The car takes a left turn into our neighborhood. Evenly trimmed, crispy-cut grass dresses every lawn. Thin streams of sunlight attempt to push the gray clouds aside and shower the neighborhood. Two-story houses line the street like prime examples of model homes—smooth, even driveways, upright mailboxes, and an adjacent white picket fence.
In this neighborhood, nothing out of the ordinary or out of place ever happens. It’s the same cookie-cutter, perfect neighborhood yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Anything slightly suspicious that catches a neighbor’s attention conjures a call to the Protectors, no questions asked.
We pull into the driveway of our model home. As long as the outside doesn’t look out of place, what happens inside doesn’t matter as much. It’s not like we get a lot of visitors anyway.
The steering wheel stops moving. “We have arrived at your destination,” the car says. “Auto drive shutting off.” The engine dies down, and the car unlocks.
Auntie cautiously helps me out of the car. The pain is easing away slowly. It’s still potent, but not as much as before. Auntie Leona places her thumbprint on the door handle to lock the car. We hobble our way around the car and toward the front door. I catch a glimpse of our neighbor across the street, ducking behind his curtain when I look up. Nosy old Mr. Huntington is peeping and cowering, looking for something to bring excitement into his life.
We step through our rustic red steel door and enter the cool house. It’s a relief to get away from the humid heat. Auntie helps remove my other shoe and socks; my sweaty feet stick to the wooden floor. They peel off the ground as I move toward the carpeted steps. My mind is on my bed and how soon I will get to hit the pillows. I grab onto the polished wooden hand rail that travels and curves to the top of the steps. This is the only home I’ve known since I was three. I barely remember my old home or my parents; it’s like they never existed, and from when I was born until the age of three, it’s all a blur.
We reach the top of the steps, a few feet more, and we will reach my room. The door to my room is halfway open; a little push and the doorway would be wide enough for the both of us to walk through. Straight ahead to the far right is a singular window draped with sheer curtains. To the left is my fluffy bed with six arranged pink and white pillows. White bedsheets are neatly laid out on the mattress. Auntie helps me change out of my filthy school uniform and into my PJs. I remove the eyepatch and toss it onto my nightstand.
Every time I remove the eyepatch, it’s like removing a daily burden. And for at least twelve hours, I won’t have to worry about needing it. I let out a sigh, and with each deep breath, I sink further into the mattress and pillows.
“I’ll be right back,” Auntie says, and she leaves my room.
I pick up the sleek, transparent remote and turn on the TV. The lean glass screen erupts with vibrant colors and ultra-high-definition images. But what is displayed isn’t pleasant. Occulus Daily Report is showing the Central Town train that takes passengers into the city Rat Village. The glossy metal train has crashed and toppled over and off the tracks. The anchor in a three-piece green suit reports on the shocking event that occurred this afternoon.
He continues, reporting that many passengers were injured. Nurses pull away passengers on bloody medical stretchers, lifeless bodies lying dead with broken limbs.
Auntie enters the room in her matching black lace nightgown and bathrobe. Her curls are tied up in a bun, and a wide-tooth comb, a water spray bottle, and hair oil are in her hands. She absentmindedly places them on my nightstand as her attention is on the TV. The reporter’s commentary continues as the images of the crash reappear on the screen.
Auntie runs her fingers through my hair and sprays water over my strands. Gruesome images flash across the screen as I cringe. How could something like this happen?
The reporter continues, “A Rat is upset about the mandatory quarantine that will take effect tomorrow in the Rat Village. The death rate in the Rat Village continues to rise as more people fall ill and die. Until the situation is under control and whatever illness is spreading stops. The Rats will not be allowed to enter Central Town and the surrounding areas. Unless they’re not ill, they will have to provide proof. So in retaliation of this law, he flips over the train with his powers or talents; they’re referred to as.”
The screen cuts to an image of a young boy not too much older than me with brown wavy locks and a tan. He’s wearing a white tunic and is escorted by two Protectors with dark sunglasses and black leather attire.
The Protectors always make my skin crawl. Although they protect our cities, especially the Median and Elite cities, their demeanor is robotic and shrewd. I’ve never spoken to one and don’t care to.
The Rat boy’s eyes dart toward the cameraman, silvery and sharp like knives. The Rats are the only people in our world with talents. That’s what their abilities are called.
“They will escort him to the Protector department, where he will be investigated and subdued. If you know of a Rat or see a Rat wielding any talents or see anything suspicious, call your nearest Protector department immediately. They could be a danger to you and your loved ones.”
The T.V. shuts off.
“There is no need for this tonight.” Auntie Leona wraps a silk scarf over my head, then pulls the thick white covers over me. “I’ll be making dinner soon. If you don’t wake up, I will leave a plate for you inside the fridge, ok?”
I nod.
She leaves a peck on my forehead. “Get some rest, alright?”
“Why do Rats cause so much trouble? Why can’t they live peacefully like the rest of us? Even the house Rats know how to behave,” I ask.
Auntie sits back on the side of my bed and sighs. “Well, when people are living in extreme poverty and are dying at a rapid rate, it will make you do uncivilized things. The Rat Village is an unsafe place, and the people there are violent. But they’re still people of our world and citizens of Occulus, and I’m sure the council is doing their best to help them,” Auntie says.
I study the patterns on my bedsheets, thinking about the images I saw and the Rat using his talents. I shake my head. “I’m glad we’re not like them.”
“Me too,” Auntie says and places another kiss on my forehead.
She turns off the light and closes the door. But my eyes are wide open; my mind is racing like I’m flipping through hundreds of pages.
Today’s fight in school, the witness, my talents getting out of control, and now the Rat causing the Central Town train to crash. There’s so much chaos. I need to be more careful.
When I go back to school next week, I’m going to find out who that witness is and find out what she knows. I think back to the Rat on the screen, his silver eyes, and his talent to move objects with his mind.
I think about my left silver eye and my growing power. I shake my head. Don’t even think of it. Auntie and I have had this conversation before. I am a Median; both my parents are. It’s impossible to be a Rat. Eventually, my mind slows, and I drift off to sleep.
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