Sinister
Chapter 1: The Calm
"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil."
Water. The building block of life.
Rushing, swishing and moving all around. The tides swept forth, then receded, repeating time and time again. Birds called in the sky, scouting out food left behind from the earlier storm. Waves lapped the shore, attempting to climb up on the land – but failing to do so. High above in the clear, calm blue sky, the sun beat down on the world beneath. Tropical fowl continued to circle the figure perched on the sands lining the ocean, his breathing hoarse. Water serves as the foundation of life, aiding in the creation of nature and purity. Yet, here lay a boy ravaged by the same element. Blood stains lined the shoreline leading up to the beaten figure, his elegant blue fur clumped with the dark crimson formerly within his veins.
He was weak, but he knew this journey was far from over. It had only just begun. But could he find the strength to continue?
Of course. He had to. He needed to.
Choking, coughing and wheezing followed a mouthful of water and sand. The mixture mixed in with the dry, white grains of rock already present on the shoreline, and grass green eyes slowly opened up to the world. At first blurred, fuzzy and disorganized, the creature groaned weakly and pushed up with his biceps, his torn, white gloves sinking into the sand ever so slightly. Six, long blue quills swayed in the breeze as he struggled to rise, his knee planting on the surface of the beach as he slid his other leg upwards to a kneeling position..
Where did she go, he wondered?
Surely she wasn't dead, he could still hear her shrill laughter through the jungle ahead.
But was that possible? How could a creature such as she exist outside of the deep blue?
The teenage prodigy mumbled something inaudible, but could be assumed to be along the lines of a curse word. His entire body ached, and pleaded the powerful boy to lay back down. But he had a job to fulfil. Giving up wasn't in his nature – never had been, and never will be. Strengthened lungs expanded and sank in his chest with each breath, and slowly he ascended upon shaking legs.
His vision had all but cleared up, revealing to him the thick, vast jungle awaiting him. Uncertainty conquered his determination, filling his mind with doubts like death, or failure. He had never taken too keenly to not being successful. Where the obsession came from, he didn't know. Never in his life had he accepted "good enough" as the end, and did everything to the very best. His arch nemesis, Doctor Ivo "Eggman" Robotnik proved to be a worthy example.
No matter the plot – or devious scheme – the Doctor formulated, it would always be shut down. Almost just as fast as it had come to fruition.
He felt life speeding back up, his mind coming back to reality in a world he could only relate to a dream. A sharpened mind noted down the environment, as his keen, green eyes observed the cartoonish foliage. It was a world he had never seen before, at least not while awake.
Perhaps he wasn't in reality? Was this just a sick, twisted dream? Did his mind create such a vast world to toy with his consciousness whilst sleeping?
Questions he couldn't answer, and probably could never answer, filled his head. That was Tails' job – not his.
Speed. That's right, his job was speed. To race through any obstacle at nigh unreachable speeds, and conquer any enemy that presented themselves. He was the doer. The verb to the noun. While on the flip side, his brother and best friend, Miles "Tails" Prower, was the adjective. The descriptive, the smarts and the logic. Providing the strategy and everything in between.
But that flip side wasn't available right now. So it was up to him to do it himself, whether or not he could or couldn't. The variables didn't care – the danger wouldn't ease up on the basis he was only effective in one tactic. He'd have to develop the skills to formulate strategy and see the logic and danger in every situation, instead of relying on the other side to conveniently relay it to him.
His feet tingled, and looking down, he could see a small crab climbing up onto his red and white shoes. The blue hedgehog shook his left foot gently, shaking the creature off his body and back into the sand, to which it scurried off to another place.
Minutes, or maybe an hour, had passed by since he washed up on shore. How had he fallen into a situation such as this?
Right, it all began with her.
That beautiful, cunning girl. All his time spent avoiding, and fleeing from her, now suddenly turned into pursuit. But she wasn't the same. No, she was far different. So alluring and desirable, like a siren sent to lure sailors into their doom with their pleading, wonderful songs. Maybe that's where his fear of water stemmed from? No, that would be silly. Fear of a mythical creature is absurd, and he wouldn't ever accept something as childish as that. But yet, here he was, struggling to hold onto whatever was left of his life. She had him wrapped around her delicate, gloved finger. It was her game after all. She loved him after all, right? Always worried for his well being and concerned of the details he never fully paid attention to. She was angelic.
Wait. No - of course not.
She was sinister. An embodiment of evil itself.