The
vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean stretched all around Kyden as a sense of diminutiveness
overwhelmed his mixture of emotions, but eventually it gave way to exhaustion.
The rhythmic slapping of waves onto the boat lulled Kyden into sleep despite
the determined goal that he had to stay awake through out the whole journey. He
was going out into the modern urban world instead of staying in the comfortable
rural village in Ireland, which he considered a great adventure and a new
chapter in his life. His grandfather had
told him of the Prophecy that he had to follow, which pertained to him; after
all, was it not him with immense, but not perfect, self-control from day one? Yawning,
he stumbled onto a chair and closed his dark eyes.
Several
hours later, Kyden woke to loud shouts of excitement and found himself curled
up in a cushioned lounge chair on the boat deck with his knapsack as a covering.
Then, muttering curses, he realized he had given in to his inner persuasion and
fell asleep. He looked around to see
groups of tourists pressed against the railings, chattering and pointing as if
something had caught their eyes.
“Regardez-la! C'est le city! ” a tourist yelled in French
with excitement. The city? Kyden sat up and looked around. Indeed, they were
near the city. Even this far away, Kyden
could feel the Big Apple in him as he saw the towering buildings made famous in
the postcard skylines, heard the continuous sound of car honks and smelled the
gasoline floating in the air. Kyden did not know whether to be amazed at what
humans had created or to be disgusted with their decision to destroy nature for
cities like these.
Kyden
started when they passed a towering lady made of rusting iron. The crown on her
head inclined Kyden to believe she was royalty. The lady was also holding a torch and a book. Kyden
wondered if there were possibilities that any Royalty still lived in America.
Last time he had actually listened to his history lessons were before his
involvement in the Prophecy. Kyden sighed as he remembered his home in Ireland.
The quaint, little village of his by the sea, where he had been comfortable but
eager to be part of urban society, pierced his memory in a way Kyden never
thought it would.
With
his thoughts deeply wrapped around his home, Kyden had not realized all the
tourists had returned to their cabins to get ready for docking. Immersed in his
thoughts of home, he stared off back towards the horizon in which the ship had
arrived from.
“Sir,”
someone woke him from his reminiscing. “The boat has docked and you’re the last
on deck. We have to ask you to leave since the crew has to prepare for the next
trip.”
“Oh,
my profound apologies, sir,” Kyden replied in his Irish lilt as he turned away
from the railing and went to pick up his coarse knapsack which contained his
toiletries, his brand new Irish passport, a set of clothes, the luck charms his
younger brother gave him, a necklace with a badly carved fireball and the first
item Kyden had ever burned, some Euros and the address he was to go to in case
he missed the person that was supposed to pick him up.
He
walked off the plank onto the wooden pier; Kyden looked around amidst the crowd
that was still half-gathered around. As he tried to leave the pier, a man with
a flat stick stopped him.
“Hey,
you cannot leave until I see your passport and check that you are not bringing
anything illegal into America,” the man said threateningly in a strong Middle
Eastern accent. He gestured for Kyden to put his backpack on a rubber, black table.
Kyden
complied and put his knapsack onto the table that suddenly rolled it through a
big box, “Wait! That’s my sack---”
“Don’t
worry about your backpack sonny, we’re just checking it,” another man in a blue
uniform and belt said kindly. “If you would, put anything with metal in here
and proceed through the metal detector.”
Kyden
looked at the white doorframe in front of him and made a face. Why would humans need metal detectors?
Kyden wondered, after all, they managed
to bend metal themselves. He
shrugged, disconcerted, and took off his jacket with many metal zippers and put
his wallet into another box that rolled after his backpack.
As
he walked through the white doorframe, the red light above it started to shine
and rotate as an irritatingly loud shriek pierced the air.
“Put
your hands up!” the flat stick man shouted with a glare. He then proceeded to
pat Kyden before he found the source of all the trouble: the metal clasp and
hook of Kyden’s necklace. The man gave his last glower at Kyden and swept him readily
off to the next station, the lady who dealt with passports.
“Hello,”
the lady said in a monotone voice. “Please show your passport.”
Kyden
dug around his backpack before coming up with his blue VISA passport that he
had gotten a month before. The lady checked the photo on it before stamping his
VISA with a giant red seal. Kyden stared at the words with disbelief as the idea of being in
America finally impacted him.
“Next!”
she shouted as Kyden, pulled out of fantasy, was
pushed past the booth into the actual waiting area. There were masses of people
wandering around. His grandfather had not told him who the person picking him
up was. So Kyden wandered around the exit aimlessly for a while before he got
tired and sat down in a seat near the automatic doors, hoping the person would
recognize him.
Well, that was our preview. I hoped you enjoyed and if there's anything unsatisfying, message us, leave a comment or, better yet, talk to us in person and we'll signing something for you! You never know when that might come in handy. ;)
-Azalea
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