I catch.

“You’re not aloud to be down there,” the person speaks.

“How come the port is closed down? When will it be open?”

The stranger looks at me weird.

“It’s not opening. It’s closed for good. We stopped commerce here, you know.”

They walk away from me, yet I still have questions.

How will I return home?

I can’t remember how long I’ve been sitting at this stone bench, but I begin to doze off. I decide to close my eyes, which only lets my tears die out. I sob silently. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m alone and nothing can help me. I’m breaking. My fate is to never be free. I’m bound to ache. I have no more strength to fight it. I’m ready to give up my soul.

My shoulders drop from the weight of heavy wool. My nose takes in a scent fresh red grapefruit and wood. My frozen fingertips brush the topcoat. I open my eyes and see Prance standing in front of me.

“You said… you wouldn’t look for me…” I try to voice.

He scoffs air out his lungs.

“Don’t get excited,” he says, in his deep voice I could never forget.