I cradled a cup of warm hot chocolate in my hands—one of the ones from those coffee machines; the ones that, for some reason, always seem to taste the best.
But drinking cheap, hot chocolate was not the only reason I was at the old community theatre, which always seemed to have a smell of damp curtains and fresh paint. The late afternoon orange hue slanted through high windows, catching motes of dust that drifted like tiny actors across the stage. Krista stood centre stage—gripping a script with suptly shaking hands, on knees that were trembling ever so slightly—while the rest sat cross-legged in a loose semi-circle around her.
The instructor paced around the circle, her silver hair catching the light in a halo just above her ears. She was small, but carried herself with quiet authority, which told the story of a woman who had walked the West End and Broadway alike before choosing to settle down, teaching aspiring young actors who reminded her of her younger self.
"Krista."
She said, stopping just outside the circle.
"You're explaining the line. The audience doesn't want to be told that you're sad—they want to feel it. Stop trying to fill every bit of silence; use it to help you."
Krista nodded, her cheeks already tinted rose, her hair was tied up in a ponytail—neat at first, but now little strands waved in the air. shining in the light of the stage lights. Every so often, she'd glance at me in the crowd. It was a small crowd, made up of family and friends of those taking the acting class. I sat in the back row, arms crossed. Every time she glanced, I'd give her a smile—quiet encouragement.
In through the nose, out through the mouth; this had been drilled into Krista since she first started a week ago. She took a deep breath, dropped her shoulders, and breathed out.
"Okay."
She whispered to herself.
"from the top."
She began her monologue from the beginning.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
The words came out thin, apologetic. She winced the second the words came out.
The instructor raised her hand.
"Stop. You're apologising to the script."
She gesticulated with every word she spoke.
"Don't read the line from the script. Become the character and say the words as if they were your own. You're talking to someone who's already walking away. You know whatever you're going to say is not going to turn them around. But you have to try."
Krista's throat tightened. She looked down at the creased scripts—a rainbow of colours highlighted specific words; notes scribbled along the borders of the paper in small, careful handwriting. She read through the lines one last time, taking them into her core before folding the paper into a small square and sliding it into her back pocket.
She closed her eyes.
The room went still, from the dust to the instructor's steps.
The lines came out soft, and her voice began to crack.
"I... Didn't mean to-to hurt you, I-"
She fell silent. It felt painful. Her fingers curled into a tight fist at her sides. She didn't rush to fill the silence; she let it sit for a second before continuing her lines. The whole room was encapsulated in her world.
The circle fell silent.
The instructor smiled.
"Voila."
She said.
"The audience latched on to every word."
She opened her arms as she spoke, gesturing to the circle and us in the crowd.
Krista opened her eyes and looked at her through wet lashes.
"How did I do?"
"You sounded like someone who's afraid of what they've done. That's better than perfection. You did well, sit down. Lila, you're next."
They went person to person, each with their own monologue—some happy, some sad. But none of them gripped my heart the way Krista did.
By the time the class was over, her ponytail had almost completely come undone. Her cheeks were flushed. She felt lighter than she ever had.
She slowly gathered her things.
I stood at the double doors, hands in my pockets, waiting.
"You were great."
I said as she reached me.
"I was ok."
She said, looking down at her feet as she walked.
"You were better than ok. You brought a tear to my eye."
She elbowed me in the arm gently.
"Shut up, I'm still shaking."
"That's what I'm saying, that's real shit right there."
I wrapped my arm around her shoulder.
"Wanna go grab dinner, my treat—hero's reward."
She smiled gently.
"Ok, if you tell me how much my monologue made you cry."
"I was bawling; it felt like your words gripped my heart."
I was over the top with my gestures, moving cartoonishly as I gripped my chest with one hand and swept my hair back with the other.
Krista giggled.
"Shut up."
We stepped through the streets of Groissaint. The sun had set a short time ago, and the sky was painted black. The streetlights flickered on, smearing gold across the sidewalk.
We walked towards the high street, past shuttered shops, steering past takeaway restaurants towards a small Vitelian place—tucked between a bookstore and a barbershop. Through the window that leaked yellow light onto the pavement beside it, there were red and white checkered cloths on the tables, with lit candles sitting atop.
Inside, it smelled of garlic, basil and pizza dough. The owner was an old man with a thick accent, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted in flour. He greeted us like we were regulars, but this was our first time. There were a few customers dotted around, most of them looked like couples—old and young. We probably looked the same.
"Just the two of you? There's a perfect spot by the window over there."
We slid into the booth by the glass. Krista shrugged off her jacket; I rolled the sleeves of my hoodie up.
Krista ordered a spaghetti carbonara—dammit, that's what I wanted—and a small glass of sauvignon rose—oh how fancy. I ended up settling for a pepperoni pizza and a Coke. Once the food arrived, we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes—she twirled the spaghetti around her fork, and I ate my pizza one slice at a time.
I swallowed the piece of pizza in my mouth.
"So."
I eventually broke the silence, wiping grease from around my mouth with a napkin.
"You gonna keep going with these acting classes?"
She paused, fork halfway in her mouth.
"Yeah, I think I will. It's... scary, and a little embarrassing, but I need to do it if I want to fulfil my dream."
"You looked different up there, you looked like you reached your flow state."
She met my eyes.
"Flow state?"
She asked in confusion, placing her fork down.
"Yeah, apparently, people can reach a flow state, where they almost become a different person—reaching a new level of efficiency—in a specific activity or sport that changes depending on the individual."
"Cool."
She placed some spaghetti in her mouth before continuing.
"So mine's acting?"
"Maybe."
"Ok then, George, what's yours? Art?"
"I don't think so. I don't think I've found mine just yet."
We slowly finished the rest of our food. Sharing a tiramisu together. When the time for the bill came, I paid without giving her the chance to argue.
Outside, the night had turned colder. Krista zipped her jacket all the way to the top, stuffing her hands in the jacket pockets.
"Thanks for coming."
She said quietly.
"So worth it, you were great. I can't wait to tell everyone that I met Krista Hopkins before she was famous."
She bumped my arm again—much lighter this time.
"Not so bad yourself."
We walked home, shoulders almost touching.
Far above them—past the towers, the clouds and the ozone layer—sat Tom, alone on the moon, with nothing but his thoughts, staring at the blue-white marble of Earth.
But on the streets of Groissaint, Krista was smiling under the streetlights, and for George, that was enough.
The Sea of Tranquillity was silent in the way only a vacuum can be.
I sat on the edge of a shallow crater. The Earth completed one revolution since I first came up here. The voice is still running circles in my head.
Kill them
Kill them
Kill them
When he started chanting those orders at me, I flew as far as possible—ending up on the moon—since then, he hasn't contacted me. What could MEI possibly be after that has him so afraid? I wonder what the boys are doing—probably in the pub. Since I got these powers, I have become distant. What if they think I'm dead?
I lifted myself up from the crater. In the distance, there was a crater that looked large and deep. Curious, I flew towards it. There were small chunks of scrap metal scattered across the crater. There were also small crystals of a purple hue scattered, too. I reached in to pick it up, and as soon as I made contact.
My life flashed before my eyes.
But it wasn't my life.
I was in someone's back garden, hearing someone trying to get it on with his girlfriend.
YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING BUT FEEL TOO WEAK. AM I RIGHT?
My head suddenly feels like it's splitting.
YOU'RE SICK OF IT, AREN'T YOU? BEING USELESS, COASTING ALONG LIFE WATCHING OTHERS USE EACH OTHER
It's his voice
AS WELL AS USING OTHERS YOURSELF, RIGHT?
DON'T YOU WANT TO CHANGE THAT?
WHAT IF YOU COULD HAVE THE POWER TO STOP HIM, OTHERS AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, YOURSELF...
WOULD YOU TAKE IT?
THEN TAKE THIS POWER.
TAKE IT AS YOUR OWN.
USE IT AS YOU SEE FIT.
TAKE CONTROL OF YOUR LIFE.
Suddenly, the guy comes running around the corner, and I take him out.
But shortly after, I'm taken to a new scene. Orange dirt roads, dry green bushes.
There's a small ship flashing its light down on the ground. It's a black man.
Who is this idiot? I fly through the ship and leave.
Next, I'm in a city—smashed cars, bodies, debris are all scattered everywhere. I fly straight down, punching a hole clean through a giant creature I've never even seen before. There's a girl there, staring at me in awe. I feel like I recognise her, yeah, she got carried into the hall on a stretcher. She's an MEI agent. But suddenly I see more creatures, the same as the other one, marching towards me. I take them down, gesture some kind of peace sign towards the girl and blast off, doing the same across the city.
I flash to another scene. Am I'm in an alleyway? I blast off. No way, it's Grossaint, I see the ship that attacked that day. In fact, I'm flying towards it. I follow the ship up to an... Armada? I take ships down but get shot and land on...
The moon.
The flashes stop.
I stand, frozen in shock. My hand is firmly grasping the crystal, its rubbery texture confusing my senses; it feels like my skin, but looks like a diamond.
So this crater was created by whoever's memories I just lived through, and just above me, just outside of Earth, was a massive armada of the ship that attacked—no—even bigger. I need to find this person.
You will
The voice returned, and I began calling out to the void.
"What's going on!? What do you mean when!?"
There will come a point where I will need the two of you to do something for me.
"Why won't you tell me anything!?"
I waited.
But there was silence.
"DAMMIT. WHY WON'T YOU SAY ANYTHING!"
I punched down at the floor.
BANG!
A crater appeared in the ground following a loud bang. What did I just do? I felt a tingle flow down my arm into my hands, followed by a force pushing my arm back.
I tried again.
The tingle rolled down to my palm. I held my palm in front of me and released.
It was a blast—physically and metaphorically—it looked like fire, of a red hue, flying through the space between me and the moon's surface. Once it made contact, a massive explosion lit up the surface of the moon, blasting chunks of the moon into space.
I stared at my hand.
It was ghostly—red, slightly jagged at the edges. Buried beneath the cloud of red energy, there was white, just like those crystals.
I turn back towards the surface of the Earth, squinting at Troisine, trying to find Groissaint.
I need to find the other one.