Chapter 3 – Weapons
"Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed." – Dwight D. Eisenhower
To take your flight, you need an effort, but to maintain yourself at a certain height, you need an irrepressible strength, capable to contract your wings in a moment of supreme pain.
Here she is, on the peak of a possible success, trying to make herself comfortable to the limited conditions of a low-cost flight. She was watching the movie which was projected on a minuscule screen in the frontal side of the moving device which was functioning only in the air way. Maybe because of the low signal, the images or the scenes, or however you want to call them, were moving jerky, provoking virulently criticized giggles in her back, which was tense, due to the situation and also to the overwhelming emotions of a new start. Instead, it aroused her oppressive disgust. She thought that the aircraft that was rising like the Phoenix bird to the heaven had high standards of quality. Nothing goes as planned, but she wasn't even thinking about letting this little snag ruin my trip.
By taking a tacit decision, she agreed to let herself prey to the spell of the thick darkness that's related to the sleep, her imagination gamboling on undiscovered fields, applied in the close future.
In order to skip over the sarcastically long-built introduction, she could say that after roughly an"age" in the trap of the invention that belonged to 21st century, she reached the paradise, which was created by her own imagination and to be specific, the magical, pure-American corner that is also called Boston, the metropolis of the whispered dreams, never brought to life. With the fatigue pulsing on her shoulders that were still in the early stages of the development, she stepped on the ice-cold marble, and with a knot in her stomach which was emphasizing my fear sensation, she headed with quick steps to the entrance, miming a plot of an action movie. Her life was depending on this step, Emma was deciding for her, without bumping into the hard words of the skeptics. Unlike the departure, her courage was fading quickly, especially now when she was in the warm, almost dry, semi-dessert breeze of the state of Massachusetts. She believed that the arrival in this place will be a happy one, an almost euphoric one, but in change she was standing completely numb, staring at the exterior, which at first sight seemed to be a normal, boring park, but it was the faithful guardian that was hiding the sublime. Even the nature was reflecting her growing state in which she was dipping, in the same time with the seconds that were passing rapidly without turning their metaphoric heads to study her facial expression, always changeable. She remained disoriented, trying to avoid the look of the passers-by who were desperately trying to be helpful. Emma moved from the initial place –for the first time- walking less or more on autopilot. She was scouring upside down the streets, without realizing that everything around her is desolated, a valuable clue in order to decipher the next events. Probably her mind and also her vision were playing tricks on her, the essential gas, necessary for the normal living were restrained with bestiality in the central point of interest, which was the shoulder that was screaming in pain, generated by the weight of the clothes that were an insignificant detail in this non-conformist landscape.
The peaceful game and also the monumental silence, really hard to be found these days, were broken without a little piece of pity by the quick steps which determinate her body to experience a short round of weak seizures. It was the mental signal sent by the unconscious in order to take attitude in that moment. With a trace of remorse, and also of fear, she turned her look only for regretting it afterwards. The new, formed vision made her jump horrendously. With her eyes wide-open, just to be sure that this scene wasn't an illusion triggered by the fire sword of the sun, she tried to free the road, to let the tracking take its way and also to observe the driving picture, spun off the unknown. A charming boy, with an attentively-sculptured body, shadowed by the oversized T-shirt which was fighting with the hard breathing and the overflowing adrenaline in the blood, and also with the attackers' presence that looked like they were trained thoroughly for an armed assault at every hour of day and night. My reflexes were fiercely slowed down; every trace of defense will was destroyed.
"You'd better run if you had something valorous in that bag!" he announced her on a serious tone, giving her an instinctive impulse to defend her back.
Taking a considerable advantage, he reached a minimal distance of a couple centimetres, he grabbed her arm with an uncharacteristic force for a teenager, as she was supposing. In the new-composed chaos, Emma had the chance to make the difference between the crucial marks of his personality, just studying the powerful grip of his forearm; she was taking hold of in this situation with full desire. The danger was welling progressively, ascertained fact just from the short looks thrown occasionally over her shoulder. From the fact that her inferior members were recovering their initial strength, she could better analyze the person who looked in that moment like my new guardian angel. With a smut-dark hair, specifically arranged in the style of the movies from the old time of the black and white, cram-full of the acrid smell of his cologne which sort of resembled with the fir, he looked quite odd. The typical portrait of the convinced English, completely native, was also helped by the pronounced accent and by the gestures which were similar to the ones of the English type, maybe the noble race. Emma was hardly concentrating at the rocky, bumpy road, totally specifically for an insecure neighborhood. She was starting to feel a slight sensation of suffocation in the moment in which she was put in the position of an eyewitness who saw the roundup from a block of flats that was presenting an extreme little size, with scribbled walls, which was sitting in state the stuffiness of dust, unsupportable considering the intensity. Opening the door with a partial-squeak sound, she entered a mystical land, totally strange for the introvert person like my own person. With her hands clenched on her body, absolutely all my nails pushed deep-down, ready to leave a scar, Emma had experienced a sensation that she had already felt. Standing in the dusty doorstep, she was thinking that her emotion wasn't a confusing one, only an embarrassing one, because four pairs of eyes were checking her out from head to toe, resting aligned, symmetrically, exactly like the members of a war cohort. But, as expected, the tranquility was clogging our existence; none of the figures were exerting their facial muscles or the vocal cords into functioning. Everything was becoming solid, the seconds were leaking indistinguishable, all the things had an interesting dominance: they were quiet and simple like the sky in a summer night.
"It looks like Neal isn't stopping his stupid game!" said the English guy, who despite the fact that was covered by the shadow of a curtain, made it tremble just by speaking with intense voice.
"This happened just because you're walking with the money flying out of your pockets on the empty streets, abandoned by the people, but also locked for the instinctive," affirmed on a cutting tone, the first mate from the line which already curved to the left.
Possessing an alarming-high tone for a short stature, the little blonde with creole skin perfectly calibrated and chromatic, and also with arms without a little meat on them, adapted a defending position which was exhaling in its own only power. Despite wearing an all-black outfit, deprived of originality and personality, Emma could decode her apparently confusion and she wasn't showing it in a subtle way. The whole situation was full of tension, an almost-finished delirium.
"The circumstances are fleeting, what matters is that you escaped with your head on the shoulders," clogged on a comic tuning in the conversation, that was ready to delight our looks with imaginary sparks, the boy located at the row of the detail-eaters eagles.
Probably this is the best moment to insert the quote:"Who is the same gathers around".
With an intimidating attitude and a body that was created from the first time tall, he was blurring out the words with indiscernible speed, throwing sometimes short dances of the eyebrows which were betraying another thoughts than the confessed ones. If the"Savior" was situated at the dark colors and themes' pole, this guy was at an angle of 180 degrees from his apartment-college. By observing the sounds produced by the graceful movements of the corners of his mouth, I could bet that he had pure Australian origins; his accent looked like an aphrodisiac for every woman. Emma's eyelids were knit to the unreal sight, she was confessing that for the first time in her life she was integrating in a hidden community full of immigrants, found in the trouble like she was: the wish of remarking itself in a bright future.
The speech was heading in the way it was conceited to, following the well-proposed standards. Like Emma could have guessed, the script was taking its course, so without a little wait, the third "questions' knight" entered the scene to expose his point of view, completely the same with the previous pattern. They started to provoke me cold shivers on the spinal line.
"Just the fact that he is chasing us, should worry us! With his armed band, he is threatening our throats from every angle and every time he desires," affirmed roughly the apparently diffuse personality of the boy with a platinum blonde hair, the single imperfection was the darker roots, but how it's said: mistakes are humanly. He was wearing neglectfully his short and fulfilled arms, glued to his body, being too shy to drop a puss; maybe just her presence was hardening the possibility of slackening. The spirits were calming down progressively, but for Emma's pure surprise, no one was forcing his intellect to discover her. Probably in their hacked minds, were boiling preconceived thoughts about who she was.
"Who is she? " asked aloud and somehow on an irritated tone the last person, a short girl with chestnut, glowing hair, private from fame because of the round glasses, a little out of vogue , anyway with a slight air of vintage style. Her voice with a sorely timbre was inversely-proportional with the exterior building, a reason which was supporting the quote:"Don't judge a book after its cover". Everyone's eyes filled with curiosity, especially the ones of the agents of the feminine beauty, because we all know that a postmark of the women's gallantry is the desire of knowing.
"She was wandering confusely on the street when she was almost assaulted by Neal," piped without a little dishonor the fact that he was proclaiming the hero of the dirty, abandoned streets of the neighborhood with still an unknown name. In conclusion, Emma was finding herself in the other corner of the world, surrounded by strangers, a landscape that everyone should to keep off carefully. On the contraire, she started to love it.
"Can you assign to know your name, sweetheart? Or are we standing on the anonymous' call?" affirmed on a relaxed tone the cadet number 1.
"Swan," she answered dry; realizing moments later that she was already omitting the truth about who Emma was.
"Cuuuute! " she exclaimed annoyingly, prolonging the middle vowel a little over the allowed limit. "I assume that's a nickname, right?" she added, sounding incisive.
I nodded approvingly, with a dark shadow of red invading the cavity of my cheeks, triggering a large smile on the face which was spotted with moles and bathes in pale traces of sun-tan.
"Ruby," she presented amicably, blinking her eye, somehow casual. "But if we go on nicknames, I want to be called Red. The motif is obvious".
The presentation was flooding slowly, gently; we were connecting through a bond in the proper meaning of the word.
"I'm Augustus, but occasionally I'm called August, the month I was born. My mother made the supreme sacrifice brought me to see the day light and then she decided unwillingly to watch me from the heaven".
Emma was profoundly moved by his last quotes. She found out that she wasn't the single one from this world with this flaw, she discovered that the relieving was hiding in the green branches of the pain, hidden centric, which in the decor was glowing, but our poisoned, hypnotized hearts were ignoring it, missing their chance to future happiness.
"My name is James, but differently from the others, I'm a little more realistic and my nickname is Charming, you know from the universal mythology," he added with a hint of reticence to open his soul in front of the strangers.
I was interested by little, last girl who was living in her won world, isolated from the information's' fluctuation.
"I'm Mary Margaret, and my nickname is constituted from the word Snow. The one who you should thank to because freed you from the possible nightmares and consequences is Graham or The Sherriff". That girl was hiding something in her aura and Emma truly wanted to find out what.
"With what occasion around here?" Ruby inquired, revealing her chatty side.
"I'm looking forward to find my accomplishment," Emma said half-smiling, paraphrasing some célèbre words.
Emma was feeling emancipated, despite the fact that a bunch of questions were standing in her road to find the charming gardens that keep the ideal in the terrestrial world.
Author's Note: Stay tuned, folks! Next updated, right after I return from my holiday! Read and Review! :*
