In my head, there was a heavy, dark stone closing in on me as I frantically searched the room for an exit. I felt like I’d been here before. I even felt like I knew how to get out, but my brain couldn’t find where I had stored the answer. It was like a put it in my place that was under a code. I spun around in all direction with my thin, muscular arm flailing as I felt the cold, rough stone trying to find a way out. My nerves were eating me alive and my body was threatening to freeze up on me. The air in my lungs was not enough to appease the needs of my body. It felt like I was being gifted failure.
The indestructible rock spikes were about to spear me just as my foot fell on the undetectable rock switch. Perfect Timing, I thought. It was big-toe sized circle that blended in with the rock. I wouldn’t have seen it even if I held a magnifying glass in my hands. I fell through the rock as it crumbled beneath me and sent me into vat of fresh, glowing water that seemed to never end in every possible direction. As I treaded the light water, the glow from the water illuminated the carvings of what seemed to look like stick figure drawings of Rina, my baby sister, and me. I wanted to touch the rock and feel the relief under my pruning fingers. It was an aching urge that I couldn’t cure.
Just as I could absorb what was pictured in the carvings, the water suddenly became artic cold drenching my already wet body. It felt as though a large invisible hand was attempting to pull my body out of the water. I gradually began to float out of the water. Shock radiated through my body. I didn’t even fight the magical force. Slowly, I began to float back into reality.
I woke up with a gasp with the sun shining on my caramel colored skin. The teacher sat at her wooden desk grading papers with her red pen. She just continued grading as I shuffled together all my belonging. Regardless of the obnoxious sounds I made, she didn’t even notice me. She just frowned at the papers in her hand with her red ink pen. The teacher didn’t even flinch when the heavy biology textbook slammed on the ground.
I scrambled to grab my book and ran out the door. Luckily, it seemed like school had just been dismissed. I pulled my heavy backpack on my slender shoulders. I could feel the weight shift across my back as I ran out of the large iron gates. As I left, I watched all the kids in my school play in the broken cement yard. What did it feel like to be normal?
When I was a proper distance from the school, my feet began to slow down, almost as though my body had automated it. I was barely out of breath. I wanted to go farther. There’s always something that people pride themselves in. I liked being faster than the fastest boys in my class. I liked being able to do 200 pushups and 300 sit-ups. It was the exact thing that my mother hated most about me. She said that it wasn’t feminine. Maybe that’s the reason it was the one thing I liked about myself.
As I dragged a dry, weak stick in the dehydrated sand behind me, I noticed the miniscule grains of sand shift in the dirt into a misty arrow-like cloud. It pointed at an expensive looking van parked across the street at a small coffee shop. As I squinted, I could see a bald man sipping from a china cup filled with what I assumed to be a steaming cup of chai. He had a dark brown scar above his eyebrow. When my hazel eyes traveled downward towards his eyes, I caught his malicious, beady-eyed gaze. My heart ballooned into my chest and my heartbeat boomed so loud in my head that I could count every contraction.
His face was permanently burned into my head. I felt like it would stay in an easily accessible spot in my brain. I peeled my eyes away from him and continued walking home. My senses were heightened and it felt like my body was growing eyes in the back of my head. I had no protection. Anyone could attack me, but I was just as vulnerable as I was prepared.
When I saw my white stucco house in the distance, my legs were on a motor as they whirred towards my large wooden front door. The closer I got to the door, the thinner my walls got and the more cool solace I felt surge through my veins.
As I climbed up the white marble stairs, my mother just gave a peculiar look but let me walk peacefully into the house. My dad was wearing his black rectangular frame and his white cotton button-down as he read over the paper. Our eyes met for a second conveying a long, lengthy conversation after school conversation. My sister came bouncing down the stairs smelling like herbal soap and a smile on her face wearing her purple salwar. She threw the silk sash around her neck and grinned a white, toothy grin at me. I couldn’t help but let a giggle escape from my lips.
“Veena,” my mother screamed behind me, “go get ready for Diwali!”
I quickly turned around to give her my consenting nod, but in secret I admired her silk Sari. The bold teal and lime green seemed to make her fair skin glow. The intricate pattern was like a maze I could easily lose myself within. She had a garland of jasmine pinned to the back of her long, black flowing hair. I could smell the fresh fragrance from five feet away, but her frustrated gaze could be felt from five hundred feet away.
I quickly raced up the stairs and made myself worthy of going to the big puja. I slipped into the bathroom and cleaned myself up from the humid day. I slipped into my floral white and bright blue salwar.
When I looked at the mirror, I felt the sudden anticipation. I felt like I something bad was going to happen. I hastily shoved all of my surging feelings into a deep, unreachable place; they refused to stay put. As I opened the bathroom door, the face of the man in the coffee shop flashed before my eyes.
I walked downstairs to see my mother cleaning up my father’s afternoon tea. She had the tress of her sari skillfully tucked into her thin hip.
“Veena, can you please brush Rina’s hair. I have some things to do,” she called out from the kitchen.
“Ok,” I yelled back as I grabbed a brush from the coffee table next to where the tea used to sit. My father still sat on the couch with his black rectangular spectacles on the top of his nose reading his newspaper.
Rina bounced before me unable to continue her excitement about today’s celebration. I motioned for her to sit and pulled the hairbrush through her silky black locks. As I parted her hair through the center, I could feel an unnaturally thick strand of hair with a feather-like texture. I pulled gently to try to look at it, but it came free from her head into my palm.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you done with Rina’s hair,” My mom scolded as she came out of the kitchen with the tress free from her hip.
I quickly grabbed a small purple clip in front of me and hastily clipped some silky strands in front of Rina’s face to the back of her head.
“All done,” I replied as I popped off the couch.
My mother just frowned at me. She quickly turned her attention on scolding my dad since I, for some reason, was doing nothing wrong. She slipped into the downstairs bedroom and I could hear her yelling frustratingly at my father. All the noise soon just passed through my head like it was nothing as I unfolded my hands.
It was like a feather. It was soft and silky like a feather, but it didn’t have the central column that feathers usually had. It was navy blue, like the color in the sky after the sun goes down. On the feather were triangular patterns that looked like the same patterns that kept reappearing in my dreams.
Quickly, my mother exited the room with my father as he closed the wooden door behind him. My mom held a bright orange plastic basket in her hand overflowing with clay lamps and whicker, while there was a bottle of sesame seed oil and box of matches poking out of the top. When my sister saw it, a large smile grew off of her already cheerful lips. But I couldn’t make myself feel happy as I could feel the smooth it in my hand.
It was still in my hand. The strand of hair remained in my hand. Was it even hair? My sister jumped around before me not even knowing what she was producing. My anxiety just felt more intense, like a building burning fire. What was it?

I walked behind my mother, staring at the broken chipped sidewalk. I felt my chest tighten every step I took towards the brightly lit temple. Lights adorned the top of the house of God. Today was day of happiness, a day of lights. Inside me, gloominess churned waiting to be proven correct. The feather-like hair in my pocket was like extra anxiety being bountifully poured in my churning inside.

I sat next to my father, who sat cross-legged in his white shirt and black pants staring directly at the priest. My sister fidgeted cheerfully as she counted down to the moment she could light lamps with my mother and send them floating in the giant pool in the middle of the ancient temple.
Soon, the puja was done. My mother grabbed her bright orange basket with the clay lamps, wicker, and matches. My sister took her hand with glee and I mournfully followed. Not even my sister’s innocent excitement could change my rotten mood, but a cheerful mask remained on my face.
We chose the perfect spot on the stone steps. My sister placed the reddish-brown lamps neatly in a pattern on the dark gray stone. The sunset in the distance displayed enough light to pour the oil and place the thin whickers into the assortment of lamps. I watched as I sat on the step behind my sister with my knees fixed tightly to my chest.
Just as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky a color somewhere between the color of a ripe lemon and navy blue, my mother lit the matches. We all got all the lamps ready to glow. The fire produced was like a fire for me anxiety.
We were about to put all the lamps onto the tray, when I heard the ripping of stone behind me.
“Give me the girl,” a voice boomed.
Every atom in body stopped moving for a millisecond, and surged towards serving as a blockade for my sister. It felt like I knew that the voice that belonged to a person was referring to my little sister looking terrified and innocent.
As I turned to see what was happening, I saw thick electrical whips grab onto the ancient stone statue and pull it apart like a flaky pastry.
I saw the face from the coffee shop. His malicious smiling as he watched the terror unravel in front of him.
My father grabbed my shoulder as I lifted my sister onto my hip. He pulled a small suede bag from his front right pocket of his black pants. He looked deeply into my eyes though his black spectacles. It was a look that I would never forget.
“Go,” he whispered loud enough for me to hear.
All around us was chaos as men dressed in all black ran around shooting heavy-duty guns. Pools of blood appeared on the ancient stone and tears threatened to spill from my eyes. The bomb inside me was merely seconds away from its ten-second countdown.
My sister gripped onto my right hand so tightly that I was almost sure that it would die from necrosis. We ran sneakily past the people falling around us. Bullets passed inches from us. My one talent, invisibility, saved us. We walked out of the death zone without a single abrasion.
I turned around one last time to look at family. I just wanted to see their supporting eyes one last time. Maybe I just wanted to know that I still had a family. But when I did see them, I saw my father’s white cotton shirt stained with his bright red blood and his black rectangular spectacles broken at the nose. My internal bomb countdown was at 10. My mother was lying next to my father, the delicate silk tress of her sari cascading down the stone steps we sat only moments before along with her blood. 9. The lamps were still there asking shyly to be used. 8.
I pulled my sister onto my back feeling the blood rush into my hand. My feet were back on their motor and I ran. 7. I was unseen. 6. I was invisible. 5. I was running. 4. I was right. 3. I was going to explode. 2.
Eventually, when my body was heaving and begging me to rest, I rested on the barren side of a road. In the distance I could hear the cheerful giggles of children and the crackling of firecrackers. My sister was supposed to be one of those kids playing with firecrackers. 1. My sister hopped off my back and onto the crumbling sidewalk. She sat almost like a frozen statue with shock running through her system.
I pulled the small suede pouch from where I had tied it to my pants and opened it. From the pouch tumbled out an invitation size envelope with my name on it, a lighter, and a golden key. My hands grabbed for the envelope and messily ripped open the delicate paper.
My Dearest Veena,
All I can say to you is: I am sorry. I am sorry for never giving you with the respect and love that you deserve. I am sorry for never telling you what was going to happen. I am sorry for not being there to watch you grow into the amazing woman you will become. I am sorry for not being able to see you get married. I am sorry I will never be able to be a grandfather to your children.
Within our blood is the blood of the Mayan Gods. We have always held it. Unfortunately, I don’t know where it came from. Every cycle of the calendar, the Gods will invoke a person who invokes the immortal blood through their veins. The chosen one for the current cycle is Rina. The Gods will train the person through their dreams. The Gods will keep them invisible as they train and protect them until the key is produced. However, they trained you, not your sister. Your protection is gone and people are after the key. For whoever created the key will control all events in time in the next cycle. You have until December 21st, 2012 at 11:59pm. Otherwise, the earth will cease to exist.
Protect the key. Protect your sister. Trust no one. Go to 1221 Yates rd, Apt 1159. They key will open the door. Burn this letter with the lighter and memorize the address.
I love you so much and never forget it.
-
Daddy
I held the paper to my chest and felt the tears explode out of my eyes. Blastoff.