The Tragedy Makers

Tragedy and I were old friends. I knew of them long before they knew of me, but to say I could describe their intricacies would be a lie. When I say I knew them, I mean to say I knew a trickled down version of themselves. They were brilliant, beautiful. Their faces graced the news every night, these once-people who sold their souls to a demon. People who incited acts of tragedy around the world as payment for whatever they sold their souls for, people who would live into infinity just to ensure that humanity always knew pain.
In the world I had grown up in, every unfortunate occurrence would be pinned on one of the Tragedies. Death, heartbreak, natural disasters. People began to fear that they were a dying race, but despite that we all carried on with ourselves. The world still turned, work still sucked, and the opposing striker had it out for me that day. The day I saw them face to face for the first time.
I met them at the state volleyball tournament. Tragedy, that is. As I said before, we had already been informally acquainted. A long-gone father, a mentally ill mother, and a mountain of bills that my waitress job couldn't carry didn't make for much more than a good, old-fashioned tragedy. But I had a roof over my head. Food. And a sister cheering for me in the stands.
“Their spiker is killing us.” At my side, Cora huffed. We had been best friend for years, and only she had been understanding that Cassie had to come first in my life. Volleyball and Cora had been unexpected diamonds, something I wanted to hold onto for life. Something that would end soon.
“And we aren't exactly impressing the college scouts here,” she added.
Time would go on for Cora. She would get a volleyball scholarship, she would go away to college. Life hadn't even started for her. There was so much more she wanted. But everything I wanted rested on the court that day. I wanted a damn trophy, and then I could pack it up, call it a life. Return to my job at the diner and put Cassie through college. It wasn't a burden. It was one of the few things I genuinely wanted, aside from a cheap plastic trophy of course.
“We should change up the defense. I don't like the looks of their setter, either. They've got a solid team.”
A referee blew his whistle. Currently tied, entirely out of time to understand our opponents moves. Every play they made was a wild card, unpredictable and fierce. How we had managed to keep up until then, I did not know.
Through the net, their setter and I locked eyes. Until then, she hadn't been my first concern. Not until I realized I could have been looking into a mirror. Not one that would show outward appearance; she was tall and skinny, with a mess of blond hair tied up on her head. She could have been a model. I was her opposite, scrawny at a glance, but strong.
Our eyes burned with the same desire, though. Was she the threat? Our players were falling into position around us. Somewhere in the crowds, my sister screamed my name in a wild cheer. My eyes slid to the entrance of the gymnasium, perhaps on instinct. Maybe, somewhere in our DNA, we had adapted to fear them.
Grimm shouldered his way through the crowd first. Tall, with a mess of dark hair to his shoulders. He was a black coat and dark jeans and, despite the time of night, sunglasses. Attached to his hand, Dreambreaker. She had been young when she sold her soul, just turned ten. Her sightless blue eyes flitted around the court, as if she could see us better than we could see ourselves.
They were Tragedies, the most unmistakable ones. For years I had watched the stories of them on the news, on crime shows, and they had appeared in front of my eyes. The opposing setter pivoted to follow my line of sight. I imagined my horror stark and bare on my face. Oblivious, the referee blew his whistle and the play began. Our teammates blurred into motion around us, but she and I stared at the Tragedies.
Could no one else feel their prescence? I had wondered. They were like exposed wires, crackling with energy and static. Grimm removed his glasses, and Dreambreaker smiled. The opposing striker, who had given us so much grief, made a wild jump, at the same time another teammate leaped. A scramble ensued. Their striker landed against the ground, and her teammates foot crushed down on her hand. I could hear them, the bones shattering, her teammate's sneaker rolling against the weight.
“Tragedy!” someone in the crowd screamed. “It's Grimm!” a woman called.
Our game was abandoned. The setter, the blond girl, raced the her teammates side, while everyone else ran for the opposite doors. Somewhere in the throng of people, the two Tragedies had disappeared.
“Selene!”
Cassie, calling for me. But I couldn't move. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the blond girl-Lawerence, the back of her jersey said. She whipped her head through the crowd.
“Someone call an ambulance!”
“I did!” Cassie appeared at my side, her short hair in wilting spikes. “They're own their way with the police. Did you see where they went?” she turned to me.
“No, but I'm glad you're okay.”
I slung my arm around her waist, noting that she had bypassed me in height at fifteen years old. The raging crowd had thinned to a few people too scared to run. Not that it mattered. Grimm and Dreambreaker were long gone, just echoes lost in the onslaught of noise and panic. Sirens sounded in the distance.
“It was Dreambreaker,” the injured spiker whimpered. “I know it was. I-I can't move my fingers, Rika.”
The blond girl, Rika, shushed her.
“Hey, it's okay. It's okay. My parents know the best surgeons on the east coast. We can fix this. They can't end you like this.”
They could, but I kept my mouth shut.
Cassie and I left as the medics swarmed in. I wavered, at first, wanting to offer some comfort to Rika's fallen teammate, but I had no words to express the horror of what we'd witnessed. Loretto would make the news by tomorrow, and business would come to a standstill. Kids would transfer schools. No one wanted to live in a place marked by a Tragedy.
“It's going to make one hell of a college essay,” I joked to Cassie as we left. “The time you bravely stood in the face of Tragedy.”
“Yeah,” Cassie agreed, but she looked elsewhere. She had been distant then, right after her fifteenth birthday. Still there, but I began to see her through a clouded mirror. She'd cut her blond hair off into a very short pixie cut, had started hanging out with a girl that smoked cigarettes so young and knew how to obtain liquor. Our lines had always been blurred, relationship-wise. We were friends, and we were sisters, but I had all but raised her in the wake of our mother's mental illness. I had more responsibility over her than a sister should have.
“Miss?”
Cassie and I halted, tense. A man, tall and sharp in a pressed suit, raised one hand in a wave.
“A moment of your time?”
“Wait here.”
The man held a card out for me as I approached.
“I'm very impressed by your skills. I'm sorry the game didn't end as expected, but let's not let that ruin a good opportunity for you. Consider playing for us?”
I hesitated, then reached out to accept his business card. A scout? Interested in me? In my head, I reviewed a few of my plays, trying to pinpoint one that might have impressed him. To think that I had done something impressive on a court packed with talent roused my mistrust. I'd later learn that he offered Cora the same card. In another life, in another time, it would have been perfect. My best friend going to the same college as me, us playing on the same team once again. I could almost taste the pizza we'd order, smell the spilled ink as we studied for exams and complained about our professes. I could almost taste the bad coffee we would drink as we tarried through the night for a study session.
“I'll consider.”
I turned away and returned to Cassie.
“What did he want?” she asked.
As I looked to my sister, I swallowed my heart and smiled.
“Wanted to do an interview based on what we'd seen. You know the press are vultures. I ripped the card into shreds and let the pieces flutter to the pavement. I had dreams, but they were distant, unobtainable things. Why should I reach for them when I could keep working hard at the diner and support Cassie? Why march off to college and be to busy for a job when I could be working and make sure Cassie got that life?
She had always been my dream, and the sacrifices were minor stings compared to the reward of seeing her happy. I had kept my promise to myself and never become bitter over our situation. In fact, I was more than content to let life continue as was. All I wanted that night was to never see a Tragedy in person again. Who knew that I would see them out myself, almost half a year later?