Blinding Light (BLS Book 1)

Asher

Present time…

I didn’t need Nolan in my room after his lecture. Even though he remains silent, I feel an urge to get him out. I know he wants to leave but he just won’t admit it. And besides, I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. Everything being down here isn’t right. Everyone knows it—just no one admits how wrong everything is. And how dangerously close to hell we’re stepping.

I chase Nolan out of my room, pushing him out as he cursed at me. He tries to fight back. And I know I would lose because, unlike him, I’ve never had the years of training as he did. Before he can fight back, I slam my door shut.

“Moore!”

He’s rattling the door just a second after I flip the lock. “You little…” I can still hear him shouting outside.

“I swear, I’m going—” I zone out, drowning away his voice.

“Do you hear me?! I will!”

He storms away, footsteps echoing down the hall. I know he’s right but he’s a damn a$$hole about it. I don’t need him to tell me what’s right and wrong. Besides, I don’t tell him right or wrong, and even if I did, it’s like air battling stone. Although sometimes, I need to say it to myself right or wrong. Just sometimes, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.

I sigh. I was about to ruffle my hair when I realize that I got a haircut just a couple of days ago. It’s short now and I hate it. My hands travel to my chin instead—it’s a stubble again. I think the stress is making it grow way faster than it should—or maybe it’s just puberty acting up again.

Nolan seriously needs to get a grip of himself. He’s like a brother to me. And seeing him losing his temper so easily, makes me worry about him; it’s been hard to see him normal or calm. As careless and free as we were younger.

Sighing, I flop back onto my bed, letting my drained body sink into the soft, white mattress. The lights are on the low setting and cast a soft, warm glow in the dimmed room. I like it this way, it feels like no one’s watching me. I feel less like prey being stalked by a predator. And it’s a haze of a feeling that I can relax for the first time.

I roll over before pushing my face into the pillow. My thoughts wander to her. Again.

Her beautiful green eyes contrast with her waist-long hair and her pale skin that makes her eyes pop a more forest green. Even her annoyed and angry expressions couldn’t hide her beauty—no I’m wrong on that one, seeing a cheery person like her mad is like dropping dead straight into hell. The last one hits me hard in the face. I chuckle to myself, only removing my face from the pillow to take a breath.

What a load of crap. It’s never going to happen, daydream all you want, Asher, but you know your role; you volunteered for the hatred.

In a way, I’m glad I’m doing my part. But a small feeling sits in my chest, weighing down my options.

I thought back to the time where her face scrunched up in disgust, in dislike—and that’s putting it mildly. I hated myself for doing so, but Mother thought it was best to continue with two characters in her lifetime. The charming one and the mysterious one. This way, we can record data for the APT about the kind of people she likes and dislikes; and which one has a lasting effect: Sir Perfect and the A$$. I chose the second option. I don’t want to waste more precious time charming someone who isn’t even here. My thoughts turn cold.

She’s not even here. Not here. I frown and rub my face—shutting my eyes.

You have to stop this before it’s too late, I warn myself.

I flip onto my side, my fingers tracing the smooth marble wall. From my pillow up five marbles tiles. Three to the left, two down, one to the right. I press my fingers into the wall until something clicks. A small marble piece of the wall clicks in, then something pops out from above, a drawer: my drawer. I grab my journal and quill. The quill’s worn out, old, but it was my father’s, and I will treasure it until the end of my days. I sigh before I let my thoughts unravel.

Entry 31:

It was hard watching everything going on around me, as usual. Significantly, Nolan was changing to the Project. His personality changed, and so did his mood. It’s possible that the change was the cause from constant interaction with the host. I do not know what to expect from the Project. Her state has not improved, nor did her powers, abilities—gifts, as Mother called them. Our savior, she called her.

I had hope at first, like everyone else. I didn’t know that it was to disappear so quickly. As for the APT, Accessible Project Transfusion, Nolan always tells me to treat it like a game. But I know, and everyone else knows that it’s wrong. Treating her like an object, not even enough to be human. I know we can’t risk asking, but I can’t help but wonder.

What happens if the human population isn’t in danger? What would go differently?

My life is nothing more than an experiment. My abilities, only alive because it was taken from others. I’m breathing and walking, but I feel so dead. I feel so light, but I also feel like I’m drowning, suffocating from the lack of air. With each passing day, my life force drains—dying slowly. The air forcefully taken away. Trapping me with nowhere to go. No options to take, but the one painfully staring straight at me—the Project.

I can’t help but feel sympathy towards her. She has this light that almost seemed to be able to guide our every bad thought away, far away. I know it’s stupid, ignorant, foolish to feel this way. I can’t help but be drawn towards her, to help her out of this nightmare, very well knowing that the human race may be coming to an end. I’m still so unsure. I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to be the one to pull her from this nightmare. I don’t know if I’ll be able to choose someone else’s survival over mine.

I’ve always been the “moody” one, as Nolan called it. I’ve always been selfless. I’ve put others before me, brought their needs above my own. I would risk my own life to help others.

Until now.

7/14/2340

I snap my journal shut, letting the thoughts drain themselves out of my mind. It always feels better when I write. The thoughts drift away from my mind onto paper. My pain, my torture, lessening. Even just for a little while.

Tonight, I’m going to revisit her, to see if anything has improved. It kills me inside to see her, attached to all the tubes, wires of modern technology. Only at night, she’s free of those torments. Or so I thought.

Being with her until her very last breath. Until she implodes with that pain that we caused her, she’ll be able to rewind her wasted years if all goes well; then live without us, without anything to bother her anymore, live her carefree life—till the day of the myth: the prophecy.

Being there with her always brought a bright side to my down counting days, to all of our days. And it has been that way.

Always.

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Thanks, with lots of smiles

☆•Yiona•☆