Naomi Latham, aged 14 years

Spark

They were still there when I came back from taking Fred for a walk in the dunes.   Two huddled figures on the beach, wearing a school uniform that I did not recognise.  They were watching the breakers pound the shore – they weren’t running around or talking or eating, they were just staring at the green-brown sea.  And it was weird, I thought, because all the schools around here had broken up a couple of weeks ago. Fred trotted over to say hello and to sniff around. The girl ignored him and turned around to glare at me with dark, accusing eyes, while the boy, who was much bigger, continued to observe the murky waves. Suddenly Fred got spooked and started to growl.  I trudged across the sand and grabbed him by the collar but even as I pulled him away he just kept on growling. It was then, in a flash of recognition, that I saw the boy’s face.  I should have obeyed my first instinct and run, run like there was no tomorrow, but I didn’t.

“What you staring at?” snapped the girl. …

I“N-nothing.” I stammered, panic-stricken but trying to appear calm. These were the two all the stories were about. These were the two my mother had warned me about.

As soon as the girl was born, they had known she was different. It was just a look, a spark in her eyes, that both fascinated and frightened all who dared to meet her gaze. Since that day, life was never the same in the coastal village of Crawford. Strange things began happening. Horrible things. A mysterious string of deaths and ‘accidents’ began, and the only link was the girl. All those who died had incurred her wrath. The villagers shunned her, not daring to look into those dark eyes of hers in case they became her next victim.

This continued for twelve years of her life, and she began to descend into a state of constant sorrow. At school, she was forced to sit alone where ever she went, and nobody dared break that ‘sacred’ rule. At least, not until the Dark One graced her with his presence.

The Dark One was similar to her, born like any other child, but with the same spark in his eyes, that same spark where you knew he could easily kill you by any means necessary, and nothing would restrain him from doing so to his enemies.

“Why are you crying?” The Dark One inquired with his voice as smooth as velvet.

She turned, drying her tears with the sleeve of her uniform, and telling him with such bitterness, “Why wouldn’t I be crying? I haven’t got a friend in the entire world, and the loneliness…the loneliness is more torture than you could ever imagine. Now just leave me-“

He held up a finger, hovering just in front of her mouth, and that action was enough to silence her, “I know your pain, Medea. I am Gaspard, known as the Dark One by the villagers. I was also born with Spark in my eyes, and people fear it. I’ve learn to accept their fear.”

“A-accept?” Medea couldn’t understand this. How could she accept that she was hated?

“Being unloved doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” he responded, clearly ignoring Medea’s confusion and worry, “We unloved ones can see the truth of this world, the beauty and magic that those who are too wrapped up in the material world and their own lives to notice.” He spun on his heel and walked away, pausing halfway to the school gate before glancing behind at her, “Come, there’s something I have to show you.”

Somehow, Medea found herself trusting this boy she’d only met mere moments before. She stood up, following like a dumb animal, never pausing to wonder what would be thought of her if the teachers found out what she was about to do.

The Dark One led her to a hill overlooking the sea, and a soft smile spread across his face, as if he was at home staring into the dark waters. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing more than was average.

She frowned, “I don’t-“

“Shhhh.” He held his hand in front of her face, so it was all she could see, “Cease your expectations of what you think is here, and look properly. Close your eyes then open them if it helps.”

She found herself doing so, the world becoming nothing but dark while she gathered her thoughts. It wouldn’t be ordinary. She shouldn’t see it as it was seen by everyone else.

Her eyes flickered open, and the world was no longer like the Crawford she knew. On the horizon, the sky was filled with beautiful multicoloured lights. Butterflies flew past, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake.

“This is the true nature of the Spark.” He said, making his way down the hill and, to her amazement, onto the water. He stood there, beckoning to her. There was something hypnotic about him, something that made you want to just stay with him, doing whatever he asked...

She followed him onto the surface of the water, a bit wobbly, but still managing not to fall in. Somehow. The Dark One pointed to the brightest spot at the centre of the horizon, “There. That’s where our journey begins. That’s where our destiny starts. That’s where our dreams will come to pass.”

“B-but…” She tried to argue, tried to make him see logic, but the words weren’t letting her, “I-…”

“Medea, listen to me.” He gripped her shoulders, not tightly, and looked her straight in the eye (something nobody had ever done willingly), “Promise me this. Promise that you’ll help me find people like us, people with the Spark, and that you won’t ever give up or let anyone stand in our way.”

There was a frightening magic in his voice, the voice that she could listen to all day if it weren’t for those words. But she felt a need to keep him close, as he was the only friend she had, “I-I promise.”

He smiled, letting his arms drop to his sides, “I’m glad. Come on, Destiny is waiting, and it’s not very patient.”

The Dark One murmured something to Medea, and I was filled with a sense of apprehension. She turned her attention back to me, saying “I have just one thing to say to you.”

She leaned forwards on her tip toes, so she could whisper the four most horrifying words I had heard in my entire life.

“No.” I said, all notions of appearing calm abandoned, “No, this isn’t true. You’re lying!” I raced off down the beach, not even looking to see if Fred was following. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be true.

Naomi Latham