The sunlight bridged into his room from beyond the ozone. Why're the bloody blinds drawn? he thought. Pulling the covers over his head, he turned away from the blinding rays and retreated back into the darkness. He found himself in the middle of wars, in between tsunamis and cities. Things were turning onto themselves. Americans slashed Americans. Terrorists bombed terrorists. Waves crashed against each other. People ran away from themselves.
When the sun was at a prime position and Faer couldn't sleep anymore, he awoke with a glare. There was someone in his room; someone standing by the window; someone capturing the sun's rays, someone with her eyes on him.
She did not speak. She only looked, watched, saw. But somehow, he had an understanding, and he could almost imagine what she was trying to say:
There is nothing you can call me. I can only be seen. Your other senses are not aware of me.
He tried to describe her. She was like a gleam of light reflecting off the mirror within him.
She smiled. And disappeared.
Slightly disoriented, Faer went to the washroom to splash water on his face. Looking up in the mirror he saw infinity, and he was disapproving of the future.
Shit I'm gonna be late, he thought. He took a shot of Listerine and grabbed his bag off the floor, stuffing his History essay and pens into its pockets. Stumbling towards the door he pulled on his sneakers and ran out the door in his pajama pants and college hoodie.
(photo via Vogue.com)
