I See Your Mind Is Beautiful

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: Booksie Classic
In a world where people share feelings with their minds, as well as words with their minds, two special people share a strange meeting.

Submitted: May 31, 2012

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Submitted: May 31, 2012

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Her chair flew backwards, as she rose from it, startled. The other girls in the room (for they were all girls) stared at her in confusion. Their minds grazing curiously against her own solid barrier, as she stared intently at the door. Sylvi knew that this would happen one day; why today, though?
She definitely felt him before she could see him, that swaggering arrogance, but a mind so pure and open, something so irresistable, that drew her in like a thick musk, clouding her thoughts. For a moment, her intense gaze became misty, and her previously raised arms collapsed at her sides, her battle-stance relapsing into a stupour.
It was not long, however, before she drew her wits about her. Her mind once again became cold, impenetrable, like iron. She flicked a lock of hair out of her face with a single pale hand, and focused on the door-frame of the classroom.
"Sylvi?" Asked the lady at the table's head feebly. "Sylvi, whatever is the matter?" She asked. The woman was old, compared to the rest of them, who were all school-age, late sixties, maybe even seventy. She seemed generally concerned, but Sylvi dismissed her.
It was then that he walked through the door, swift, and powerful, and terribly graceful. His long black hair; longer than her own, flowing freely behind him, as the open door let a draft in. His mind filled the room at the same time as his small frame entered it, a mind that sang out, it was a beautiful song and everyone in the building could hear his mind singing. He was deadly, and innocent, and terrifyingly friendly.
He smiled, baring white teeth which where a little out of place, but not blemishingly so, before coming to sit down at the table, opposite Sylvi. He introduced himself, and ignored the girl who was standing.
'Hello. My name is Soli.' he said, with a quick smile. He turned to look at Sylvi. 'Are you okay?' he asked. His eyes were knowing, and she trembled, before stepping back, and sitting on her chair. She wondered why he hadn't done anything, why he hadn't invaded the sanctity of her mind. That was what she had been told people like him would do.
'I'm fine.' She replied, breathless, stunned. She got a good look at his face now; she couldn't place his nationality, though she guessed he must have Asian roots, as his hair was jet-black, and his eyes were ever so slightly angular. His features were delicate, like a woman's, and he had no facial hair at all. They had all been told that people like him, 'Empathic' people were notoriously ambiguous in appearance, as far as gender was concerned.
'Ah-hem.' The woman at the head of the room coughed slightly, and the eight of them that were there turned to look at her with intent.
'Now that Soli has arrived, and Sylvi has settled down, we can begin.' She said. 'Can we first take a register?' she asked, handing a piece of paper and a pen to the girl to her left. 'If you all sign your names, that would be good.' she said, smiling. The piece of paper was passed around, as everyone talked amongst themselves. The mindsong was over now, the overwhelming feeling of Soli's mind was now contained to himself.
Sylvi took the paper, but refused the pen, waving her own fountain pen at the person offering it to her. She looked at it, the names were as follows;
"Alex Quicke" In a somewhat untidy scrawl.
"Aponi Marshall" This was small, and tidy. The "i"s were dotted with sickly little hearts.
"Jane Mothers" Nondescript script. Jane printed her letters.
Sylvi added her own name, she printed her letters too, but they were written in an arking, almost elvish chirography. She passed the paper to Soli. As she did, however, he grasped her wrist, with unassuming strength. Her eyes widened, as she struggled to combat the weight of his psychic pressure upon her mind. Everyone else moved their chairs back, obviously perplexed at the odd behaviour of these two at their little meeting.
'I thought so...' Soli said, examining her fingers. Sylvi gasped; her fingers! They were a give-away! The last segment of each of her fingers was flushed and pink, and each nail had a single dark spot upon it. Such was the mark of her kind. The looked at Soli once more, and this time, she looked properly.
He was surrounded by a halo of light, there were appendages stretching from him, wisp-like and pure. A blanket of fresh snow coated the room, though Sylvi knew that if she checked, there would be no snow on the ground. Fae, and glittering serpents swarmed around Soli. The vivid hallucinations of everyone else's minds, translated into visible form by a mis-wiring in her brain were nothing more than grey, dead, blurred patterns in comparison to Soli's brightness.
'Sylvi, yes?' He asked, checking her name on the paper, before scrawling his own. The others were still staring at them. The lady at the end of the class was getting visibly annoyed now.
'Children, can we save chatter for the interval?' she asked. Jane rolled her eyes at being addressed as such and Soli apologized, relinquishing his grasp on Sylvi's arm. She withdrew it quickly, and rubbed her sore wrist. Everyone seemed ready to move on, and Soli had seemed genuinely sorry at having interrupted.
Sylvi knew otherwise, however. Behind that smile, and those gentle eyes, she saw a storm cloud, brewing over his head, the wispy aura turned to heat and dust and smoke, and the halo to fire, to burning rage. He had been interrupted, and she could see that quite clearly; no-one else could, though.
'Today we will be looking at Eluecis's epic "The Wanderer". We'll be looking at the Queen Mary translation, which has kept the free-verse structure, but has ommitted the final few verses.' The next hour-or-so, they spent reading, and discussing. The Wander was a wonderfully cheery tale of a man who's family were killed in a horrific genocide, which prompted him to climb Mount Ulpert, (whose most probable real-world counterpart is Has?r-i R?st in Iraq). Climbing the mountain, he cursed god for sending the agents that killed his family, and God smote him, turning him into a half-dead creature that needed to feed off of the life of others in order to survive.
The Wanderer was considered the first piece of literature to concern vampyrism, a phenominon considered wholly real until the beginning of the twentieth century, and then unreal until the nineteen eighties, when there was a sudden emergeance of vampyre killings.
The topic was highly interesting, and the questions vis a vis morality; as The Wanderer (who remains un-named throughout) must kill to retain his life, albeit with regret, were perplexing to the eight youngsters.
That was, to all of them except Anabell (who had been sitting after Soli in passing-order, meaning Sylvi had not had a chance to get her name). Anabell was distressed as her parents had both been killed, and the idea that some of the others, notably Jane, and a pale sickly-looking red-headed girl sitting next to the elderly lady, found the notion of killing to prolong one's own life in such a situation was acceptable.
After an hour, the elderly lady, (universally referred to as "Miss" by the young adults) told them that they should go and stretch their legs, and maybe get a drink, if they had one. She herself shuffled off to her bag, and retrieved a steaming flask of tea and several biscuits for dunking, before skulking off to enjoy a break in peace. The others looked at each other a little awkwardly, and one by one, rose to get a drink, or go for a walk around the class. Conversation was not particularly easy to make in these situations, as no-one really knew each other.
Sylvi rose to exit, however, to her great displeasure, Soli, too rose as she did. His mood had improved somewhat now, his aura more light, and the projections of his thoughts more pleaseant. He held the door open for her - a true gentleman - and followed her out into the corridor outside. She strode several steps away, as she shut the door quietly, and stood a little awkwardly, looking at her. She swivelled around to look at him, and she could see him open his mind a little, as his projctions were more vivid, and she began to feel and hear them, even if only faintly.
'Well?' She asked, as he gazed at her.
'Psychosthesiac.' He replied simply.
'Genius.' She retorted with a laugh. There was no lie in his eyes, or his projections. He was not playing dumb, or acting silly. He was just innocent.
'I saw your fingers. All the time?' he asked. He had spoken very little while they were reading, his broken sentences were strange, and oddly lilting. Was English his first language? It certainly did not appear so. His voice was high, almost like a girls, but still had several tenor tones. It was mature; he did not sound pre-pubescent. A phyisological change brought on by his Empathic nature.
'All the time.' She was emulating his way of speaking now, subconsciously. 'Since the day I saw the light.' She told him. He looked a little confused, and he stepped closer. His projections reached out for her, a warm breeze stirred her hair, appendages of light stretched from his halo and enveloped her. It was exhilerating and a little frightening.
'I did not see the light.' he informed her. 'I was born with a mind.' he said, slowly, as if the words were hard for him to say. Sylvi was amazed at this; she had assumed that Empaths, like everyone else gained their minds when they reached adolescence.
'I was told that you would try to fight me, try to take advantage of my mind.' She told him. He frowned. Stepping back.
'Always fighting. No, I would not. Empaths; many fear what they cannot see, or control. Such is the price when you are given sight and control beyond mere men.' he said, his voice almost lyrical. 'You... You are difficult. Your walls are strong, I cannot enter your mind; not easily.' He seemed a little concerned, and combed his hair with his fingers. Sylvi wondered why he spoke like that, why were his words so slow, why did he say so little? Why was there silence so often around him, except for the mindsong, and birds, and laughter, and the other things that her mind hallucinated after seeing his thoughts.
'No-one can come in my mind. It is a safe place, a sacred place. You do not have permission to enter. No-one does.'
'You will never marry?' He asked.
'No marriage can take place without binding two people's minds eternally together. No, I will not marry. I will not have children.' She told him. He shrugged, and she could feel him reaching out to her with his mind, she could feel him touching the borders of her consciousness, the flood of his thoughts and feelings held out by the strong barriers she had erected.
He tested them once or twice, he pushed at her mind, not hard, but enough so that he could see how strong her psychic defence was.
And then, he broke right through them.
Years of honing her mind, of perfecting the barriers that protected her, gone, in a single swift, telepathic attack from Soli. He did not linger, he seemed to have no desire to take advantage of her, or ravage her memories. He did not read her thoughts, or change her views, or skew her opinions. He merely broke though everything she thought was keeping her safe, and left, leaving a gaping hole behind him.
Sylvi had collapsed, she was on the floor, wide-eyed, and crying. She shook, her entire body, fingertips aside, had gone white. Soli rushed over to her, kneeled down, his face full of concern.
He stroked her cheek, and moved a lock of blonde hair from her face. He grimaced quickly.
'Sylvi, it's okay. Sylvi, get up.' he told her, and hoisted her upright, strong for someone of his physique. She sat, and dashed her tears away, looking at him angrily.
'Why did you do that!?' She asked. It was his turn to laugh.
'I thought you were ready!' he told her. She slapped him. He looked at her angrily; his projections became gruesome and violent, too. Sylvi apologized to him, and told him she was just in shock. She was just in shock.
'Sylvia Bronfur...' He said. She looked at him. 'One day, I will marry you.' He smiled, decisively. Despite the fact that he had just broken her down, and that he was a being she had always been told was her sworn enemy; despite his broken English, and strange, ambiguous body, Sylvi believed him, with every fibre of her being.


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