I'd just like to bring to peoples attention that, if they find something in here that they don't like (and would report) please let me know what it is, and I will be happy to change it, if it is a violation of terms of service, as I have probably done it (if I have - please no) unintentionally. Thank you.
A Way With Words
Chapter One: Fire in the Eyes
Amara took a deep breath. Why was she doing this? Because she did not want to fail English, that was why.
Professor Xavier had offered her a choice: either fail English, and repeat the year, or take a creative writing course, and pass.
Amara had chosen the latter. Although now she was starting to regret her decision.
She had not known that the majority of people taking the course were adults. There was a woman in her late twenties; a man in his late forties, starting to go bald and dressed for a day at the bank; a woman in her later years, hair white as snow and with a grandmotherly air. The room was full of people like this - all of them much older than her.
There was only one person close to her age, and even he was about two years older than Amara.
He sat alone at a table in the corner of the room, ignoring everything that was going on around him. His red hair fell forward into his eyes as he bent over an open notebook, his pen moving furiously over the paper as he wrote.
Not wanting to sit either with the older people, or all by herself, Amara walked over to the boy's table.
"May I sit here?"
The boy made no sign of having heard her.
Annoyed, Amara pulled out the chair next to the boy, and sat down. She tried again. "I'm Amara. Are you failing English, too?"
The boy spoke this time, but still did not look up. "No. I like words."
Now Amara was confused. "Okay." She was trying to think of a clever response when she felt a touch on her shoulder.
It was the old woman. "Don't worry about John, dear. He's always been anti- social."
"Who are you?" asked Amara.
The old woman smiled. "I'm Dot, dear. Why don't you come and sit with me?"
Amara hesitated, and looked at John. He still had not looked up. Then she looked at Dot, who was smiling at her. Amara got up, and followed Dot to her table.
Amara fiddled with her pen as the teacher walked into the room.
"Good evening, class," she said, adjusting her glasses. "John? Are you listening?" John did not look up. "John - oh, never mind." The teacher sighed.
"If he doesn't listen," Amara whispered to Dot, "why does she let him stay?"
"Because he's such a good writer, dear," replied Dot. "He's the best in the class."
"He is?" Amara looked at John, disbelieving. John was busy scratching his nose. Amara turning back to Dot. "No way!"
"Yes way, Amara, dear," replied Dot. "Just wait, and you'll see."
"All right," Amara said warily.
"So," began the teacher. "We have a new student in the class, Amara Aquilla, so I hope you all make her feel welcome. That includes you, John. John? Oh, why do I even bother?" The teacher shook her head, frustrated. "All right, class, today's assignment is, for the next fifteen minutes, write about the place in which you feel safest. Ready, go!"
Amara's pen hovered above her paper, unsure of what to write. She looked around. Dot's elegant handwriting was filling up her paper. John's pen was a blur as it wrote across his notebook, although Amara did not think he was following the teacher's instructions. Amara tried to think about what to write. A place she felt safe. The mansion was the obvious choice, with its automated defenses, not to mention the powerful mutants behind its walls. But a part of Amara was hesitant to write about it.
Her home, perhaps? No, Amara decided. Although she did feel safe there, it was not where she felt safest.
A thought struck her. Dare she?
Smiling to herself, she put pen to paper and began to write. Strong, confident strokes covered the page as she recalled memories of herself lying on the ground, feeling the hum of the earth beneath her. She did not pause to think as she wrote about the heat and power of a volcano, and its siren song, the way it called to her, beckoning her to control it, to become it. She wrote about how safe she felt when she was on her own, holding the miracle of fire in her hands.
Amara was so lost in her writing that she did not hear the teacher ring a small bell, signaling the end of the fifteen minutes. Amara looked up only when Dot placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Finished?" she asked, the corners of her eyes crinkled in a smile.
Amara looked down at her paper. She blinked with surprise. She had finished. That had never happened before!
"All right, class, we need a few volunteers to read their compositions aloud. Poppy?"
The woman in her twenties stood up. She read about how she felt safest when she was with her two German shepards.
Dot had written about how she felt safe and at peace when she was in her flower garden, gardening with her granddaughter.
"Amara?" asked the teacher once Dot had gone. "Would you like to go?"
Amara swallowed nervously, but stood up. Her paper shook as she began to read, but once the first word came out of her mouth the fear was gone. She was back in the safe place that she had written about, away from the dark and cold, surrounded by light and warmth.
She did not see the smiles of those around her, Dot's eyes bright and shining. She knew only of the words that she had written, the words that had come from her heart, the same heart which burned with the fire she was speaking of. She was in the safe place, which was herself, in its purest form.
She was an extension of the earth, and whenever she thought about it, whenever she became a part of it, she felt strong and powerful. That feeling was conveyed through her writing to the people sitting in front of her, people who before could not even have imagined the beauty of Amara's world, and now, thanks to her, they had been offered a glimpse of that world, and they too knew of its beauty, power and mystery.
It was over all too soon. Amara fumbled as soon as she had spoken the last word.
The spell was broken. The magic was gone.
Amara looked up at the teacher, questioning. Had she done all right?
The teacher stared at Amara for a moment, and then began to clap. The other members of the class did the same thing, Dot being the loudest.
"Well, it seems we have just unlocked some hidden talent," said the teacher. "You had better watch out John. You've got some competition here, I think."
Amara looked at John, and almost reeled back with shock. His head was up, and he was watching her with an intense, almost hawk-like focus.
Amara swallowed again, and her paper began to shake. The way John was staring at her was unnerving.
Somehow she managed to make it back to her seat next to Dot.
The old lady smiled. "It seems you've struck a chord in young John over there. Probably because you said the F word."
"F word?" asked Amara, confused, pretty sure that Dot was not talking about what Amara was thinking about.
"Fire, dear," replied Dot. "You mentioned it in your writing, and he immediately looked up. He didn't take his eyes off you at all while you were talking."
"He didn't?"
Amara looked over her shoulder, back at where John was sitting. He was still watching her, a look of fascination on his face, as if he was only seeing her for the first time.
He did not take his eyes off her for the rest of the lesson, and whenever Amara saw him watching her, she could have sworn that there was fire burning in his eyes.