Reclaimed Words- My Name isn't Adela

Have you ever thought of the consequence that comes of creating a world? I have. But, I never really realised how real that world was until I was thrown into it myself. But I wasn't just forced to watch, I was forced to participate- the only one with the knowledge of what is to come. I could choose to let them live, to change the plot and live forever in that world. Or I could play along to the part of the fool, and forever lose what I had created. But all I know is that my name isn't Adela.

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1. Prologue

Tumbling, turning, twisting. Falling and flying at the same time. The hot ash of the burning engine scalding my face, the rush of air pinning me to the wall of wreckage. Back home, I guess they'll read about this terror in books, tucked up safely in their beds, no danger of this happening to them. But that will never be the case for me. I am a rider, the one they will write an obituary for in the local newspapers, a number on a pointless report as they file me away under another 'accident'. They sent us out here, knowing that the ship was barely able to achieve lift, let alone navigate the crowded space above our atmosphere. All around me, the screams of those who struggle to pull free of the scrap sheets of metal that have detached themselves from the main body of the ship, fill my ears and drown out the drone and splutter of every mechanism that used to power this piece of crap.

I always remember wanting to fly like a bird back on Gaia, but I guess I never realised how terrifying that sensation could be...

I close the program, a click of my mouse all it takes to wipe the words away from my eyes. Glancing down at the clock in the right hand corner of my screen, I find myself surprised at how little time has passed since I last checked it. 1:17AM. No one is online, and my eyes won’t hold open for much longer. But my thoughts still brim with ideas for the next line of speech, and stories yet to be written. I reach for the book tucked beneath my easel and unscrew the cap off a pen. A slew of ink scrawls across the page, curving and looping as it spells out fragmented sentences I’ll never use.

My head rests easily on the pillow, falling into the soft embrace of the cotton case. Today marks the second year of the existence of Eldain, the world in which I control, and what a two years it has been. I smile to myself, thinking of the climax I have yet to write.

What could change leading up to it? More than I can think about right now, the original plot has already been abandoned for a more human one. But I neglect to think about that now. With one earphone blasting out the orchestration of Hikari and the other falling steadily down into a mountain of pillows, my neck goes weak, my eyes falling shut.

Sleep takes me.

I fell asleep in bed, my room, my world. Where everything was centered, and nothing was known.

 

But I woke up somewhere I knew all to well, as someone I thought I would never meet.

Adela. Eldain.

Was this a dream, or was the spear through my chest too real to be so?

 

 

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