over 10,000 words :D

Chapter One. Charlotte.

Her bicycle cut through the fog like a knife. Riding around in the mysterious haze of an autumn sunset gave her a certain rush. Excited to arrive at the autumn festival, she pedaled faster and faster yet. After all, the autumn festival was one of the most tremendous celebrations of the year. It marked when the magic of the majestic city was in full circulation. The leaves turned the brightest of reds and oranges before they gently slipped off of the trees, and danced to the ground. Not only were the leaves in their most colorful state, but so was the city. Videpolís was alive with spirit. The walls of all the houses and buildings glowed with iridescence and life, as if freshly painted. Clothes had a new sheen. Even the people looked more beautiful. The normally pale became tan, their hair vibrant with color, and their teeth, white as snow.
Charlotte was seventeen, with auburn hair, and dark skin. In her right eye, a crescent shaped scar that overlapped everything she saw. Used to it by now, it affected her little. She lived in Videpolís, the most stunning city in the nation. With a large deposit of magik under the center of the city, everything was wonderful, all of the time. She had friends who enjoyed her company, family that loved her, teachers that introduced her to the real world, and guided her along the way.
Still on her bicycle, she turned her head left and right. On the left, a parade. The Duke and his wife riding on the back of an elephant, both looked as beautiful as ever. The royal band was playing, and their shamans performing tricks with fire and lights. On the right side, she noticed six of her friends walking towards the heart of the festival in a sort of blob formation.
She whistled and their heads turned. Their faces lit up like they did whenever she showed up. The moment she stepped off her bike, she was bum rushed by her best friend, Cynthia.
“Charlotte!” Cynthia embraced her in a deathly bear hug. “It feels like forever since I saw you.” To Charlotte’s surprise, she squeezed even harder.
Charlotte began to beat upon Cynthia’s back until she got the message to loosen her grip. As she managed to catch her breath, with a grin on her face, she wheezed out a sentence. “I saw you yesterday at school.”
Cynthia giggled. “I know, but it’s the autumn festival. Everything’s amazing today. What can I say?” Everyone giggled, as Charlotte gave hugs to everyone in the group.
After her welcomed embraces, Charlotte and her friends strolled down the street, about a block and a half away from the center of the celebration. As they walked, they passed at least one hundred stands, if not more. Desperate but optimistic venders lined the streets. Gypsies offering their fortune telling services, proclaiming their mystic abilities of their so-called third eye, shamans and alchemists alike with hand made charms containing self-proclaimed defenses and powers. Odd looking characters swallowing fire, and of course some of them spitting it back up.
Charlotte bought two necklaces. One was in the shape of the sun, rumored to guide your way at night. The other was a silver chain dangling a rainbow colored orb with an aurora of colors, as if the northern lights were dancing on her chest. Her friend, Alexander, purchased a sleek knife made to hang from a back pocket. On it was an engraving of a lone wolf howling on a cliff top. This symbol was supposed to give strength to the holder when all alone.
After they made their purchases, three little kids ran by, screaming and yelling, and threw four cold water balloons at Charlotte and her friends. Stunned and angered, Alexander turned to Charlotte.
“Hold this will you?” He handed her his knife. He probably didn’t want to scare them carrying around a new, sharp knife. She took it, and put it in her bag, and Alexander ran off after the group of hooligans.
He was back in a minute or so, obviously satisfied. His joy was ripping through the seams of his smile.
“What’d you do,” asked his friend Jose. “You look too happy for just having chased after a group of little kids.” He and his friends all snickered.
Alexander made a face at him before responding. “I stole some of their water balloons and threw all of them at those brats. Got what they disserved.”
“Way to go Alex,” Cynthia said. “I mean, sure it was three ten year olds, but you sure showed them who’s boss.” Her sarcasm lingered on her tongue, as she applauded him jokingly. When all of her friends laughed, she did too, and walked up and gave him a hug. “I’m only joking of course,” she assured him. He smiled, and they started for the field.
By the time they made their way to the field where all of the people had gathered, the sun had set, and there were very few open spaces left. They threw down a few towels, and a blanket, and snuggled up tight. As the shamans sprayed magnificent fire works into the air, casting auroras in shapes, telling the city’s story, the duke’s booming voice surrounded the park, narrating the pictures in the sky.
In the clouds, appeared a lovely blue and purple display in the shapes of two opposing armies, head to head. The duke began to speak. “Hundred’s of years ago, when popular religion and dictatorships ruled the Great Planes, a war began. After several public insults made by the Christian nation towards the neighboring Muslims, tensions began to rise. After four long years of going back and forth, the Muslims finally became fed up, and invaded the Christian country.”
The purple and blue lights in the sky quickly became red and orange, resembling a towering fire over a city. “As the ravenous Muslim army stormed through the sleeping, unsuspecting capital city, they set buildings a flame, skewing anyone they saw.
“The Christian’s would have responded, but they were unable to, simply because the entire city was dead. The rest of their country was useless without their capital city, their government, their army.” In the sky, little brown figures were shown fleeing in boats and cars, down bloody red rivers, and gravel roads. “As the Muslim army retreated, satisfied with their destruction, there was a mass exodus of the Christian country. After twenty years, some Muslim explorers went back to the area, to find ruins of a once prosperous city, covered in forestation and wild animals. When the explorers reached the old capital building, they noticed that there was almost nothing left. It was completely destroyed, a pile of rubble on the ground. However, on top of the heap was something curious; a blue flower, almost a violet color, simply growing out of the remains.”
In the atmosphere, a picture of a blue flower was painted magnificently amongst a pile of black. “The lead adventurer, Aaizim, simply walked up, and picked it. Suddenly, he was thrust into a new world. He saw people digging below the capital building, and finding some sort of vibrant aurora, and afterwards, a prosperous city, not ruled by religion and dictatorships, but freedom and a fair monarchy.” Upon the clouds, a brightly colored city was scribbled. “When he awoke from his vision, he told his friends immediately what he saw. They later dug to this aurora and found that it indeed was magik. As they attracted free thinking people from around the continent, they formed a city ruled by a duke, a duchess, and a small group of senators. The flower that sparked the idea for this marvelous city became their symbol, and earned them the nickname ‘the Blue Flower State.’ Now, four hundred years later, I am proud to be carrying on my great great great great grandfather’s city the way he envisioned it.”
As the aurora faded, the audience burst into applause, jeering with excitement and nationalism. As the royal band struck up an exciting song, the audience began to clear the field.
“Are we all still going to the party in Aaizim tonight?” Charlotte asked, partially unaware of her friends’ agenda.
Alexander was quick to respond. “That was the plan.”
“Cool,” Charlotte said as she began plotting her night, “I vote we take the train, so I can load my bike on the front. I for one do not want to bike all the way there. It’s like, seven miles.”
“The trains is going to be packed!” Alexander countered.
Cynthia then chimed in. “Oh my goodness, the train is going to smell so bad. I don’t even want to think about being shoved in between all those sweaty people.” She shivered, making a groaning noise imagining her bumping against the numerous perspirating passengers.
Hakim, another one of her friends, began to persuade her in another direction. “How about you chain your bike up here, and I’ll drive you up here on our way home. I brought my car.”
“Ah, thanks Hakim.” Charlotte began smiled and gave him and tugged on his hand. She began giggling, becoming flirtatious. “You’re just so wise. I don’t know what we would ever do with out you.”
“It’s all for you, Charlotte. It’s all for you.” He began smiling to realizing she was still holding his hand, he gave Charlotte a look of curiosity.
She then began briskly walking, his hand still in her grasp. “Well come on, I want to get to a club before it gets to crowded. My parents said I could actually stay out tonight, no curfew. I’m not missing this because you bums are lollygagging in the field.” Her brisk walk evolved into a jog, which was slowly transforming into a run. The group followed her to a light pole. Charlotte locked up her bike, and they continued towards Hakim’s car.

By five a.m., everyone was home, the streets cleared; the parties over, Charlotte’s bike was in her house, and Hakim’s car in his garage. The city was sleeping. Little did anyone know, that through the mist came an ill-tempered army, with one thing on their minds. Steal the color.


Chapter Two. Valentine.

In the distance Valentine could make out fireworks. He knew this meant they would be leaving soon, to raid Videpolís. The air in Morté had been thicker than usual for the past month or so. Citizens like Valentine had been hastily drafted by the army. This had happened before; Morté was not new to military drafts. Their city had earned their name. After all, the word Mort in Latin means death. The only reason this induction was any different from the previous few, was because there was no official war. As far as the citizens knew, they were at peace with all neighboring cities.
Morté was nothing compared to Videpolís. Ninety five percent of the population was poor or homeless and the other five percent had something to do with the government. The only people who owned cars either worked for the government, or owned a business, and needed immediate transportation. Almost all of their roads were made of dirt. The only stimulation their economy had were the small markets throughout the city. And to top it all off, under their city was little magik.
Valentine was a single man who, when not serving the military, lived in a small apartment, on the fourth floor of an adobe building. He worked at a tiny shack that sold traditional cuisine. He had brown eyes, light, shaggy brown hair, his skin tan, with a crescent shaped scar sitting next to his left eye. He was tall and thin, with some muscle from his brief army training. He was now dressed in customary army camouflage, with a rifle at his side.
As the soldiers finished up their final meal of the night, they heard the General over the loudspeaker in the ceiling. “Attention all soldiers; we will be loading the trucks in exactly an hour and a half. Please finish your meals with in the next thirty minutes, and keep your eye on the time. If anyone is late….. don’t be late.” The intimidating voice blaring from the ceiling cut out. After about ten seconds of silence, the men resumed what they were doing prior to the interruption.
Loyal to their city, Valentine and his friends did not mind serving. True, it did take away from their personal lives, worrying their friends and family, but it was their patriotic duty. The military was one of the few things the people of this city had to brag about. Sure, they had a mean recipe for grilled Salmon, but that couldn’t compare to the riches and glory of Videpolís, no matter how delicious their spices were. That city was rich with color; their people prospered. Few lived poor, and even the poor felt happy. In Morté, it didn’t matter how rich a person was, everyone was dismal.
That’s why, on that particular night, after the soldiers had driven into the city well after their celebrations had ended, they planned to steal the color from Videpolís.

As they drove their armored vehicles into the silent city, they gained hope; hope that success would ensue. The fog was still thick as it was earlier in the day; they had an invisibility cloak to hide what they were doing. After about half an hour, they placed eight alchemists on certain points on the border of Videpolís. After they had all drawn the ceremonious charcoal pentacle at their feet, they began their chant. Quietly, almost whispering, they chanted on and on. To steal this amount of color would take a lengthy spell. After forty minutes of necessary chanting, motions, and charcoal symbols, a bright light flashed in the centers of their pentacles.
After the blaze subdued, the brilliant light disappeared, in its place was something beautiful, something magnificent. At each of the alchemists’ feet was a small crystal, with a rainbow aurora. Alone the colors radiated beauty, but when put together, they became something outstanding: a diamond that glowed of dancing irradiance. As it faded in between all of the colors of the rainbow, and then some, the soldiers stared in awe. After a moment of silence, the alchemists disappeared into the shadows, and the soldiers got into their vehicles, loaded the Color into a safe, and drove away into the night as if nothing had ever occurred.
When the militia got back to their base, they rejoiced. Every single one of them was proud of what they did. Finally, after hundreds of years, Morté had something to be proud of, something enviable, and it was thanks to them. After they all grabbed a bottle of beer, they raised them high, and cried an ironic cheer. “Long live Morté! Long Live Morté!”
That morning, as the sun rose, the military leaders brought the Color, in secret, to a disclosed location; a location that even the soldiers were unaware of. As the soldiers and citizens of Morté slept in blissful comfort, the people of Videpolís woke in a state of panic.

Chapter 3. Charlotte.

Opening her eyes in a daze, Charlotte slowly rose out of her bed. She stood there for a minute, still in morning detox, and then drifted into her bathroom. After she removed her clothes, and stepped into the shower, she began to remember the previous night. She turned on the water, and as it was tumbling down from the shower head like a miniature waterfall, she daydreamed.
Everything was perfect last night, she thought. She dreamt of all the dancing, the delicious food, the festive drinks, and her friends. In Alexander’s grasp almost the entire time, she watched three of her favorite bands perform downtown in a dazzling concert. After that it was back to clubbing. They stayed out until four, when their feet felt too tired to dance.
Becoming conscious once more, she lathered her hair with shampoo, and stared at the floor. Something was different. No gigantic anomaly, just a subtle difference, as if the floor of the bath tub had faded from a rich peach, to a watered down yellow color. Puzzled, she looked at the wall. Once a beautiful assembly of turquoise and jet black tiles, it now looked like a lazy artist had painted light blue and grey squares upon the wall.
Still dazed with sleep and her illusions of faded color, she stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and rapped it around herself, a façade of steam surrounding her. She took another towel, and began attacking her hair with it. After about a minute of violent shaking and rubbing, she put it down, and went to pull out her hair dryer. Still in befuddlement, she made a double take at the towel. Like her wall and shower floor, something was changed. The towel, once a lovely maroon color, was now faded red, as if it were a large white sock that got mixed in with a red shirt in the washing machine.
After drying her hair and applying all of her usual morning body enhancers, she went to her room. As she shut the door, her jaw dropped. It was not just her imagination, indeed not an illusion; everything was faded. Her walls, her bed, her dresser, even her clothes had become lackluster. She then made a mad dash for her window. When she opened it, she found her self staring, open-mouthed, at a pale Videpolís. It was as if her whole world had gone through a wash cycle with way too much bleach.
She screamed, slammed her window, and continued screaming. She shuffled to her closet, still wrapped in her towel, and threw on a short sleeved t-shirt she had gotten at the concert the night before, a pair of already faded blue jeans, some moccasins, and ran out of her room.
“MOM! DAD! Where are you?” She was still shouting, only this time she was forming words.
A disoriented father responded. “What do you want Char? It’s seven in the morning on a holiday. What could possibly be this important?” Obviously still in bed, he showed a minute interest in his daughter’s cries.
“The color! It’s….” She trailed off. She couldn’t find the words to say. It wasn’t exactly common, for the world’s color to just fade away. “It’s all faded,” quieter now, “it’s gone.”
“Honey,” her displeased, slightly annoyed father responded, “it sounds like you need more sleep than I do. Go back to bed. I’m sure you just had a bad dream or something.” His voice began to slip at the end of his sentence, his mind slowly drifting back into slumber.
“How can you even think of sleep at a time like this,” she yelled, “this is a tragedy!”
With a mumbled response of inaudible words from her dad, she took it upon herself to storm into her parents’ bedroom. “Get up! It’s all gone! All the color is faded, I don’t know what happened but it’s all gone.” She began rambling, as her dad rose out of bed.
Her father, Kamelin placed one hand on her shoulder, looked her in the eyes while attempting to keep his open, and muttered, “What the hell are you talking about? This better be important.”
Charlotte pushed her father’s hand off of her shoulder. She once again raised her voice. “Of course it’s important. Why would I be making such a scene if it wasn’t important? Now listen to me.”
Kamelin interrupted, “I have been listening to you. All your saying is ‘the color is gone, the color is gone.” What on Earth do you mean?” He began speaking slower. “What you are saying makes no sense.”
In fury, Charlotte grabbed his arm, and angrily yanked him out of his room into their living room. “Look! Look at the walls, look at the paintings, look at the furniture! It’s not the same.” She was almost crying. At this point, she was so confused, she was starting to believe that she was just going insane.
Her father looked around at the room. At first seeing no difference, he turned his head to Charlotte, but before he said anything he did a double take, and found himself staring at the room. Charlotte watched her father’s face as the state of their living room sunk in. Their once chestnut walls were now just a light brown. Their dark brown and orange couch now bleached, all of their paintings looking as if they had been exposed to too much light inside of a museum.
“Oh my God,” Kamelin did a full circle, gazed at his daughter in confusion, and then called his wife. “Violette… come here.” There was a long pause that stated that she was still sleeping. “Violette,” he was now yelling, “I need you here right now!”
After about a minute of sheet rustling and faint groaning coming from Charlotte’s parents’ bedroom, a groggy Violette came floating down the hallway in a zombie-like state.
“What’s with all of this yelling? It’s a national holiday; nobody has to be anywhere and you twits are busting a lung at seven in the morning.” Charlotte’s mother was obviously less than pleased with her early morning wake up call.
As Kamelin stared at his wife, Charlotte spoke up. “The color, it’s fading away, as if the magik is gone.” She sounded more urgent now. “The color is gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around,” Charlotte shouted, now filled with rage and befuddlement.
Her mother cocked her head in slight confusion, then decided to take her daughter’s word and looked around at her living room like her husband had done only a minute ago. She stared for a moment, then walked towards the far wall. She put her hand on it and looked at it closer. She pivoted and walked towards her favorite, most expensive painting in the entire apartment. Its colors were washed, and she gasped. She spun around and reviewed every single item in the room. She then understood, and once more threw her glance at her daughter.
After a moment of silence, Charlotte spoke for everyone. “I don’t get it. What happened?”
Both her father and mother looked at the ground for an instant, her father then made eye contact with her again after what seemed like a century. “I have no idea.” Another pause occurred, until Kamelin decided exactly what he wanted to say. “Let’s turn on the news; I’m sure it’s on the news.”
Violette nodded, and she walked over to the coffee table to grab the remote. She turned on their television and changed it to the news channel. The tiny diamond stretched across the screen bringing forth a gloomy news caster, who confirmed the family’s theory.
“If you haven’t noticed, the city’s color has faded. If you look out your window, the city looks bleached, your home’s colors look watered down.” On the screen, pictures of the city were fading in and out. “This is because last night, around five a.m. Videpolís was invaded by the army of Morté. Although it was a quiet invasion, it took a massive toll on our city. Judging by the marks in different parts of the city, experts have concluded that seven or eight alchemists conjured a spell to steal our city’s color. All we know now is that somewhere in Morté lies the color of Videpolís, in a solid form.” She took a breath, and continued.
“If anyone has any knowledge of the events last night, please contact your local police station. You will be heftily rewarded.”
Violette clicked the power button on the remote, and shut off the TV.
Her father spoke up. “You were right Char. You were right.” He began to trail off, “I can’t believe you were right.”
After a minute of silence that needed no interruptions, Charlotte left to make a cup of coffee, and then walked into her room. Sipping her steaming coffee out of a once brilliant turquoise mug, she opened her door and walked to her dresser. There was the two necklaces she got at festival the night before. She did a double take at the necklaces. She noticed that, unlike everything in the entire city, her silver chain necklace that dangled a colorful orb was unfazed. It was not faded, not in the slightest. It still glowed of iridescence that now out shined absolutely everything in Videpolís.
She gasped, and after whipping on a down jacket, raced out her front door, down the six flights of stairs to the ground floor, dashed out the door, and hopped on her bicycle.

Chapter Four. Valentine.

When Valentine returned from a late night at his brother’s house, he decided to write in his journal. He hadn’t written in it for a week or two now, and decided it would be a perfect opportunity.

October 9th, 2027
After we got back last night, we had a huge celebration. We had great beer, dancers, and we stayed up until two, all of which is incredibly rare in the military. We went to sleep knowing that we had done something important, something monumental.
When the people of Morté heard the news this morning, the entire city was ecstatic. There were parties everywhere, there was a magnificent parade that the government had been planning, and the military even got a day off! I don’t know if it was just me, but the city actually looked more colorful than it used too. Not to mention all the people in the streets looked so happy, it appeared that color saturated their faces.
It was great to see my brother again. It had been about three months since the last time I’d seen him. His wife was home, and she made us a delicious Salmon dinner, her own version of the traditional Morté dish. As if that weren’t enough, I got to see my nephew! He doesn’t look much different since the last time I’d last visited, but it’s always a treat to see him. He’s the sweetest kid I’ve ever met; he takes after my brother. I really don’t know what I would do if anything happened to anyone in that family. They are all so wonderful, much better than I could ever hope to be, even the boy. Maybe once I’ve been discharged I can get an apartment near them; a nice place with a roof that doesn’t leak, and windows that keep the sand out on windy night. It’s something to look forward to.
Until next time,
Valentine Laroque

Chapter Five. Charlotte.

Seeing the street sign signaling that she was close to Cynthia’s apartment complex, she pedaled faster and faster yet. As she rode her bike, she had a Déjà vu experience. This seemed like such a familiar scenario, only this time she was riding in such a swift state due to desperation, not enjoyment.
It was cold out now, and all though she was wearing a warm jacket, it didn’t help much, she was shivering. She began cursing under her breath about not wearing mittens, all the way to Cynthia’s building. She locked her bike to the tree beside the apartments, and walked in with her head down, her arms folded. She was too distracted to pay any attention to the man lighting up in the middle of the lobby, and he returned the favor.
About ten feet from the stair well, her unconfident drift evolved into a brisk walk which turned into a speedy jog up the stairs. When she turned the corner onto the second floor, she swung the door open and booked it to Cynthia’s apartment. At first she used the door knocker, but then grew impatient and began banging on the door herself. Under the loud knocking was a muffled grunt from inside the residence, and shortly after, the door swung open. Starting out, Cynthia looked like she was about to scream, but once she figured out who it was, she grabbed Charlotte’s wrist and pulled her into an enthusiastic, emotional embrace.
“Charlotte, this is terrible!” Cynthia’s emotions began pouring out; she looked to be on the verge of tears. “I didn’t realize how amazing it was, and now it’s gone. The color is dying! All the colors are fading away, it’s horrible.”
Charlotte’s attitude was much mellower at this point than it was too begin with. Her emotions that were once anger had morphed into pity and sadness. “I know, I know. Let’s go inside. We can make some tea.”
Her peaceful proposition seemed to go over quite well with Cynthia. They sauntered into her kitchen. As Cynthia made her way for the cupboard, Charlotte stepped in front of her, forming a sort of barricade.
“I’ve got it. You go sit down.” Charlotte seemed to calm down when she realized that her friend was more distressed than she was. Cynthia was her best friend, and she did whatever she could to take care of her. “What kind of tea do you want?”
“Is there any Jasmine in there,” Cynthia replied as she exited the kitchen into her living room. As she sat down, she got a bit louder and said, “if not I’ll have some raspberry.”
“Well then it’s your lucky day, Jasmine’s in stock. I shall pour you a hardy cup and you will be sprawled out across the floor, relaxed in no time. We can light some incense, it’ll be like a sixties hangout, only without the drugs. It’ll be great.”
Both of the girls giggled, by now they were both smiling, attempting to forget the horrid occurrence. After Charlotte poured some water into a kettle, she placed the kettle on the stove, and went to shuffle through Cynthia’s CD collection. She found the most relaxing CD in the bunch, some eastern European band. She slid it into the CD player, and pressed play.
Charlotte stayed in the kitchen while the music played. After about a minute, she peeked out of the kitchen to see Cynthia lying in a bean bag chair, eyes closed, obviously listening to the music. After a few minutes, the teapot began to scream. After a moment of shrieking, Charlotte picked it up, and poured it into two tea cups. She opened the packages of Jasmine and placed the tea bags in the cups. As the water was being flavored, she walked into the living room to join Cynthia.
“Here you go.” She handed her the cup. “It should be hot, so you might want to let it cool”
Cynthia interrupted her. “It’s tea, I know it’s hot. I’m not stupid.” There was a hostile tone in her voice. A pause ensued, both girls looked each other in the eye for a moment, then each turned away to stare at the floor. “Sorry, I’m a little testy right now.”
“It’s all good,” said Charlotte, understandingly, “just drink your tea.”
“Right.”
As Cynthia sipped her burning hot tea, Charlotte began thinking about what to say. She already had a basic plan thought out in her head. Hopefully, her friend wouldn’t find the idea too outrageous and start freaking out.
“So, I was thinking about getting the color back.” Charlotte received a quick response.
“Getting the color back? What do you mean ‘get the color back’?” Cynthia’s belligerent tone was still there, lingering on the end of her words.
Charlotte seemed to be unaffected by her tone, used to it by now having known her for so long. “I think we should run away.”
Cynthia’s face spoke before her mouth even started moving. “What… run away?” She was on the verge of flipping out, exactly what Charlotte didn’t want.
“Just listen to me,” she cut her off. “I highly doubt that anyone in this city is going to do anything, think about it. We have an incredibly small military due to our history of zero wars, no one in our government has ever dreamed of a situation like this happening, and if we just sit here, the color will slowly fade until we are living in black and white like some 1950’s TV show.” She paused, noticing Cynthia’s expression was now one of interest, not judgment and disapproval. “We can leave a note for our parents, and just leave. When we get there, we can dress like the locals or something; travel around the streets to try to pick up any hints as to where it’s hidden.” Charlotte’s mood was now quite optimistic, not having been crushed down by Cynthia’s negative attitude.
It was quite an outlandish idea, running to another country to find a heavily guarded object, which they did not know the whereabouts or appearance of.
“It sounds like a good time. I mean…” Cynthia had trouble finding the right words; her eyes fixed on the ground, she was still contemplating Charlotte’s idea. “How would we find our way? It’s not like the color is just lying around the city, I’m sure it’s hidden somewhere secret. I doubt random people on the streets will know anything about it, and if they do, they most likely won’t be gossiping to strangers about it. It seems impossible at best.” She finally made eye contact with Charlotte, her face, once filled with light, had now dimmed; the corners of her mouth angled downward. “It sounds like a great idea, really it does, but it would be a hopeless mission, impossible to pull off.” She matched her friend’s expression, and resumed looking at the ground.
They sat there in silence. The quiet only lasted about ten minutes, but between sips of tea, it felt like an eternity. The atmosphere was filled with angst and angers, spotted with tension. These two best friends, along with the entire city, were sitting and contemplating what to do; hoping for the best.
After their seemingly infinite silence, Charlotte finally broke the tension. “Do you think we’ll get school off on Monday?” Her voice revealed that she was incredibly uninterested in her answer; she simply wished to end the silence.
“I’m pretty sure we’ll have to go, we aren’t exactly in morning here.” They giggled, about the only funny thing all day. They made a unison sigh, and the awkwardness returned.
Charlotte sensed the change in the environment, and hastily spoke. “I think I’m going to go home now. I don’t feel so good.” She looked up at Cynthia, giving her a sort of a half smile.
“I really don’t think anyone feels so good today.” She looked at the wall as Charlotte got up to put on her coat. “What a horrible day.”
After she put on her coat, Charlotte walked into the kitchen to put her cup in the sink. She waved and said goodbye to Cynthia, when suddenly she heard the scampering of feet. She was gripped into another one of her friend’s death hugs. She turned around, and squeezed her arms tight. They stayed there for longer than intended, comforting each other, in a time of uncertainty and change.
When they finally let go, Charlotte turned and meandered towards the door, turned the handle, and left. She walked down the stairs, much more calmly than she had before. She had certainly not resolved any of her problems, but being with Cynthia calmed her. They were perfect friends. They balanced each other quite well really. Charlotte was the dreamer; the one who had lots of ideas about everything. She put everything out there, and hoped it would work out, not thinking about the consequences. Cynthia was completely the opposite way. She was the skeptic; there was little that she believed in, and what she did believe in, she had a passion about. Everything that was proposed to her, she felt a need to prove it wrong. Together, they were an excellent team, a dynamic duo of sorts.
This time however, Charlotte was going to have to do something that would affect her relationship with Cynthia. Despite what her friend thought, she had do something. Yes, it seemed impossible, but nothing could be truly impossible, that was just how Charlotte lived. In her eyes, nothing was impossible, ever.
She thought about her decision her entire bike ride home. She went back and forth, constantly changing her mind. I need to do something, she thought, I can’t just sit here and watch our city become some black and white movie. But I can’t do that to the people I love. I can’t just up and leave on such short notice. But I can’t let my city die; it’s my duty as a citizen of this great city to do what ever I can to help it prosper. But what would the chances be of me actually finding the color? Slim to none, those are the chance. There would be no hope. But I have to try, I have to.
She went on like that in her head, back and forth with herself, all the way home. At long last, when she got to her apartment building, she did a sort of power walk up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When she got to her level, she paused for a second, still contemplating her decision, then proceeded to her apartment. After struggling with the door knob as she always did, she walked in and went immediately to her room.
Once in her room, Charlotte slammed the door, not out of rage, but in distraction; she was too deep in thought to think about how loudly she shut her door. She plopped down, face flat on the bed. She drifted her eyes to her windows only to see that the sun was beginning to go down. In all of her panicking, about eight hours had passed.
As her eyes began to shut, she muttered to herself, “This has got to be the suckiest Saturday I’ve ever had.” She then fell asleep, in hope that sleeping on her idea would make it easier to choose in the morning. Of course, she had her mind made up from the beginning, she just hadn’t admitted it to herself yet.


Chapter Six. Charlotte.

She walked through a plain door, and into what seemed to be an interesting room. And there it was, a mirror image of herself staring back at her. It looked exactly like her, but she was herself and there was no mirror, so it was certainly not a reflection. As she looked closer, she noticed details of this mysterious Charlotte impersonator that differed from her own appearance. She was taller, a little thinner, and with an angry face. In her right eye, there was no scar; it was perfectly smooth.
Then figure suddenly disappeared, and Charlotte was left standing there in an empty space, surrounded by nothing. She then looked at her feet and realized that she was slowly sinking into the nothing. She began screaming, but no one came to her rescue. She felt so lonely, so confused. She then realized that she had made the choice to come into the room, and if she hadn’t left, she wouldn’t be in this situation. There was nothing she could do. The time she was sinking seemed like forever. When the floor of the nothing was directly below her chin, she opened her eyes.
Charlotte woke up crying. “It’s just a dream,” she told her self through sobs, “it was only a dream.” She brought her knees towards her, and laid her head on them, almost as if she was getting in the fetal position.
Kamelin opened the door at that point, obviously concerned for his daughter. As soon as he saw her sobbing, he ran to her bed side.
“What’s wrong sweetie? Why are crying?”
She lifted her face from her knees, and attempted to speak through her tears. “I had… a bad dream,” she sniffled, still crying, “that’s all. It was just… a dream.”
Her father continued asking questions. Feeling so concerned, he did not consider the difficulty she had speaking through her tears.
“What happened? Are you… alright?”
Thankfully, her tears began to lighten up, but she still had to try to talk while occasionally choking on her words.
“I don’t know, it was weird. I saw this girl, but…” she took a deep breath, attempting to get rid of the tears, and continued, “but it was odd. The girl looked almost exactly like me, except she was taller, and much angrier. And I don’t think her eye had a scar in it. But besides that… she was a spitting image of me. And then all of a sudden, she disappeared and I started sinking into… nothing. And then I woke up.” She was done crying now, for the most part. She had gotten a grip of herself now; her dad next to her side was certainly helpful.
Kamelin sat there for a second, thinking about what to say. Teenage girls had proven time and time again to be very fragile creatures. He chose his words wisely.
“I have no idea what that means. I’m sorry, but I don’t.” He sighed. This was obviously not the motivational speech that he so wished he could give to cheer up. Thinking like a man, he tried to cheer her up with something that always made him happy. “There’s lots of food on the table, your mom mad a big breakfast this morning.”
Charlotte giggled, and then replied, her face completely dry now. “I’ll be out in a minute dad.” She stood up, tugged on his wrist, and when he got the message to move in closer, she gave him a warm hug, and he left.
“Hey dad,” she tried to catch him on his way out.
He turned around. “Yeah?” His tone was curious, his eyebrows perked upwards.
“Thanks for being concerned. I appreciate it.” She gave her dad a smile that he clearly enjoyed.
Taken aback by her thank you, he took a moment to respond. “No problem, I love talking to you honey.” He smiled, and shut the door on his way out.
She snickered at her father’s obvious love of food, and the greatly apparent gap between the two genders. She proceeded to get out of bed, and as she did, she began thinking about how it had just been a dream, she hadn’t really seen anybody, or sunk into a clean white pit of nothing. Was it possible that all of yesterday was a dream to? She was hopeful for a moment, until she looked around. She sighed, and walked out of her room into the kitchen.
Breakfast was what it always was, for a while. Charlotte’s parents talked about their plans for the day, and Charlotte made comments. That makes sense. That shouldn’t take too much time. Don’t forget the donuts, that kind of thing. Then, out of the blue, she asked a question; a rare occurrence at her family’s table.
“Do you think the Duke actually has a plan to get back the color?” She lifted her head to see her parent’s reactions.
Her father looked stunned at first, then his face regained its normal position as he thought about his answer. “I have a feeling he doesn’t. But I have confidence in our country. We’ve done so well up until now, we can’t let a little thievery get in the way of our city.”
Charlotte responded quickly, her thinking on this subject laid bare on the end of her words. “That’s ridiculous,” her tone snappy, “our country and our government are two completely different things. Just because we’ve done well up to this point doesn’t mean we are going to face this situation the best way we can. I honestly don’t believe the Duke, or any of his men, are going to face this situation at all.” She stabbed at her eggs with her fork, her anger showing through her teeth as she chewed on her words, and swallowed her screams.
Her mother stared at her, her head cocked to the side, and then spoke up. “I don’t really think that’s fair. What makes you think the Duke won’t do anything about the situation?”
“Because we’ve never faced anything like this before!” Charlotte breathed in a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Her attempt failed. “We don’t even have an army as far as I know. How is a non existent army going to storm into a city to find something that they don’t know the whereabouts of? Please tell me.”
Kamelin began to raise his voice. “For one, where do you get off talking about our city in that manner? This city has done nothing but good for you, and now all you can do is criticize it? And besides, even if we don’t have a plan, what better can you do? Do you have a plan? Please tell me. Because if you can get the color back, I guarantee you that this town will make you its messiah.”
She hastily swallowed her eggs, to have a speedy rebuttal. However, when her mouth became clear of any obstacles, she couldn’t find any words. She thought about her idea that she’d been plotting in her head for the past eighteen hours or so.
“I think the citizens need to take it into their own hands.” She swallowed some air in nervousness, and then continued. “It makes sense, if the government won’t do anything, that there should be an uprising of citizens that will go find the color.”
Her parents both looked at her with some enlightenment, but still filled with disapproval.
Her father spoke. “So you mean a group of citizens, like an army?
Charlotte’s followed up his question immediately. “Or maybe just one person.” Her words went by in a blaze like a tornado, and Kamelin’s expression was the aftermath.
“So you’re suggesting that instead of a whole army of people, run by a government or by themselves, one person goes off into another city that they have most likely never visited before, and search for a heavily guarded item, of which they don’t even know what it looks like? Jesus, I don’t know if this is some kind of teenage thing, or if you’re just crazy.” Kamelin returned to eating his eggs, not really caring weather he got a response from his daughter.
The tension was thick at the table. Charlotte had never had a true argument with her father before, besides when she was three and desperately wanted a pony. However, that was much different. She gathered up her courage, and threw out one last point.
“Maybe if that person prayed enough, and had enough luck, talked to some shamans or some gypsies, maybe that person could do it.” Her hopes got higher. She looked at her father with an inquisitive look placed upon her face, hoping for some sort of response.
Her dad, tired of arguing, decided to give a positive response. “I guess that could work. They’d have to do a lot of praying, and have a boat load of luck. Like, a yacht.”
Both Charlotte and her father giggled a little, and they both settled down.
For the rest of breakfast, Charlotte remained silent while her parents conversed about their Sunday activities. When she was done, she excused herself, walked to the kitchen, put her dishes in the sink, and then walked back to her room.
Despite what Kamelin and Violette had said, Charlotte had her mind made up. She had an official decision: she would leave that night, when her parents were both asleep. She would travel with her warmest clothes, and have small bag carrying necessities, and anything with some trace of magik.
That night, after a warm, comforting shower, she wrote three letters. One was addressed to Cynthia, one to Alexander, and one to her parents. She felt that if she was to suddenly leave, the people closest to her would be crushed if they weren’t provided with any sort of explanation.
She first wrote Cynthia’s letter, then Alexander’s. When she was finished, she put both of their letters in her mailbox, after kissing both of them for good luck. She then proceeded to write her parents’ note. She chose her words carefully, and before she stuck it in the already labeled envelope, she read it to herself, to make sure it was sensitive enough.
Dear Mom and Dad,
By the time you have read this, I will be long gone. Our conversation at breakfast yesterday was not simply a topic to entertain us, it was a sure idea. All I really wanted was your opinions. Although you were both quite disapproving of just about everything I said, I decided to go forth with my plan.
Please don’t mistake my leaving for anything more than love for my city. I certainly do not like abandoning the one’s I love, in fact, I absolutely hate it. But something you said helped me decide this was the right thing to do. You said that this city has done nothing done nothing but good for me. You were right; I have led a privileged life thanks to you two, and our city. Now, it’s time for me to give something back. I’m going to go, equipped with everything that could possibly help me, that I can carry in my bag anyway. I will hopefully return with the Color. I don’t know exactly how I’m going to find it, but I know there’s a way.
Just know that I love you guys, and I’ll be thinking of you two the entire time I’m in Morté. I’m going to miss you so much it’s unbelievable. But, I made up my mind, and I’m sorry that I had to leave. If at all possible, I will write you two with descriptions of everything I will have done. But until then, I say goodbye, I love you, and I will miss you greatly.
Love,
Charlotte

Before she could put the letter inside of the envelope, she burst into tears. It was so hard to do this. As the tears gushed down her cheeks, she put her face into her knees like she had that morning, to cover up the noise, hoping not to wake either of her parents. If they woke up, her entire plan would be ruined.
She took several deep breaths, and finally stopped crying. When she was fully composed, she placed the letter in the envelope, and put it on her bedside table. Putting the letter on her breakfast table for her parents would be the last thing she would do, incase they awoke for the midnight bladder express, or a quick run to the fridge, before she left.
Getting off of her bed, she walked over to her dresser where she had put her two necklaces from the Autumn Festival. She grabbed them, one at a time, and put them around her neck. When they were both on, she looked in the mirror to find that the colorful orb was still peculiarly radiant. In fact, it had lost no color, not even one little shade. Unlike the rest of Videpolís, the necklace was intensely vibrant, as if all of the city’s color had been concentrated there. Of course, that was not the case, but she knew that it must have been a sign; it had to mean something.
When she felt satisfied, she took off her clothes, and walked to her closet to find the warmest pieces of clothing that she owned. She found a white under shirt, a long-sleeved fleece turtle neck, a pair of corduroy pants, and a down jacket. On a shelf, she found a fuzzy hat and a pair of gloves that she put in her placed in her bag.
As she was taking her hand out of the bag, her hand grazed across something. It was hard and cold. She grabbed it, and pulled it out of the bag. It was a knife.
Where did I get a knife, she thought. She rummaged through her memories of yesterday, and couldn’t think of anything. Then she remembered, at the festival. Alexander gave her his knife when he went to chase the kids. She must not have given it back.
She thought about it and decided that it would be an advantage to have a weapon of sorts, even if it was small. Not to mention it had a wolf on it, symbolizing strength, and she could use all the strength she could get. She put on her corduroy pants and attached the knife to the back pocket, where it was designed to stay.
After she put on her under shirt, and her turtle neck, she opened the top drawer of her dresser to search for anything that could be useful. She picked out her wallet, holding two hundred dollars, an ID, a driver’s license, a couple of club cards for various restaurants, and a credit card. She put the wallet in her bag, knowing that she would have to get some money out of her credit card. It was unlikely that they took credit cards from another city, if they took credit cards at all in Morté.
Charlotte then took a bandana, two maps, her swimming suit and a towel, a journal, and a couple of pens off her dresser, and put them into her bag, and tip-toed into the kitchen.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a loaf of bread, and wrapped it in a small towel, and put it in her sack, along with a jug of water and bag of nuts. She then went back into her room, and took a blanket off her bed, folded up as small as she could, and placed it into her bag.
That was it. She was finally ready to leave. How desperately she wished to go kiss her parents goodbye, how much she wanted to say that she loved them, face to face. How badly she felt that she was leaving her friends without so much as a phone call. But she wrote letters to them, and that was all she could do.
Charlotte walked into the dining room, and placed the note for her parents on the table, and proceeded towards her door. She grabbed a spare key from under the owl shaped sculpture sitting on the banister next to her door, and quietly left. She crept down the flights of stairs, and made it out of the apartment building.
Once she was outside, she felt her eyes begin to moisten.
“No,” she told herself under her breath, “I’m not going to cry. I’ve cried twice today... I have to stay strong.” She voice was as determined as her attitude. She sniffled, but did not shed a tear. She went through her bag until she found her map of the nation. She looked at it. Where she was in Videpolís was only about fifteen miles from the border.
As she put the map away, she lifted her head up in confidence, and marched towards the bus stop.

Chapter Seven. Valentine.

October 11th, 2027
I’m about to get off the bus for my new station. For whatever reason, the general decided to give me the responsibility of guarding the Color. I’m one of three soldiers who have been given the honor of keeping the Color safe. Even though they have given us the duty of defending it, they won’t let us know where it is. They actually blindfolded all of us for the first half of the ride, until we were outside of anywhere that we would be able to recognize. I have absolutely no idea why they picked me. However, I think it might be because I don’t live with anybody, because that’s the situation with the other two guys here.
Speaking of the other two serving with me, their names are Sajjad and Benjamin. They’re both really nice people. Both Sajjad and Benjamin have lived in Morté all their lives, like me, and neither of them have wives or children. We all seem pretty similar; I’m sure we’ll get along.
The bus is going to stop soon, and I’m ecstatic to see my new home for the next couple months, not to mention I get to see the Color. I have so many imaginations about what it’s going to look like, when truly I have no idea. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
As always,
Valentine Laroque


Chapter Eight. Charlotte.

By the time Charlotte got to the bus stop, it was about 1:00 a.m. At the bus stop, along with every other bus stop in the city, there was an ATM. She placed her credit card in the designated slot, punched in some private numbers, and withdrew five hundred dollars. She put the money in her wallet, and sat down.
After a couple of minutes, the bus arrived. After walking up the steps, she presented the bus driver with the proper change, and took her seat. As expected, she was the only one on the bus. While she was in her seat, once again observing her map, the bus driver spoke up.
“Where’s your stop, honey?” Her voice was kind and southing to Charlotte’s lonely ears.
“Uh, whatever’s closest to the river please.” Her voice was quiet, she was already tired due to the time, and the extra stress of skipping the border was not helpful.
“And what is a girl like you doin’ at the river so late at night?” She sounded concerned, almost motherly.
“Oh…” her answer was delayed. She couldn’t just come out and say she was running away to Morté by swimming across the river. “I don’t really know. Sometimes I just like to fall asleep by the river.” This was working out. It was a good improvised story. “It’s always so refreshing to wake up to the sound of rushing water, you know?”
“Can’t say I do child. It sounds like you get peace of mind, though. Sure does.” She sighed; this wasn’t the kind of person you would expect to be working the late shift. However, her gentle voice seemed nurturing, especially for Charlotte.
“Just to let you know, we’ll be at the river in about twenty, thirty minutes. I suggest you take a nap. I’ll certainly wake you up when we get there. It’d be no problem at all.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Charlotte replied, some what relieved.
“You look mighty tired, some rest would be a good thing for you child.”
As Charlotte nodded, she eye lids grew heavier. Her head began to dip, and she drifted off to sleep.
In her dream, she saw the river she was to cross, shrouded by woods, underneath a beautiful crescent moon. Interestingly enough, the moon was in the exact shape of the scar on her eye. As she stared at the moon, she received a certain self conscious message, an inhibition really. The feeling was drawing her in a direction. It was reassuring her to cross the river, almost as if God was telling her to go that way. She felt enlightened, and made her way towards the river.
“Honey, wake up. Wake up sweetie, we’re at the river.” The bus driver’s familiar voice awoke Charlotte out of her revealing state. She shook her head, put on her hat, grabbed her bag, and walked down the isle.
“Thank you so much,” she said to the bus driver, “you’ve been much too kind. I hope our path’s cross again some day.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet. I hope you have a nice sleep under the stars. And any time you need a late night ride on bus 93, I’ll be here.” Her voice was still as loving and welcoming as it had been when Charlotte first stepped on the bus. Her voice became a whisper now, “Not to mention I can be frequently spotted at the Waffle House on Sunday mornin’s. It’s a wonderful place to eat.”
The bus driver threw out a hardy laugh as Charlotte began walking down the stairs. As the doors opened, she laughed as well. Charlotte waved to the woman right before she drove away, smiling.
It’s always special, Charlotte though, when you can meet a person who has just as much of an affect on your life as you had on theirs.
With her hat on her head and her bag hanging around her shoulders, she treaded towards the river.
After a few minutes of walking, she was standing on the shore. Interestingly enough, it looked exactly the same as it did in her dream. The river, the forest, the moonlight; the only thing that was different was the shape of the moon. It was almost full, not crescent shaped.
Curious, Charlotte took a large stick she found lying near her, and dipped it into the water, until it reached the bottom. When she pulled it out, she discovered that luckily, it was only about four feet deep.
Surrounded by darkness, she changed into her bathing suit. She put her clothes in her bag, and attached it the long stick she had found, as to not get her belongings wet, and entered the river.
She shivered; the water was frigid. As she trudged through the ice cold water, she breathed in and out, to stay calm. After stepping on countless sharp rocks, and a few sticks, she reached the other side. She stepped out of the water, grabbing what she could with her spare hand as to not slip and fall. It was slippery and dark, a dangerous combination.
Her climb out of the river was successful. When she reached the top, she toweled off, and put on her clothes. She was shivering, feeling just about as cold as the river.
When she finally put on her shoes, she found a comfortable spot under a tree in the forest near the river. She created a makeshift pillow out of leaves, pulled blanket out of her bag, and curled up into a comfortable position.
Once again, she fell asleep.