Gabriel Silk
Deceased
Cause of Death: Hit by car; suicide
Witness Statement:
"He stared at me as I was driving up the road. I was getting ready to wave when he stepped into the street, in front of my car. I have good brakes; but not that good."
--
Gabriel had just finished telling Charlie and Fidelio the entire story when they entered the coatroom. How Manfred brought him into the music room and showed him a mess of trumpets. "Did you do this, Silk?"
The psychic gaped at the talents master. "No," Gabriel was baffled as to why Manfred would suspect him. The next move was so quick, it took Gabriel a second to realized what had happened. Manfred grabbed the endowed's wrist and him pull so that Gabriel had no choice but to looking into those black coals. Eyes that could grow nightmares.
His mind went blank as he lost himself in the black eyes, like thick pools of oil. "No" was the only thing he was capable of thinking. As soon as it had come, the mind-sweep ended. The talents master threw Gabriel back when letting go of his wrists. "Very well," he had said, humor tented in his voice.
"That's weird," Fidelio stated, as they finally herded into the coatroom. "What do you think he did?"
Gabriel shook his head, his brown hair falling over his eyes ever-so-slightly. "No clue," He admitted.
"Could he have erased your memory?" Charlie suggested.
Gabriel considered it as he reach for his coat. He hadn't been gone that long. Someone would have noticed there was a lapse of time. Maybe there was something else he had forgotten. When he reach up and grabbed his cape, he froze on contact.
"Gabriel?" Fidelio and Charlie both spoke in unison. But the brown-haired boy didn't move much. Something was wrong.
Everything became kind of grey. The previous concerns now seemed just boring and unimportant. The coat mattered now. That was all that mattered.
Then, as if someone had pressed play, he grabbed the cape off the hook and put it on. His two companions looked at him funny. "What was that about?" Fidelio asked.
Gabriel shrugged, his motivation in answering drained from him. "Just had a thought," He responded; tone flat.
Charlie and Fidelio exchanged glances, but nothing more was said.
He clung to his coat the rest of the day. Literally. Often keeping his hand clenched to the sleeve. At one point, when Olivia asked why he was doing it, he absently replied "I'm not sure."
The group was concerned, as Gabriel was out of it for the few remaining days of the week. On the bus, Fidelio tried to get Gabriel to talk.
"Hey, what's up?" He asked, as he positioned himself comfortably on the bus.
The brown haired boy shrugged. "Just not very outgoing?" His last word curved, creating the question. All of the psychic's responses has been of uncertainty.
"Wanna talk about it over at Pet's Cafe?" Charlie suggested, coming into the conversation.
At that moment, Gabriel realized he had gained control his friends' interest. "Alright," He sullenly answered, "I've got to stop by my house first,"--although he was completely sure why he had to--"but we can meet up there," He confirmed with his two friends. Gabriel got up and walked off the bus, for his stop had came just before they have settled their arrangement.
The endowed started to walk up the street, pondering on why he was feeling down. Although, as soon as he tried to think about it, his thought were averted. As if he wasn't suppose to think or was embarrassed to do so.
Gray eyes watched as a car was coming down the slope. The brown-haired boy tried to think again of why he would be so gloomy. But the useless feeling came over him again.
The car was getting closer.
Tried to think about his friends, how they had showed concern for him. How they cared. But it was a strangely hallow thought. Could his gerbils, that he'd see not too long from now, provide comfort? He didn't doubt it.
Eyes were still locked onto the car's bumper for some reason.
Gabriel's mind suddenly went blank again and the dreadful depression weighed down his stomach. Inches away, the car was about to pass.
A few quick steps towards the street and an intentional trip.
And the car hardly had a chance to swerve.
--
author's note: (shadow of badlock spoliers) when tancred drowned and weedon meantioned the endowed dwinling, i thought of all the good childern's demise. i've got the anxiety of school work and projects, reward people with promised gifts, and writing my own short stories jabbing at me. so, don't expect an update from this too often. but, i'm pretty sure it won't happen once in a blue moon. read and review please. it encourages me.