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“You are the crème de la crème, the best of the best!” Chester raises his chin up slightly, the exact way Mrs. De Sousa does when she’s drilling it into our heads that we’re from a super school. I hate it when they say such things. I think it’s too elitist. But Nova Academy is one of the finest high schools in the country. It’s a school for gifted and talented students, and has spawned some prodigies and now famous people. “I still remember Pixel Wallace.” Chester continues flipping through the pages of the catalog. “Accepted into Harvard at the age of fourteen.” Stuff like that makes me wonder what I’m doing at Nova. Pixel and I had some classes together. She was discussing “projective geometry” with the teacher, at the speed of a bullet, while the rest of us worked on some algebra. Math whizzes like Chester T. (a.k.a. “Chas-ti-ty”) understood “projective geometry,” but not me. I tested into Nova’s program because of my high score on Languages and Linguistics. It’s probably due to my interest in cultural studies. “Did you get a chance to check out The Lysistrata online?” “A little bit. It looks posh.” I am halfhearted about the fact that we won’t be getting paid as interns though, as with many other interns... “It does look posh. It’s about the number one museum around!” Chester must have sensed my lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, I know you like history. It’s going to be fun.” Suddenly, the seatbelt signals above start to flash. My ears hurt. The pilot’s voice comes on. There is some audio static before anyone can hear what he’s saying. “Ladies...and gentlemen...” But the static takes over again. I feel like lurching. My hands are freezing. “You look stressed,” says Chester. He’s right about that. “I’ve heard about horror stories, where passengers’ cups and saucers went flying,” I mutter to him. “During turbulence?” “Yeah.” The plane jerks. A baby starts to cry somewhere. I stare out the window at the surrounding dusky, gray skies. We will be landing at night. “Maybe it’s the wind,” Chester says flatly. He gazes out the small square box of a window. “Unless a bird got in the engine.” I wish he had not said that. I stare at the motion sickness bag in front of me. Then, Chester holds my hand. “It’ll be okay in a bit.” My other hand clutches the edge of the seat. I think he notices. “Think happy thoughts...” he says, taking a look out of the window too. He lets go of my hand to put his seatbelt on. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. I’d like to rest my head against his shoulder, just to feel safe, but I don’t. I think it might give him the wrong idea. Everyone already thinks we’re a couple but we’re just good friends. Of course people will believe what they want to believe. I recollect some fun incidents with Chester over the years. Way back in the fourth grade, he got me a lime green pencil box for my birthday, while I got him a giant chocolate bar (our birthdays are a few days apart). I remember being taller than him until around eighth grade when he suddenly shot up, and now he’s a lot taller than me. He’s also been working out these last couple of years, so his name has popped up in “girl talk.” We’ve been on group dates but never just the two of us, so I don’t know why people think of us as an item. I never give that impression. Like I said: you can’t stop people from believing what they want to. The plane shakes a little again and I am jolted out of my memories. As I try to think about more “happy thoughts,” I realize how much of a life I am lacking, and how much I am missing out on. Apart from maintaining good grades, reading lots, and going on the once-in-a-blue-moon “date,” what else have I actually been up to? Yes, I’ll be in the world-class city of Roxeth for a fortnight—and work starts on Monday, tomorrow, oh joy—but two weeks isn’t going to make a magical difference. Besides, cities are busy, crowded, and noisy. And I hear public transport in Roxeth is expensive, so I’ve brought extra money for that. If not, there’s always the good old plastic card (thanks, Dad).
I start to fantasize. Something straight out of a romantic novel or movie, with me in the starring role, of course. I dream of someone sweeping me off my feet, someone that would show me something “new,” something that I never knew existed...I will melt in his arms and he will show me what passionate love can be. Ah…happy thoughts. The plane lands smoothly. I didn’t know we had been so close to landing. Chester hits his head when we stand up to get our bags from the overhead compartment. I laugh because he looks cute when he cringes. It is nighttime now. Everyone’s standing up and getting ready to step out of the airplane. Everyone seems to be in a big rush. I look outside, and see the bus waiting for us. It’ll take the passengers from the plane to the airport, which is a short distance away. “Thank you for flying with us,” the poised stewardess at the exit says. Chester and I smile politely. We must look disheveled next to the cabin crew. I’m just about to point out Chester’s dark rings under his eyes to him, when I notice something else when we step out of the plane. The temperature. It is a little warm. The air isn’t frosty, and doesn’t bite at your fingertips. It’s nice and humid. Fin Chapter Fifteen - Christopher C. Payne – The Gargoyle Prophecies; Part 1 – The Savior Rises Christopher C. Payne was born in January 1967 and grew up in DeSoto, IL. He received his bachelor’s degree in finance from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale, graduating in 1990. Currently, he lives in San Francisco, CA. In his spare time, he enjoys biking and snowboarding with his three daughters and his fiancée. Payne recently embarked on a literary career with his first novel Duncan’s Diary: Birth of a Serial Killer. In his second book, Learning to Cry, Payne detoured from horror and delved into the complicated ties, deep love and ferocious pain between fathers and daughters. Not wanting to be labeled under a specific genre, Payne has completed his third novel, The Gargoyle Prophecies: Part I, The Savior Rises. Payne published all three books through the small press publishing company JournalStone he owns and founded. Look for an anthology of horrors to be published in late October. JournalStone is also in the process of signing a select group of authors and should publish additional works before the end of 2010. Author website: http://journalstone.com Amazon author page: http://tinyurl.com/29jxd7t Copyright © 2010 Christopher C. Payne The Beginning- The End: The Gargoyle Prophecies; Part 1 – The Savior Rises Stefani was quickly approaching her 21 st birthday. It was only 10 days away. You would think this would be a happy time in her young life, but today marked the 11-year anniversary of when she lost her chance at any
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