Phoenix Rising Ch 1

"Do I have to wear this thing?"

"Phoenix, YES! You're going to a prom, and proms mean dresses! Now turn!"

I was standing on a slatted wood box, and, in my personal opinion, executed a perfectly good I-hate-doing-this-therefore-I-will-over-exaggerate-this turn, sticking out my tongue. A little flicker caught my eye and I looked down at my dress, crimson red with a flame pattern stitched into the hem. It sparkled and billowed around my ankles when I moved, making the fire look real.

"Really, Ashley?" I complained as my red headed friend scrambled under the bed. A few thoughts of horrible things she might be dragging out filled my mind, then she crawled back out with a pair of matching high heels dangling from her hands, an evil smile on her face. "You trying to kill me or something?!" I cried in exasperation. Ashley just jiggled the shoes a bit, taunting me with my terrible fate. I started to walk toward her to try and rip the horrid things from her hands, but she held them up like a stool a lion tamer would use.

"Nuh uh, I'm just gonna make you look pretty. And be thankful," she said.

"For what?!" Sometimes my best friend got on my nerves.

"Well, Priscilla made us dresses. We don't have to wear those cruddy Goodwill ones." Her face contorted into a grimace, and she shuddered as if the mere thought horrified her. I thought she overreacted to this kind of stuff. "Go ahead and look. I'm finished."

Ashley handed me a little mirror, seemingly pulled from thin air, and I gritted my teeth. I held the shiny surface well away from my face, positive it would change into a poisonous snake, lash out, and eat me alive. I peeked at the reflective part tentatively, positive that I would just see my rough, grimy face with dirty blonde hair tangled around my head, my green eyes, well, just…….there. To my surprise, a different face looked back at me. Beautiful, with fierce emerald eyes daring the world. Bronze hair tied up at the back, framing her face with…..fire. She was me.

"Good grief, you could get millions in the movie industry!" I breathed to my friend.

Ashley grinned from ear to ear with satisfaction. "Wait for me to get ready," she ordered, shaking her finger, then reached into the tiny closet. Somehow, she pulled out a huge white bag, bigger than she was. "I won't be long." After struggling to get the huge thing through the bathroom door, she disappeared. I had some time to myself.

I'm not usually a vain person, and I usually hate mirrors with a passion, but this new face intrigued me. But, of course, after about five minutes I got bored, so I started thinking.

Even though we were almost nothing alike, we somehow bonded the instant we came to St. Agnes Academy for the Orphaned on that first day. She lost her parents in a car wreck. Mine? I have no idea. I never knew my parents, or any of my family. Ever since then, we went everywhere together. Snuck out to the park, snuck out to the drive-in movie place that only showed cowboys and Indians stuff. I would even go the dreaded mall with her, though it took some bribing on her part. We were best friends.

Then she walked out, in a huge frilly pink dress. Priscilla has way too much time on her hands, I thought. Ashley grabbed a frilly pink handbag from the bed just in time to hear a knock on the door. "Michael and Sean are here!" she crooned. I went to open the door, and two boys stood before me. One had slightly longish bleach-blonde hair, the other a dark brown crew cut. Both carried bouquets. The boy with the crew cut stepped forward and handed me his bouquet, filled with dark red roses, sunset orange tiger lilies, and golden irises. Before I could hug him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. "Here," he said, opening his palm. In his hand, a small golden bird lay, glittering in the cheap light. Seeming to fly, live, breathe, though it was still. Seeming to burn. A Phoenix.

I was in speechless awe. No words could explain my emotions. The boy fastened the delicate chain I had not noticed about my neck. "For my firebird," he whispered. I'm pretty sure I smiled and blushed.

"Thanks, Michael," I replied quietly, surprised even those few, tiny words could be formed in my mind and pronounced clearly.

We met Michael and Sean one day when we sneaked out to the park. The four of us talked for hours, before one of the 'teachers' at St. Agnes caught us. That sealed the bond. Some of the things we did together filled my mind. Picking up every cent in every parking lot we could find to buy and share a chocolate chip ice cream or a candy bar. Sneaking out at dark to go to aforementioned drive-in theater. Booby trapping the headmaster's rooms. I smiled. He was always there for me, and even something seemingly so small filled my heart up.

"Well?" Ashley stood arm in arm with Sean, the blondie, outside the door. "Let's go!"
*********************
We made our way down the seemingly endless hallways and stairwells, passing the holes in the flimsy walls covered by colorful paper flyers about the prom. A few large arrows hung her and there to direct the occasional lost student. Finally, we arrived in a large room smelling of food, Koolaid, and nervousness. Pop music played through battered speakers. Blue and silver balloons and banners hung all over the gym, hanging from every basketball hoop and wall. A very large banner, at least twenty feet long, read "St. Agnes Academy", then on a banner right below it, in three foot high silver letters on royal blue paper, "Go 'Gators!" Ashley and Sean went straight to the dance floor, unafraid, of course.

"This is my first dance," Michael said, noticing the fact that I was watching him rock back and forth on his heels nervously.

I nodded, wanting to give him some time to get his head on his shoulders. "I'll get some punch."

He got my implied message and replied, "I'll go get some cupcakes. I hear that new girl, Avi Johnson, is really good at making the red velvet ones." Then he walked off.

Avi Johnson was 17 and a half years old, barely young enough to come to this sorry excuse for an orphanage. She'd be out in a few months, on her eighteenth birthday. Almost everyone knew the stories of how everyone else got in this stupid situation, but this girl was like me. At least in the fact no one knew how she got here. No one knew how she came to be on her own just before she legally became an adult, though some vicious rumors were floating around. She was a mystery, that was certain. A little break in the tedious monotony.

I was jerked from my thoughts by a couple so deeply engrossed in their dancing and each other's eyes that they nearly tripped over me. Moving away from the dance floor to the punch, I wobbled a bit in the Death Heels. I'm gonna get her back for this sometime, I thought menacingly. When I had successfully scooped up two glasses of reddish pink Koolaid without falling over, I turned precariously to start walking back toward Michael. That's when it happened.

A tinkling sound came from overhead. All the students, the 'teacher chaperones,' and even the afro headed DJ looked up as shattered skylight glass fell down, littering the fake hardwood floor of the gym with dangerous and painful shards. One rope, two, then an innumberable amount dropped through the new opening in the ceiling, men in FBI like uniforms rappelling down. The glasses dropped from my hands, spilling Koolaid everywhere. Some girls screamed, their dates trying to get between them and the men.

I had met Michael's eyes in fear just before we heard, "Hand over the mutant." I turned to figure out who in the heck said that, and my sight landed on one of the fake FBI guys, one who carried himself even more proudly. He seemed to be some kind of officer. Waves of confusion rippled through the crowd, everyone trying to figure out what he meant. One boy shoved a teacher forward.

The officer rolled his eyes behind the darkened visor and pulled out a pistol, aiming it. My blood froze and my heart filled with true terror, not of the Death Heels kind, but of the I'm-going-to-die kind. My legs and feet were frozen in place. I was looking down the barrel. He was going to shoot me.
It seemed as if every set of eyes went to me as the officer pulled the trigger.

"NO!"

Michael dove in front of me. The world seemed to go in slow motion, like an action movie. As the projectile neared, it was apparent that it wasn't a bullet. It was a dart, which lodged itself in Michael's shoulder. He cried out in shock and pain, falling toward the ground, groaning. Then he fell limp.

My heart stopped. I ran, falling slowly to my knees beside the unmoving body. This couldn't happen. Michael, my sweet Michael. My Michael. Hot, bitter tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision. Grief suddenly subsided into rage, sheer, burning hatred. I looked up at the man who killed him. I looked at him, glared at him. If looks could kill, this man was roasting on a spit. Red flickered at the edges of my vision as I painstakingly raised my shaking, heartache-ridden body. Some little point of sanity deep in my mind pinged and thought, Oh, crap. Its really flickering. Warmth flowed over my body. I looked down. I was on fire.

Then sanity lost its loose grip on my mind. I let out a feral roar, tendrils of flame escaping my mouth. This man killed Michael. He will pay. The energy of vengeance ran through my arm to my fist, setting it alight, with which I proceeded to strike the officer in the face with. When he fell, screaming, to the ground, I looked up and roared again, attacking the rest of the guards, striking them down with burning kicks and punches. I'm pretty sure I even bit one of them.

Most tried vainly to fight my rage, but one actually hit me. The gloves these men were wearing had vicious looking spines on the knuckles, which I took no notice of. Apparently, when he hit me, the spine cut a deep gash up my face. The bloody mark went from my cheek to my forehead, the red fluid sizzling. Sanity, hiding somewhere in the back of my mind from the terrible beast that is Vengeance, noted the injury, but barely caught the sensation of some unknown substance trickling into my bloodstream.

CRACK! I turned just in time to see another dart, the same kind that killed Michael and caused this burning rage, on a beeline for my heart. I could only stare in horror as certain death approached. The world slowed again, when something slammed me in the knees, sending me flying. The dart flew harmlessly through the airspace where I had just stood.

I got up, my fire out, and goggled down at what—who—had saved me. Avi Johnson scrambled into a sitting position, ordering, "Move!"

I nodded, Vengeance hiding in his little place at the back of my mind, but Sanity yet to come. I somehow got to the exit to the outside of the gym. Before I had taken three steps into the night, a scream, then a huge explosion knocked me off my feet. I fell into the grass. It was soft. Soft grass…..like a pillow.

Maybe its time for a nap. Naps are good.

The last sensation I felt was that of being lifted by an ocean wave, then everything went black.