cluster of footprints, I am meandering through the collections of cliques: jocks, musicians, academics, lifters. Everyone seems to have somewhere they belong. Then there’s me, awkwardly standing in two different realms. Surely someone will sniff out my intrusion. I should not be here, in this body. I still do not know why I am.
It is interesting how you can feel so alone when surrounded by others. Every word, every look, every moment of connection not intended for me seems to cast me out further in isolation. The halls are filled with laughter, couples embracing, and friends discussing the finer details of their lives. I catch fragments of thought, wanting to piece them into something meaningful, just like when I was a Shadow. But it is all for naught. I search the crowd for a familiar face, but remember how Violet’s self-sabotage has left few options.
The only comfort here is the school is relatively Reflection free. The hallways are covered in holopanes projecting student-curated artwork and announcements—hopeful signs of youthful enthusiasm so lacking throughout the rest of Talline. Everything in town is a testament to conformity, a unifying aesthetic of slick polish, leaving little room for personality and color. I admire the digital artwork and club advertisements as I walk, trying to fill my head with something positive. It is a struggle. I wanted to escape my Reflection for a few hours, but somehow not being noticed is just as painful as being watched by a monster.
I watch a 3D clip showcasing the school’s soccer team as a digitized Fighting Firefly, the school’s mascot, buzzes around my head. It flits about in an irregular pattern, leaving behind an electronic trail of yellow and black, the school’s colors. I try to swat the bug away, but it passes through my fingers undeterred. A tap on my shoulder ends its humming flight. I spin around in excitement only to be immediately disappointed. It is Samantha, with perfectly traced lips grinning from ear to ear.
“Hi!” she says as bright as sunshine. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me tighter than expected. “Where were you yesterday?”
“Oh, um, wasn’t feeling well,” I choke out. I know I wanted someone to talk to, but Sam would be my last choice. The same girl who offered Violet her first Lift! and sent me grasping for reality. This girl, acting like she cares but who had no trouble pulling someone else into her oblivion. No, I do not want to talk to this girl.
“I called your holopane last night but you didn’t pick up,” she says.
“I, uh, had to get some fresh air.”
“What about your mom? Wasn’t she taking care of you?”
Reflexively I let out a little snort. As if. Mrs. Rayne would be the last person to notice if something was wrong. “She’s not very maternal these days.”
“God, I know what you mean. My mom hardly acknowledges my existence anymore,” Sam replies.
It’s sad to hear, but of course I know it all too well. Maybe Mrs. Rayne isn’t the only parent who has given up on her child. Still, this won’t make me feel sorry for Sam.
Viewing her for the first time from an upright position, I notice how much effort she has put into her appearance. Not only is her dress belted two notches beyond comfortable breathing limits, but her sleek brunette bob has been sprayed so stiff I doubt a monsoon could disturb it. Even from the floor I could tell she wears a lot of makeup, but now that we’re face to face, the multiple layers of powders and creams is almost shocking. It must have taken her hours to camouflage her skin in such detail; if I were to touch her cheek, my fingers would be instantly coated in cosmetics. It’s almost as if she’s applied war paint just to go to class.
I need an escape route from this girl. One nice thing about being a Shadow was no one noticed my reactions, but now I am having trouble hiding my disdain. I wish the bell would ring or something would catch on fire
It is interesting how you can feel so alone when surrounded by others. Every word, every look, every moment of connection not intended for me seems to cast me out further in isolation. The halls are filled with laughter, couples embracing, and friends discussing the finer details of their lives. I catch fragments of thought, wanting to piece them into something meaningful, just like when I was a Shadow. But it is all for naught. I search the crowd for a familiar face, but remember how Violet’s self-sabotage has left few options.
The only comfort here is the school is relatively Reflection free. The hallways are covered in holopanes projecting student-curated artwork and announcements—hopeful signs of youthful enthusiasm so lacking throughout the rest of Talline. Everything in town is a testament to conformity, a unifying aesthetic of slick polish, leaving little room for personality and color. I admire the digital artwork and club advertisements as I walk, trying to fill my head with something positive. It is a struggle. I wanted to escape my Reflection for a few hours, but somehow not being noticed is just as painful as being watched by a monster.
I watch a 3D clip showcasing the school’s soccer team as a digitized Fighting Firefly, the school’s mascot, buzzes around my head. It flits about in an irregular pattern, leaving behind an electronic trail of yellow and black, the school’s colors. I try to swat the bug away, but it passes through my fingers undeterred. A tap on my shoulder ends its humming flight. I spin around in excitement only to be immediately disappointed. It is Samantha, with perfectly traced lips grinning from ear to ear.
“Hi!” she says as bright as sunshine. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me tighter than expected. “Where were you yesterday?”
“Oh, um, wasn’t feeling well,” I choke out. I know I wanted someone to talk to, but Sam would be my last choice. The same girl who offered Violet her first Lift! and sent me grasping for reality. This girl, acting like she cares but who had no trouble pulling someone else into her oblivion. No, I do not want to talk to this girl.
“I called your holopane last night but you didn’t pick up,” she says.
“I, uh, had to get some fresh air.”
“What about your mom? Wasn’t she taking care of you?”
Reflexively I let out a little snort. As if. Mrs. Rayne would be the last person to notice if something was wrong. “She’s not very maternal these days.”
“God, I know what you mean. My mom hardly acknowledges my existence anymore,” Sam replies.
It’s sad to hear, but of course I know it all too well. Maybe Mrs. Rayne isn’t the only parent who has given up on her child. Still, this won’t make me feel sorry for Sam.
Viewing her for the first time from an upright position, I notice how much effort she has put into her appearance. Not only is her dress belted two notches beyond comfortable breathing limits, but her sleek brunette bob has been sprayed so stiff I doubt a monsoon could disturb it. Even from the floor I could tell she wears a lot of makeup, but now that we’re face to face, the multiple layers of powders and creams is almost shocking. It must have taken her hours to camouflage her skin in such detail; if I were to touch her cheek, my fingers would be instantly coated in cosmetics. It’s almost as if she’s applied war paint just to go to class.
I need an escape route from this girl. One nice thing about being a Shadow was no one noticed my reactions, but now I am having trouble hiding my disdain. I wish the bell would ring or something would catch on fire
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