One Year On
Is this all it's come to? Sitting in front of the TV, trying to find something to watch, to take your mind off of things?
It had been one year since the defeat of the Yeerks at the hands of the Animorphs, one year exactly. Rachel had the date marked down on her calendar, a notification on both her cell phone and laptop.
When she'd woken up that morning she had a small smile on her face, feeling the importance of the day before she was fully conscious of what day it actually was.
And when she was, the smile disappeared.
There had been a message from Cassie on her answering machine, calling up to see how she was, and reminding her that none of Cassie's five prior calls had been answered. Unspoken was the threat -- although Cassie didn't make threats -- that if Rachel didn't answer soon, she'd be getting a personal visit from Cassie.
Pressing the 'delete' button as the message ended, Rachel gave a snort of derision. Cassie was too busy trying to save the world. Not content with saving the humans in it, Cassie was now working as an animal rescuer.
Most of the other Animorphs weren't doing too badly either. Marco was fast becoming a superstar -- if he wasn't considered one already -- and had been contacted about a movie detailing the story of the Animorphs.
Jake had written a best-selling book even though Marco had written one of his own, presumably to get his own voice and point of view out, give more clarity on some situations Marco was fuzzy on, or wasn't even present for. Naturally, Jake had contacted Rachel for some information he was fuzzy on himself and she filled him in, completely ignoring him if he wanted to talk to her in a non-business fashion.
Ax had become a legend on his home world, being propelled from an aristh all the way up to a War-Prince, completely bypassing the rank of Warrior. He was one of few Andalites committed to the cause of eradicating rebel Yeerks still existing in space: not all had accepted the cease-fire.
Tobias was busy helping Cassie with her work and had given up on calling or trying to meet Rachel after every prior attempt had the same effect: he pleading for her to get out of the house, to do something with her life, and her retreating to a hidden corner of the house or yelling at him and throwing expensive artefacts at him until he left.
Squeezing her eyes shut for a second before opening them, Rachel looked out through the patio windows, traveling over the great tree-covered valley that extended into the distance. This was her third house in a year, each move being necessitated either by nosy reporters finding out where she lived, the area around her getting too crowded, or simply a need to disappear, as impossible as that was.
Throwing open the doors, the sharp breeze from outside caught Rachel, and a gasp of shock escaped her lips. She momentarily paused, wondering whether to get a jacket or not before that question was thrown from her brain -- what she was going to do she wouldn't need a jacket for.
Climbing on to the wooden railing, Rachel balanced herself before spreading her arms and closing her eyes. Three minutes later, a bald eagle was soaring over her house.
Soon, for Rachel, flying became less of an escape and more of a necessity, to the point where she'd be going out and flying five, six times a day, just to keep her mind occupied.
When that began to lose its effect, she turned to other items: deliberately picking fights with other, bigger, stronger birds; squeezing through tight slits in the mountainside, feeling the rocks tearing at her breast feathers; soaring as high into the sky on thermals as she dared before demorphing, falling to earth, and remorphing before it became too late.
Each time Rachel found herself falling closer and closer to the ground, each time able to spot something which she hadn't been able to the day before, when she stopped falling from a higher distance.
Each day she pushed herself further and further, the adrenaline rush she got from the height at which she started remorphing nowhere near comparison to that which she got when she remorphed just in time, her stomach scraping the ground and she fluttering to a halt.
And then one day, Rachel didn't open her wings at all.