“It’s odd, isn’t it?” A small, blond girl asked with locks trailing to her heels. I don’t think I’ve seen her just yet, her appearance is anything but familiar, with her pale and sickly body; and a white wedding dress. Such a garment would usually represent a day of happiness, but for some reason, seeing it on that girl drained that reasoning right out of my mind.
Did I know where I was? I can’t say I did. It seemed as if it was a place that I would remember personally, something extremely symbolic. Déjà vu, I suspect is the term. The floor seemed to be switched with the cold ceiling, as I saw rusted metal tracks barely holding on by a few screws. A mysterious hole was lodged at the end, with the entire area covered in paint ridden tiles. On the floor, it was a cylinder like shape, also plastered with tiles. Yes, that was it: Déjà vu.
“What is odd?” I finally responded to the question in one of the only ways I seemed to know how: asking another question. The manual shiver in my voice seemed to amuse the girl slightly, the chuckle being a dead giveaway. She was now on the other side of the area, pushing her legs up and down as she would lay on her fragile-looking back.
My hands were in a bind, by ropes, obviously. Abnormally tight ropes. I let my fingers examine my palm, which seemed to be covered in some type of liquid substance, only its moisture withholding. My fingers touched it lightly before I wince of pain coursed through my body. That answers that curiosity. It was a blood-stained scar.
“A story.” She simply put. She was being cryptic, more cryptic than her appearance. I turned to look at her, only to find she wasn’t even there; another part of the room once more, this time dangling on a rail.
“A story?” I acted bewildered, even with the unnatural calmness in my voice, regarding the unknown situation I am clearly in. “What part of the story?”
“Not the story itself, I suppose; but the events that are hidden in it.” She put her right index finger up to prove a point, then went back to her random childish activities.
“What is this ‘story’ about?” Another chuckle came from the girl, like the question I just presented to her was whimsical.
“Hmm…” She was deep in thought, as was I. “I guess I could give you a small summary, if you would like to read it with me.” The girl smirked. I had enough, that was for sure. I tried twisting out of the ropes, but it was of no use.
“Please...where am I…” I whimpered. “Where am I?!”
Another chuckle from the girl, but more frightening than amusing.
“Names will not help you in this situation. But I understand the need to have a few, at least.” She now appeared right in my face, tapping her finger onto my chin. “It’ll help describe the story, anyways.” She kept the finger on my chin, forcing it in deeper with every word. “March 6th, 2002. East Harlem.”
“E-East Harlem?” The name gave me a slight idea as to where I was and why, but nothing that would explain any of the main variables that have escaped my mind. “W-Why is this date so significant?!” I screamed, awaiting an answer.
“There are 1,472 total answers to that question, but only one shall suffice.” She explained, disappearing from her original position to behind me. “Today, is a very peculiar day. A day that disobeys the fate it is supposed to lead. A day driven by pure coincidence. As this day moves on, the only thing that time can do is adapt to this day, and create something horrid to move on.”
A day driven by coincidence...basically, she was stating every impossibility was possible. Quite a strange day, I suppose.
“This, my fellow, is a story about a hero, a detective, a ghost, a demolitioner, a robot, a pilot, and a liar...but for me? I like to shorten it to ‘The First Day to End all Others’.”
MARCH 8TH, 2002: PARADE CELEBRATING THE DEFEAT OF THE “MARE SOCIETY” BY HEROES. EAST HARLEM:
It was just another abnormally cold day. Just shy of 32 degrees. Most sensible people wouldn’t set a foot outside in this weather, but that just proves that 95% of New York is not sensible. Not that that was a mystery to any local detective in any time period.
Though this time period had some- special -problems. As with any other period or place, there was conflict. Conflict between what is known as the “antagonist” and the “protagonist”, and each side had a different view of who was who. And this was no different. You had the “villain” and then the “hero”, as they battled again, and again, and again. Like a comic book slowly unfolding. And to all battles, there is a winner. And in most cases, the one that the majority classifies as the hero is the one that becomes victorious in the end. Yes, this world was inhabited. Inhabited by people with powers beyond imagination, and then beyond that as well. But conflict is conflict, however you look at it. It’s never without its after effects.
But for one measly afternoon, the people of New York City could put all this behind them. For now, they have one option. To celebrate the conflict, to celebrate the after effect. And that is what they did.
It was a parade, something rare in this time, but definitely one needed. It was celebrating the defeat of a notorious villain group dubbed the “Mare Society” at the hands of a team of several heroes. Colorful and superfluously large floats marched through the streets, as the crowd gave an applause and a few giggles.
Finally, at the end of the trail of floats, there was a large, royal appearing float, with a masculine man waving to the crowd on top. At the sight of this figure, the applause almost immediately got louder and wilder. This man was known as “Gust”.
He was the modern day “superhero” as they called him. Something out of a fairy tale, yet here he was, in light gray spandex and a mask made of leather. He truly was the figure for a hero.
It took him two moments to notice that he was the only one standing. He looked to his side, to find two teenagers- one boy, one female- sitting alone on the bench at the back of the float. They seemed to be extremely insecure, looking down at the ground so no one, even each other, could see their faces. Gust chuckled softly to himself.
‘They’ll grow out of it eventually…’ He thought, grinning a heroic grin. The boy, blond haired with a green and black hoodie, sat with his usual droopy eyes, now wide open with embarrassment. The girl, a brunette with a dark purple strand dyed on her locks, put her pink hood over her face, making sure to never diverge her attention from the tiles below.
The boy’s name is Walker Emanuel, 15. The girl’s: Sydney Miles, 16. Two of the seven that took down the Mare Society. You wouldn’t know from the pile of timid mush sitting on the bench at the moment, that’s for sure.
“He’s looking at us…” Sydney whispered to her partner, making sure there was no way that Gust could hear their conversation.
“Oh, shit. He only looks at us when he wants us to do something.” Walker replied, panicking just a little.
“Hey, you two delinquents! This is your parade too. Hell, even Frosty over there is all cheerful, and he’s a year younger than you.” He coaxed. Walker looked up just a little to see Gust’s smug face. He let out a deep sigh, then pushed himself off the bench.
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“I ain’t giving a smile, I'm sure you already know." He said under his breath, glaring at the crowd. Sydney looked up at the boy's silhouette, his face blocked by the sun, in surprise. She had no doubt that he wasn't going to stand, yet here he was. With no other choice, she reluctantly stood up from the bench, and rubbed her arm nervously. 509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ28IOrBSia0
Seeing this, Walker turned around to see the teenager, a little shocked at her movements himself, but instead of expressing this, he gave her an awkward smile. In return, Sydney did the same, giving the mood between them yet another addition to the awkward aura. They were both scared out of their minds of what was happening at the moment, even when it was only a parade, and that was the only way they seemed to be able to react to it naturally. Well, naturally for them, anyways. 509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIIMdCKHxXE
Though there was something strange. About the aura around the girl. It wasn't...happy. Well, that was an obvious one. You would expect it to be nervous, but it wasn't that either. It was dangerous. That was it. That was the conclusion Walker came to. 509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIkZomTQauB
As soon as the smile appeared on her face, it disappeared into the wind, leaving in its place a frown. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her feet were in a position that could support a charge.
"Sydney-" Walker tried to ask what she was doing, but a sharp pain to the brain cut off his question, as he clenched his skull. Sydney ran straight through the middle of the float, full speed, and then something that no one expected happened. The crowd went silent, and Walker stared wide eyed. It was complete silence, something extremely rare in New York. 509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtLg7aSbCaH
More rare a sight than 32 degrees in March, more rare a sight than one thousand new yorkers gathered in one place for a parade. No, this was much more rare.
"S-Sydney..." was the only word that Walker could mutter.
And thus starts the end.
