Trust in Wyshe

 

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Chapter One

My soul is adrift. I can feel it slowly getting colder, more distant, more twisted. I can see in the corners of my mind, the lines of reality, getting blurred. I can feel myself getting lost, as everyone else continues life in mundane. I fear when I am no longer in control. When my eyes no longer see. When my ears turn deaf and I am no longer there. I am empty, colours and flashes of surreal images cross my mind when I fall to these dreams. 

    I have a rare mental disease. When my reality, my vision of the world around me turns black and my imagination takes over. I can no longer hear, see or feel anything happening to my body. Instead I am in my dream. 

    And I can not get out.

 

I wake to the sound of the wind roaring against the walls. Reverberating explosions of white hot lightning shake the floor. The dancing shadows jagged, scream as the halls flash bright. I lie in the midst of the storm, my eyes wide and my heart cracking open my chest. My hands clench, unclench, clench, unclench as a wave of darkness washes over me before an ear-splitting boom shatters the windows and rips apart the house. Fire leeches onto my body, burning holes into my hands, slowly dissolving my skin as I turn to ash. I hear screams in my ears, my head pounding, sweat trickling down my neck. The burning house slowly fades from my mind, my hearing returns and whispering voices scream and my attention snaps into focus.

    “Cadence! Seriously, what’s wrong with you, did you fall asleep?”

    I see a girl with dark chocolate coloured hair and grey-blue eyes slowly come to focus. It took me a while to register that she was Lea, my best friend.

    “Lia... how long was that one?” I asked in a slurred tone, my body still recovering from the dream.

    “About 10 minutes. You seriously need to get that checked out, it looks like it’s horrible for your health, look at you, your all pale and shaking,”

    “My head’s killing me,” I felt a wave of nausea overcome me and a lurched forward nearly throwing up all over my lap.

    “Here, let’s get you to the school nurse, it’s still lunch so we have time to get you checked out.”

    These sudden dreams started happening at the end of summer break, and over the course of four months they became more vivid and longer. It was soon impossible for me to be shaken out of them, you could shout in my ear or pour freezing cold water on me and I probably wouldn’t snap out of it. The only reason why I haven’t looked into it is because it hasn’t become a problem, until recently I assumed I had focus issues and they were just intense daydreams. Until it was near impossible to bring me back to reality and I was almost always found shaking and white as a sheet when I returned. 

    At the beginning of the year my friends found my sudden dreams to be annoying, freaky even. They all ditched me when I had them, except Lia.

    “You look in shock honey, are you ok?” the old school nurse asked in a sweet tone.

    “Well, I have a massive headache, and feel like throwing up,” Lia gave me a look.

    I wasn’t in the mood to explain the dreams to the nurse. Most of the people I did tell looked at me like I was crazy. I didn’t really have the energy for it anyway.

    “Ok then, drink some water and lie down. I’ll call your parents.” she said as she walked over to her desk.

    “Well, its almost class, so bye,” Lia shuffled out to the hall, it made me feel even worse.

    What was wrong with me? I felt like a freak. I really wanted to go home. I thought about my mom and how she’s been pretty stressed lately with her job. And now I’m making everything worse. 

    I stare at the carpeted floor, the seemingly random pattern connecting lines, those lines swimming in my vision and moving like an optical illusion. Then, I felt the corners of my vision fade out.

    No, no stop it. I thought. And slowly reality set back in. My head began spinning as the nurse came back. 

    “Your mother will come to pick you up,” when she left I slowly got up and trudged my way to my locker to get my things.

    What would have happened if you didn’t snap yourself out of it? I thought as I waited in front of the school.

 

    Back then I tried to stay optimistic, maybe I’d get cured. I was far from right.

 

 

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Chapter Two

Everyday I watch the earth from a small glass marble I keep in my pocket. I zoom in on the humans, spending their short lives doing what they love, being happy. It’s hard to believe so many of them don’t believe in themselves, don’t make wishes, give up on their dreams. 

    I am a Wyshe, celestial beings who are invisible to the human eye but clearly have a presence in the lives of humans. Wyshes make pacts with human souls when they wish for something, in exchange for energy and sustenance that keeps us healthy we grant the person’s wish. but it isn’t abracadabra poof your wish is my command type stuff, but we add hints here and there and add fuel to the fire of your burning passion.

    I, by Wyshe standards, am very young. 120 human-years to be exact. And I have never granted a human’s wish. but it is my burning passion to do so. To be summoned by a human when they say “I wish,”, to serve them loyaly even though they are unaware of it, to be an invisible guardian angel, protecting them and their dream, helping them accomplish their life’s desire and making their life complete. It gives me shivers.

    “Aias-Eos can you help me with something?” My father, Eros-Eos, says as he walks into my chamber in the form of a wolf, as usual. Wyshes can be in the forms of things, such as a bird or bear, but their soul takes up the same amount of space, so you can still see their energy body separate from their form. I am normally in the form of a human, I find the hands and facial expressions handy and awesome. Wyshes can use telekinetic to communicate but humans are the only animal known to earth-colonized Wyshes that have an advanced physical communicating system, usually I use that method rather than speaking with my mind.

    I nod, right now I’m reading human history, about a man named Alexander the Great who is a very remarkable man, he had a very powerful Wyshe by his side the entire way.

    “I need you to answer my emails for me,”

    I look at his black wolf form and just by the movement of his energy I can tell he’s agitated.

    “Do you have another meeting?” I ask as I bookmark my page.

    “Well, no, it’s just that I need to investigate a crime scene,” I could feel the grimace in the words, it was bad news.

    “Is it Mors cultum Opta?”

    He only nods his big wolf head as he walks out the door.

    I sigh, checking his emails was not a problem, but what is he going to do about this Mors cultum Opta? I’ve been seeing their name in the news everyday, wrecking havoc on the citizens of our colony. One day they’ll get what’s coming for them.

    I open up a Retina Screen as I filter through the spam to get to my dad’s work email. Nearly all of it was complaints about the Mors cultum Opta, charging them for various crimes, suing them for vandalism. I spent the next half human hour telling 42 people that since Mors cultum Opta is an anonymous cult we can’t actually sue or fine them.

    I view downwards checking to see if I missed any, one title catches my eye; MORS CULTUM OPTA’S NEW OBJECTIVE: UNIQUE WYSHE SOULS.

    I open it and it reads;

Reporter and undercover informant Yllis-Syj found out while snooping in the guttersnipe part of the colony that the cult known as the Mors cultum Opta has made a deal with the shadow lorde Ombre to have the ability to consume rare or unique Wyshe souls using taboo magic. The already insane cult now hunts down for special souls that have certain energies about them. To see if you possess a soul they want click on this link:

If you have any information about the Mors cultum Opta please email this address or post on our blog at:

 

I thought it might be a trap so i took off the trackers on the Retina Screen before clicking the link. The questions were pretty scientific, each of them made sense. Apparently the rare souls need to have contradicting personalities, resilient or steel hard wills, or souls that have not lived with pain or suffering and remain innocent and pure. 

    I did an optical illusion test, a reflex test, questions about how I would react to certain situations and what is my preferred form. Questions like: Would you rather have your friend break your arm or you break your friend’s arm. And Would you do something very embarrassing for a dare? Obviously questions to guess if your more selfish or selfless, if you have a lot of pride or if your gutsy.

    When I finally got to the end of the quiz and only needed to press ‘see results’ I began to feel a little anxious, what if I did have a soul they wanted, would they be able to track me down and kill me? 

    I had a sudden urge to go back to reading about Alexander the Great.

 

 

 

 

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Chapter Three

My mom came after I waited 10 minutes in the cold. Her bright blue toyota rolling down the street casually, obviously she wasn’t in a rush to see if I was alright. She was used to getting sick calls from me. She was a potter, painter, and stained glass maker. She also carved wood. She was what I like to call a Collage Artist, or in the words of my mother: A Freelance Artist. Sometimes I think she only does that kind of stuff because she’s too lazy to get a real job. But she gets a reasonable income from her Etsy account. I’m not sure if I inherited any of the artist gene. I love crocheting and I play the cello but that’s really it. 

    I open the door to the toyota to be welcomed with a very loud indie pop song blast in my ear.

    “So how are you?” shouts my mother as she exits the school parking lot.

    “Fine,” I yell back.

    I look at her, she’s wearing a very interesting outfit, I always liked her fashion sense but it would never suit me. She has a long handmade colourful skirt with beaded thread braids dragging at the bottom. She has a loose shirt that hangs on one shoulder, its green and has a picture of a tree on the front. Her bright artificially red hair tied up in a messy bun with a big hair clip. She has a small amount of red makeup that makes her green-grey eyes flash out. 

    “I made Golden Potstickers and kale salad for dinner,” She said as she turned down the volume of the song, “Since its friday we can go to that Art Walk and check out all the acrylics and beading sessions,”

    “Sure,” I mutter.

    She turns to me in the passenger seat at a red light and grabs my hand.

    “I know its hard, babe,” she pulled into our driveway, “Just hang in there, you should probably study for your science test?”

    “Yeah that sounds good,” I say as I step out of the car.

    I look at our house, the outside was sleek, black and white with large glass windows. The garden in the front is my dad’s aesthetic garden, full of a rare type of rose, catmint and some and a spongy moss. It doesn’t sound like much but he did a good job picking out complimenting plants, he also kept good maintenance of it. My father loves gardening, he says he feels a connection with the earth when he gardens. 

    I step inside and am nearly tackled over by a large jump from a Catahoula Leopard Dog named LouLou followed by the tongue of a tiny Boston terrier named Marvin (yes if you asked, just like the dog from Tron). I immediately feel a rush of warmth fill inside me, my dogs always know how to make me feel better.

    The inside of my house is neutral paint with huge canvases of stunning art. It has open concept and our backyard has a gate to a huge forest. The kitchen is italian custom made cabinetry and brown swirled with white stone countertop.

    The inviting scent of dumplings fills my nose. My diet is strictly vegetarian-except-seafood, my mom imposed that rules since birth. So, I’ve never really eaten meat before, except for seafood. My mother says she could never give up sushi. I couldn’t either. Normally our diet resembles a vegan diet, since my dad has severe lactose-intolerance. 

    I flop down on the couch in the blanket and sketchbook covered living room. A scented candle perfuming the scent of vanilla red tea lightly. The bamboo coffee table has a pair of unfinished crocheted mittens. My head’s still pounding so I’ll just focus on studying. For some strange reason studying calms me down, it helps me regain my focus.

    “Can you still do your yoga lesson today or are you too unwell?” asked my mom as she plopped down beside me with her latest novel: The Complete and Unabridged Grimm’s Fairytales.

    “I think I’ll be ok today,” I reply as I search through my backpack for my study material.

    “Also remember to practice your cello song for monday.”

    I groaned, “It seems that cello is a chore more than a hobby nowadays.”

    I go out of the living room and up the stairs to my room. The walls and ceilings are draped with hanging indian cloth that I got at a flea market. All the furniture is painted a orangey-red or midnight blue. beaded scarves and hundreds of piled of various mittens, hats and a sweater a strewn over tables. My craft station is a large table with a hot glue gun and a sewing machine and various bolts of cloth. In another corner I have my keyboard and cello. I have my crochet chair and a large four-poster bed. When I was little Harry Potter was my life so I always adored the four-poster bed.

    I plop down on my crocheting chair, one that is huge, pillowy with large armrests. I drag over a small table and lay my study notes over it.

    Usually when I’m in my room I don’t get the dreams, I’m usually much more calm, much more peaceful. I look over at a messy pile of attempted manga drawings and my tall stuffed bookshelf library. My room is what you’d call: comfortably messy.

    I sigh, Lia is probably not very happy with me. She knows I can’t control my dreams but I know I’m dragging her down. Sometimes I wish I was homeschooled so I didn’t have to borrow anybody.

 

 

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Chapter Four

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