New

Linking up with Write on Edge today!

This week their prompt is on something new.

Excerpt from The Last Scribe, my fantasy novel.
 

Word count: 300
Ó Pure Grace

Mikailah’s jaw is dropped open. But I am done. I jerk my pack over my shoulders and take off through the prairie grass. She and Kiar scramble around the campsite, shoving the last of our belongings into Kiar’s bag and running after me.

“Breem! Breem, stop!” Mikailah shouts, but I ignore her. It is a new emotion, this anger. I don’t think I like it, but I can’t help it. It courses through my veins like a red-hot iron, changing everything it touches. I am stiff and even my muscles ache. I can’t control it. I feel fake, plastic ~ made.

This is me. Nothing. Nobody. A boy with no identity.

Can I ever change?

They catch me before ten minutes is up, but whether by joined consensus or not, neither of them speak. Maybe they don’t know what to say, or maybe they are just afraid to speak, but I am not going to change their minds. For once, I wish I could. I wish I could say something more, something to change what I said. I have never before been able to speak my mind so clearly, to tell others how I feel. It feels strange to have communicated my heart, wrong, somehow, like I have betrayed something. I can’t make sense of why. So I pretend it is not there and keep walking, back straight, head forward. It won’t matter what happened in a few days anyway. I will be leaving them. And they will be glad. Everyone is always glad when I leave.

Well, let it be so.

But, for the first time, I don’t want that to be true. It is funny, this new longing stirring in my chest, brought on by the anger. I don’t know if I like it or not. I can’t make sense of it. But it makes me wish they want me. It makes me wish they care.