Spirits in the Room

Her room was plainly decorated, tidy and spacious.  The only furniture being the big black bed, the table with electronic devices strewn atop, and the slanted desk used for art.  Nothing adorned the walls.  No lights were on; the blinds were pulled up, inviting the gloomy glow of the sad looking day.  Stasia lay on her back on the carpet, staring blankly at the ceiling.  Something trippy was going on.  Why wasn't the texturized paint white?  Colors were crawling above her, rainbow speckles and neon ribbons dancing together, constantly changing.  Not a thought crossed her mind.  She was in a meditative state and didn't even know it.

"Something has changed about her."

"What is she doing?"

"Altering her awareness."

"It has been altered for her."

"How can you tell?"

"She has the mark of a sprite."  The soul glided across the room and knelt beside the girl.  He noted the imperceptible flecks of metallic dust.  "Her third eye, see?  It has been stimulated."

"By whom?"

"I see no imprint, only the signature of a fairy."

"How can they have gotten here?  The circles have been sealed for ages."

"There is great magic at work here."  The soul circled Stasia, inspecting her energy field.  "The walls are still in place.  She has yet to process completely."

"Will she be able to see us soon," the other soul inquired hopefully.

"If only..."  Then together the souls crouched to Stasia's body, using their minds to direct a flow of energy from their hands into her person.  The look of the ceiling changed, and her eyes refocused.  She tried to blink away the vision of shadow-like hands hovering above her, moving the colors around her like the waves of an airy ocean.

        She gasped, coming to the realization that her breathing was too shallow.  Inhale.  Fill your lungs up.  Exhale.  She was on the verge of hyperventilating.  An odd sensation made her body prickle, as if from chilling wind, but her room was warm and comfortable.  She shut her tired eyes, squeezing them in consternation, nostrils flaring, mouth pursed, brows drawn together ferociously.  She felt sick.  I'm so hungover.  Warm saliva flooded her mouth.  Her disposition changed instantly.  When she opened her twitching eyes, the colors were gone and the spins set in.  Her chapped lips were pressed together, the corners drawn down tightly in an expression that leaked an odd smile.  A suppressed laugh.  Gulp.  In through the nose, out through the mouth.  The nausea passed, and she continued to lie there simply breathing and not thinking.

"What has happened?"  Concern.  Fear.

"She shut down."  Sadness.

"But-"

"Don't dare speak, Addicus!" the ghostly being yelled, suddenly angry.  "This is your doing!"

"What do you mean?" tears glistened, threatening to fall.  "I did nothing wrong!"  How he hated disappointing his teacher.

"You empowered her will-"

"Exactly,"

"No interruptions," the master interjected tersely.  He struggled for calm, "she will never make it back in time at this rate!  Your energy work is insufficient."  Seething.

"The state she is in is anything but normalcy.  I sent her strength to change."

"You know that is the last thing her will would allow!  She needed to let go of-"

"But, master, I have done my best," his eyes filled up with mourning.

        Atreyu calmed himself and dropped the mask of anger, allowing the true emotion of sorrow to reveal itself.  He clasped his apprentice's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity.

"Let us leave her," he said.  Addicus dropped his head.  "Can you stand the separation?"

"I only wish we could bring her with us."

"You love her."

    There was a heavy pause, and then the spirit softly conceded, "I am honored to be her guide."  He looked at his master directly.  "Do not you love her?"

        Atreyu smiled, softening his stern gaze.  Chuckling quietly, he pulled the young one into a friendly embrace, patted his back, ruffled his hair.  He need not say a thing; Addicus would learn eventually.  Together the spirits faded from the room, from this dimension, into another place and time.

        There was a knock on Stasia's door.  She hardly responded, merely glancing in that direction.  Too far.  Not worth the effort.  Another knock.

"Uhhh," entrance granted.

        Dawn's head appeared.  She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled cutely.

"Hello, sexy lady!"  She presented a plate of strawberry waffles with whipped cream and syrup.  "Waffle Wednesday!  Come here and have a bite."

"Awe, man," was the moaned reply.  "Mmmf."  Her body was too heavy and tired to move.

"I bring gifts of joy," she chirped happily, dropping to Stasia's side on her belly.  Dawn proceeded to cut up pieces herself and feed her best friend, who chewed lazily and messily.

"I'm not really hungry," came a flat voice with a mouthful of food.

Surprised, "You always eat breakfast."

Stasia sighed heavily and stated, "I'm having a weird day."  Not that it matters.

        Rather than inquire as to her shifted constitution, Dawn decided to remain silent, knowing that her roommate never divulged her innermost thoughts.  She learned not to become frustrated by the inhumanity of Stasia's suppressed emotions, thinking maybe they weren't bottling up, just being left unfelt then discarded, like those of someone with a social disorder.  Perhaps she wasn't perceptive enough to realize that her roomie had the emotional range of a rock.  She decided to try out her newfound method of weaseling out information using random, disassociated questions. 

"Did you see any cute boys at the party?"  Breathy and daydreamy.

"Nope," Stay replied, but her eyes flickered at a memory.  A shadow in the glare of the sun.

"What did you end up drinking?"

"Not sure."  She accepted another small bite of waffle.

Dawn chuckled to herself.  "I had way too much."  She glanced at Stasia's unseeing eyes, the imperceptible nod, the set of those cracked lips, the corners holding up a slight, secret smile.  "Are you feeling okay," wrong question, "I mean, are you hung over this time?  Let me get you some water."

        She's doing it again.  Another drawn out sigh.  Stasia could read people like open books.  Tone of voice, inflection, body language, the subtext, the works.  Maybe she's worried about my reaction to my broken camera.  Shouldn't she know me better by now?  A moment's consideration and, No... She's nervous.  She's curious.  She cares.  Her thoughts turned abstract and visual.  She imagined the man silhouetted against the evening sky.  Music played in her head and a muscle in her chest constricted.  It literally pained her.  She forgot to breathe.

"Stasia?"  A droplet of water splashed onto her nose.  She hadn't known she'd been squeezing her eyes shut.  Dawn appeared hunched over her, glass of water in hand, concern etched all over.  Stasia's fist was clutching her shirt, over her heart.  She released her grip and gasped.  Control was gone and her breathing became ragged.  Inhale.  Hold it.  Exhale.  She just couldn't. 

        Lost in the sensation of an oxygen high, Stasia Benedict surrendered to her bodily panic attack, her mind a completely blank slate.  Hyperventilating and shaking, her composure abandoned, she held onto herself and rode the jolty wave of inexplicable insanity.  Something huge was shifting within her, a soul progression or vibrational frequency increase.  When her breath became more regular she was able to calm down.  She heard her own exhausted laughter, crazy and questioning, dwindling as her awareness returned.

"Stasia," Dawn softly cooed, holding out the glass of water to her friend.  It looked as though she wanted to comfort and be close to the girl, hug her or something, but fear held her in place.  Stasia noticed all of this.  She pushed herself into a sitting position, slapped the floor to suggest Dawn sit, and reached for the water with shaky hands.

"You were coughing and sputtering... and laughing.  You had a fit."

"I know."  It seems I may have drank too much last night.  My body's composition must be out of whack.  Hormones imbalanced, perhaps.

There was a pause.  "Are you okay?"

Gulp.  Smack.  Sigh, "I'm always okay."

"We should take it easy for awhile."

"Agreed."  Maybe.