Where It All Began

In the soft lambent glow of fading daylight, between the warm folds of their bed sheets, six-year-old Alex turned to his mother, Jane, and pleaded for a bedtime story. Jane gazed at her son, a smile dancing at the corners of her lips, as she pulled the proverbial straw to guide him into slumber.

"Any special requests?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Alex, his eyes wide with anticipation, replied, "Tell me about the mighty king."

"Once upon a time," Jane began, "there was a colossal black dragon that roamed the skies, battling darkness and evil, guided by the radiant sun. People adored the dragon, until malevolence seized control of it and turned it malevolent. Then, a king, born of a goddess with unparalleled beauty and elegance, rose to confront the dragon. The battle raged on for days."

Interrupting his mother with excitement, Alex inquired, "Did the king win?"

Jane smiled affectionately, planting a tender kiss on his head. "That, my dear, is for you to discover," she replied, her words causing Alex to mumble to himself, "But it's only a story."

For years, Alex dreamt of that tale, unlike other children who dreamt of their favorite foods or video game characters. Alex's dreams were distinct. Until the age of ten, his dreams consisted of him riding upon the black dragon that he drew pictures of in his imagination, soaring through skies ablaze with a kaleidoscope of colors.

As he grew older, his dreams took a different turn each year. They transformed into battles, featuring races and creatures he had never encountered before: humans with pointed ears, diminutive beings, towering ice giants, and winged women, all fighting to preserve his life from encroaching shadows.

These dreams kept him awake through countless nights. Each time he closed his eyes, he witnessed the skeletal horse and its ominous shroud rushing toward him. Unable to escape, he plummeted into an unfathomable abyss, a void of darkness and cold.

The rain outside created the perfect backdrop for a somber farewell. Raindrops tapped on Alex's window, but he paid them no heed. This night was dedicated to packing his bags before his mother caught him dawdling. Despite his pretense that it had been an enjoyable year, he was secretly relieved that this would be their final move. Jane had dragged him from one state to another, relentlessly pursuing her elusive dream, even though the money wasn't a problem for them, they had plenty to spend. He never understood how she could leave her position as a chief editor in the New York Times for some local newspaper in Hawaii.

Finishing his packing, he left two outfits on the bed, unsure of what to wear in his new home.

"Honey, are you ready?" Jane's voice echoed through the hallway, loud enough for not only the house but for the entire building to hear. They lived in a decent place, a three bedrooms apartment, with a nice view, and a well-serviced building.

"Decisions, decisions," Alex muttered to himself as he debated between a red jacket and a blue shirt. He heard a voice from behind suggesting, "Wear the blue." Alex turned, thinking his mother had entered, but the door remained closed. "It must be the wind," he thought to himself, eyeing the tightly shut window.

Jane entered the room, sparing a long, scrutinizing glance at his clothing choices. "That red will look beautiful on you," she declared before exiting, leaving Alex to contemplate her advice. In the end, he opted for the blue attire, admiring his reflection in the mirror—an attractive seventeen-year-old.

Jane is of average height with a lithe, athletic build that speaks to her physical prowess. Her long, ebony hair cascades down her back in loose waves, often pulled into a practical ponytail when she's in the midst of action. Her piercing emerald eyes are a striking contrast to her fair complexion, and they hold a depth of emotion that reflects her caring nature. She typically dresses in practical attire, often opting for dark, functional clothing that allows for ease of movement during her daily routine. Despite the seriousness of her duties, her face carries an aura of grace and beauty, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. A subtle scar, barely noticeable, runs along her left cheek, a reminder of past challenges she's faced.

Before leaving the room that had been their home for a year, he took a final, nostalgic look around. He had made some friends, but he knew they'd soon forget him. The farewell party they'd thrown two days earlier brought a faint smile to his face. He marveled at the fact that, at the age of seventeen, he felt content for having made friends. He inspected the parting gifts: a school newspaper article accusing him of being a hacking nerd, an invitation from a secret admirer to a school party he hadn't attended, and a love letter from a girl he hadn't even noticed in his class before.

Year after year, he had tossed these memories into boxes marked as trash. Each year, a new box awaited the garbage truck. Jane had always told him, "Don't cling to memories; they'll only hurt you."

The airport taxi had arrived an hour ago and was now impatiently honking its horn. They were running late, and the clock displayed nearly eleven at night. They completed their packing, handed the house key to the landlord, and headed to the airport.

As Alex stared out of the grimy taxi window, his mind wandered through all the experiences of the past year. Good and bad, they were few and far between. His memories were hazy, as if he hadn't truly lived them.

"We're waiting for you," the same childish voice whispered. Alex looked at Jane, but she was engrossed in her phone. He gazed outside again, spotting the same enigmatic girl at every corner and street intersection—a girl of nine or eight with eyes that shone like moons. "What is this girl doing outside at a time like this?" Alex wondered.

Turning to the other side of the street, he saw her again. She was there, unrelenting in her presence, regardless of where he looked. Alex poked Jane, pointing toward the window, and asked if she saw the girl. Jane, however, saw no one except her son.

The girl's gaze met his, her eyes locking onto his own. Every encounter between their eyes brought flashes of a lush green field adorned with purple roses. Alex lost count of how many times their gazes connected, and he began to feel a deep connection with this mysterious girl.

Jane opened the taxi door, urging Alex to hurry. They were running late, and the clock was fast approaching midnight. She had a way of making her presence known to everyone within earshot. Alex's mind was preoccupied with the girl he had seen on the streets.

Entering the plan, and with a strained farewell from the gate security, they boarded the plane. Alex hoped this move would bring the stability he had longed for. They found their seats in the economy class, distinctly aware of the passengers in first class who eyed them with avarice.

Alex continued to stare out of the window, deep in thought. The flight was imminent, and the passengers around them began settling into their seats. The first-class passengers—often referred to as the "privileged"—eyed them with financial interest, their minds undoubtedly calculating the value of their presence. Alex and Jane, however, were relegated to the more economical seats in the back.

Alex chose the window seat out of the two assigned to them. He had always been enamored with the clear, blue sky during flights, even if it was midnight and visibility was nonexistent. It made him feel as if he were the one soaring, not the plane itself. Nonetheless, as much as he adored the window seat, he couldn't escape his deep-seated unease about flying.

As the flight attendants went through the safety procedures—fastening seatbelts and switching off phones—Alex couldn't help but wonder how it felt to hear nothing but one's inner voice. He disregarded the warnings about potential ear damage and cranked up the volume on his headset, enveloping himself in the music of The Script.

As the plane prepared for departure, the cabin lights dimmed, prompting passengers to doze off and settle into their seats. However, Alex couldn't find sleep, his mind busy with thoughts of the new beginning that awaited him in Hawaii.

As the plane embarked on its eleven-hour journey, Alex looked out of the window, observing clouds, land, and sea. He attempted to clear his mind, ready to turn the page on his life. He was out of touch with social trends, lacking both a Facebook and Twitter account. Disconnected from the world, he found solace in his music.

Plugging in his headphones and turning up the volume, he lost himself in the melodies of his favorite artists. The cabin lights dimmed further, and the drone of the plane's engines filled the air. The music lulled him into a trance, and his eyes grew heavy. Succumbing to exhaustion, he closed his eyes to the haunting tune of Evanescence's "My Immortal."

"You going to sleep again, Alex?" Jane asked, interrupting his reverie.

Alex, removing his headphones, responded, "No, Mom, I'm just looking at the sky."

Jane reassured him about the safety of air travel, to which Alex half-heartedly agreed. "Yes, they say Hawaii is lovely this time of year."

Alex responded, dripping with sarcasm, "Oh yes, two hundred days of rain! Don't forget about the volcanoes and hurricanes."

"But you know we're originally from there," Jane said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "It's like coming back home, at least he will be waiting for you there."

The mention of his father weighed heavily on Alex's mind. Abandoned before birth, he had no memory or image of the man. Jane had always discouraged questions about him, promising that one day he would have all the answers.

The plane began to descend, and Alex couldn't shake off what Jane had said about his father. She had always evaded his questions on the topic, promising that the answers would come with time. He turned to Jane again, ready to ask her to explain, but something peculiar occurred.

Time itself seemed to freeze, as if the world had come to a standstill. Passengers, the child seated behind him, the flight attendant with the intercom pressed to her cheek, even the bubbles in Jane's soda cup, all were suspended in eerie silence.