The Flyer Of The Fallen Stars Ch. 1

One: School will still pretty much be the same – at least, they’ll attempt to keep it the same. Government regulations suggest that schools try to remain exactly as they were. I think it’s foolish considering all the spontaneous changes going on. Nearly every day, every hour, every minute something – or someone – is changing. My grandfather predicts two more weeks till they change the school systems, though. Someone had to complain about the “inequality” sooner or later. I will still have to walk or take the bus or car when school opens from summer vacation. Everyone must use the “regular” means of transportation to cut down on bias and discrimination of any sort. The government attempts toward regulation are ridiculous. It seems as though the world still knows who we are and what we can do. The things we can do became a part of our identity. There is no use trying to keep the changes so conservative. It’s not like the United States is the only nation to face the effects of the Fallen Stars; the entire world did. Yet, we seem to be the only ones – well, along with Great Britain, Russia, China, and more than half the world; I don’t know what I’m talking about – to approach a conservative path and try to hide our Gifts until some more organized means of regulation are attained. We never had organization, and now that the some of us are faced with the Gift, we never will. I watch the news everyday – sometimes with my family, but most of the time by myself – for any word on the amorphous government regulations. For now, everyone must try their best to keep their Gift stagnant, and register themselves to the newly organized Fallen Star Headquarters of America along with convincing as many of their peers and family members to register if they have the Gift. If their friends and family could not convince them to register, then armed forces will. It’s a new law; all members of the US must register themselves if they acquire the Gift. Register? More like report – a criminal like report where you have confess your crime and face parole duty. I registered myself in the third week when things were less hectic. Now on my California ID, my passport, and my student ID card, there’s a bold, red “AEROKINETIC” stamped over my picture. I just hope they don’t stamp my yearbook photo. Aerokinetic, I think whenever I look at the bold, red word, why fancy it up? We’re Flyers, and that’s all we’ll ever be. The Aerokinetics are indeed Flyers with a fancy name. Those with the Flying Gift do exactly as their name suggests; they can fly. Since I am classified as an Aerokinetic, I, too, can fly. Though I have only flown twice so far, I know how wonderful flying is; how free it feels to be in control through the breezes. The first time I flew was the night of the Fallen Stars. The second was in the FSHA – Fallen Star Headquarters of America – building when they asked me for my Proof of Gift – or POG as some people call it. After that, the people from FSHA advised me to keep my Gift retained until further notice. I must admit – it’s difficult. It nearly hurts when I must fight my compulsions. I must use all my will to stop myself from leaping into the air and swimming through the sky. It strains my energy every time I do it. Two weeks ago, there have been reports of constant fainting spells. Some people found it harder to restrain their powers, I guess. The government is being foolish. How many more hospitalizations will it take till they realize we cannot restrain our powers? It was a hot day in Los Angeles, California. The city usually bustled with exhilarated tourists and zealous shoppers, but there was an odd stillness in the air. Even within the heart of Hollywood, every soul seemed sluggish and tired. I was sluggish and tired, but I had a reason to be. I could not fly and it was distressingly hot. I absolutely cannot stand the heat – which was odd since I grew up in California and was born in a desert country. I trudged through the nearly empty streets, my lungs congested with hot air. I accidently tripped over a

tourist sitting on the floor next to a star on the walk of fame, posing for a picture. “God!” she exclaimed, rubbing the wound I left on her foot. “Sorry, I’m no good on land,” I sighed. Her red, sunburned face crinkled into a nervous smile. She wasn’t sure what I really meant by it. Even if she did, no one really knew how to react. Some feel amazed, others disgusted, but most people just get nervous. No one really saw this coming – except me. I didn’t know where I was supposed to be going. I felt like a trapped bird at home – having no job and having been done with my summer homework long ago – I had nothing to do. My mother caught me zombie-like in front of CNN waiting for word on new government regulations and laws. She could not stand the sound of the morbid anchormen anymore so she sent me out to take a walk. “Fresh air,” she said, “You need fresh air.” Thank you, mother, I thought, for sending me out on this hot, horrid day knowing I have trouble with mobility as it is. I made it near the Kodak Mall. The tall, golden entrance to the Kodak Theatre didn’t seem as majestic as they used to. I looked up the dreadfully long staircase to the second floor and was amazed by how grey everything appeared to be. I looked around the street. Oddly, there were no people dressed as characters out today. Did they have Gift issues to deal with, too? I could not stop myself from laughing when I thought of the man dressed up as Spiderman actually getting spider-like powers. That would help his career. I heard the thunderous sounds of the sirens suddenly. Tourists immediately took out their cameras and flocked towards the edge of the street – this was their first witness to a Hollywood crime. I stood to the side, knowing it wasn’t so keen to stand close to a police chase and a criminal possibly holding a weapon. It took me a while to make out the entire scenario; there was a criminal, and there were police chasing after him. How the criminal was escaping was what caught me by surprise. He wasn’t in a vehicle, and he wasn’t on foot. No, he was zipping effortlessly through the air. “It’s a Flyer!” someone suddenly shouted. Yes, I thought, he’s a Flyer. Like me, and probably like a few other people around. But what were we supposed to do about it? The criminal and the police were still about a block behind us. People gathered around the edge of the street to get a better look while the mall securities tried to do their best in holding them back –away from the disaster that’s soon to come. A helicopter was tailing the flying criminal now. It didn’t want to open fire until it was sure there were no civilians in the way. A young policeman parked near me zoomed through the crowd and went up to strong, masculine looking men and then even women asking them if they were possible Flyers. None of them were. I guess I was the only one around the block, but what can I do? I couldn’t hunt this man down. The flying criminal gracefully swam through the air past us. He was smiling with ugly, dirty teeth. His clothes were tattered and repulsive. A homeless man, I said to myself. Well, he’s not homeless anymore. His home is in the air now. I was looking for traces of his crime; stashes of jewelry in his pockets, bags of money in his hands, some kind of dangerous weapon, a dismembered head. I figured he was in criminal offense because he wanted to take a crazy joy ride in the sky. As he flew past me, I swear he looked at me and chuckled. He looked like he was having the time of his life. I longed to join him; not aid him in whatever crime he was committing, but to just fly along with him. He was a free man – a free bird. I suddenly began to feel extremely dizzy. Just as the sirens began to ring in my ear, I fainted. ````````````````````````````````````````````` I dreamt of the night when the stars fell. They weren’t stars exactly; they were meteors. I was out on the balcony. It was the middle of August, so the heat was unbearable inside. Everything was normal. My mother was baking a cake for dessert, and my dad (my stepdad, but I’m used to calling him my dad) was watching television in the living room. A few people were outside walking their dogs or going to night clubs. It was pretty much the regular Saturday night in Los

Angeles. Regular in appearance because I felt squeamish that day, as if something was very wrong. I was out on the balcony. Something felt very familiar. Everything felt very déjà vu. I could feel myself curling up in a ball from discomfort. “Are you okay, Ife?” my dad cried from the living room. And it seems like as soon as he said it, it happened. First, was there was the Darkening. I thought it was the street lights outside that went out because the sky went dark, and I had a very odd empty sensation in me, as if something was missing in our ecosystem. It was the moon, of course. It was gone. Just gone. A few panicked whisperings signaled that some people noticed the pitch black sky. Next, there was the Blackening. In other words, it was the world wide power outage. When I say power outage, I mean the world had no power – manmade or driven by nature. Later on the news, some people claimed that even the ocean was completely still. Nothing moved. Everything was still. The world was so frozen in shock that no one piped a sound. A second later, the stars started to fall. Millions of shooting stars enveloped the dark sky, brightening the view once again. It was just so unreal. It all just felt like a drug trip. At last, after a few momentary glimpses of the Fallen Stars, the final stage took place – the Slumber. And that’s exactly what happened. We all passed out and went to sleep. No one knows how long, for they say time stopped itself. Everyone woke around the same time. I awoke to the sound of my mother’s scream as she saw me hovering ten feet in the air. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, “Miss, are you okay?” echoed an unfamiliar voice. It was a man’s. “Shouldn’t you get her to a hospital? California police, I swear,” echoed another unfamiliar voice. It was a woman’s this time. I’m guessing she was a tourist. I fluttered my eyes open to a crowd of strangers. One of them was even snapping pictures of me. I groaned to my pounding headache. “Miss, how do you feel?” said the first voice. It was a police man’s; the one who was searching for a Flyer earlier. “I’m okay,” was all I could manage although I knew I was not, and I didn’t know how I was going to get home since my legs were completely numb. “Are you sure? Can you make it home?” he said. He sounded shaky, as if he was going to get in trouble or something. “Yea, sure,” I lied. I really didn’t enjoy scenes. Some people from the crowd had already departed, but there were still enough so embarrass me. The police man helped me up, but my legs wobbled and I fell back onto the ground. “I can give your parents a call if you like and give you a ride,” he offered. I took time to really look at him now. He was young and a bit scrawny. Short, dirty blonde hair capped his scalp and made him look skinner for some reason. He seemed nervous and tired. Give the guy a break, I told myself, he’s trying to do his job. “Yes, that’ll be great,” I smiled. He took my number, gave my mother a call (I can only imagine how panicked she was), and helped me into his police car. It was a short ride home, but we still managed to have a small conversation. “Aerokinetic?” he asked. “Yes,” I said without looking at him. It embarrassed me for some reason. “That’s why you fainted.” “Yes.” “I know how it feels. They can’t expect us to keep it in any longer. They’ll have to enforce some kind of organized training or something. I don’t know.” I lost him after, “I know how it feels.” That means he has a Gift, too. “You have a Gift?” I asked; looking at him this time. He seemed to be growing paler by the second. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable about him in control of the wheel. “Hydrokinetic,” he said almost proudly. So he was a Swimmer.