Tahereh Mafi - Unravel Me

The world might be sunny-side up today.

The big ball of yellow might be spilling into the clouds, runny and yolky and blurring into the bluest sky, bright with cold hope and false promises about fond memories, real families, hearty breakfasts, stacks of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup sitting on a plate in a world that doesnt exist anymore.

Or maybe not.

Maybe its dark and wet today, whistling wind so sharp it stings the skin off the knuckles of grown men. Maybe its snowing, maybe its raining, I dont know maybe its freezing its hailing its a hurricane slip slipping into a tornado and the earth is quaking apart to make room for our mistakes.

I wouldnt have any idea.

I dont have a window anymore. I dont have a view. Its a million degrees below zero in my blood and Im buried 50 feet underground in a training room thats become my second home lately. Every day I stare at these 4 walls and remind myself Im not a prisoner Im not a prisoner Im not a prisoner but sometimes the old fears streak across my skin and I cant seem to break free of the claustrophobia clutching at my throat.

I made so many promises when I arrived here.

Now Im not so sure. Now Im worried. Now my mind is a traitor because my thoughts crawl out of bed every morning with darting eyes and sweating palms and nervous giggles that sit in my chest, build in my chest, threaten to burst through my chest, and the pressure is tightening and tightening and tightening

Life around here isnt what I expected it to be.

My new world is etched in gunmetal, sealed in silver, drowning in the scents of stone and steel. The air is icy, the mats are orange; the lights and switches beep and flicker, electronic and electric, neon bright. Its busy here, busy with bodies, busy with halls stuffed full of whispers and shouts, pounding feet and thoughtful footsteps. If I listen closely I can hear the sounds of brains working and foreheads pinching and fingers tap tapping at chins and lips and furrowed brows. Ideas are carried in pockets, thoughts propped up on the tips of every tongue; eyes are narrowed in concentration, in careful planning I should want to know about.

But nothing is working and all my parts are broken.

Im supposed to harness my Energy, Castle said. Our gifts are different forms of Energy. Matter is never created or destroyed, he said to me, and as our world changed, so did the Energy within it. Our abilities are taken from the universe, from other matter, from other Energies. We are not anomalies. We are inevitabilities of the perverse manipulations of our Earth. Our Energy came from somewhere, he said. And somewhere is in the chaos all around us.

It makes sense. I remember what the world looked like when I left it.

I remember the pissed-off skies and the sequence of sunsets collapsing beneath the moon. I remember the cracked earth and the scratchy bushes and the used-to-be-greens that are now too close to brown. I think about the water we cant drink and the birds that dont fly and how human civilization has been reduced to nothing but a series of compounds stretched out over whats left of our ravaged land.

This planet is a broken bone that didnt set right, a hundred pieces of crystal glued together. Weve been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way were supposed to. But its a lie, its all a lie.

I do not function properly.

I am nothing more than the consequence of catastrophe.

2 weeks have collapsed at the side of the road, abandoned, already forgotten. 2 weeks Ive been here and in 2 weeks Ive taken up residence on a bed of eggshells, wondering when something is going to break, when Ill be the first to break it, wondering when everything is going to fall apart. In 2 weeks I shouldve been happier, healthier, sleeping better, more soundly in this safe space. Instead I worry about what will happen when if I cant get this right, if I dont figure out how to train properly, if I hurt someone on purpose by accident.

Were preparing for a bloody war.

Thats why Im training. Were all trying to prepare ourselves to take down Warner and his men. To win one battle at a time. To show the citizens of our world that there is hope yetthat they do not have to acquiesce to the demands of The Reestablishment and become slaves to a regime that wants nothing more than to exploit them for power. And I agreed to fight. To be a warrior. To use my power against my better judgment. But the thought of laying a hand on someone brings back a world of memories, feelings, a flush of power I experience only when I make contact with skin not immune to my own. Its a rush of invincibility; a tormented kind of euphoria; a wave of intensity flooding every pore in my body. I dont know what it will do to me. I dont know if I can trust myself to take pleasure in someone elses pain.

All I know is that Warners last words are caught in my chest and I cant cough out the cold or the truth hacking at the back of my throat.

Adam has no idea that Warner can touch me.

No one does.

Warner was supposed to be dead. Warner was supposed to be dead because I was supposed to have shot him but no one supposed Id need to know how to fire a gun so now I suppose hes come to find me.

Hes come to fight.

For me.

A sharp knock and the door flies open.

Ah, Ms. Ferrars. I dont know what you hope to accomplish by sitting in the corner. Castles easy grin dances into the room before he does.

I take a tight breath and try to make myself look at Castle but I cant. Instead I whisper an apology and listen to the sorry sound my words make in this large room. I feel my shaking fingers clench against the thick, padded mats spread out across the floor and think about how Ive accomplished nothing since Ive been here. Its humiliating, so humiliating to disappoint one of the only people whos ever been kind to me.

Castle stands directly in front of me, waits until I finally look up. Theres no need to apologize, he says. His sharp, clear brown eyes and friendly smile make it easy to forget hes the leader of Omega Point. The leader of this entire underground movement dedicated to fighting The Reestablishment. His voice is too gentle, too kind, and its almost worse. Sometimes I wish he would just yell at me. But, he continues, you do have to learn how to harness your Energy, Ms. Ferrars.

A pause.

A pace.

His hands rest on the stack of bricks I was supposed to have destroyed. He pretends not to notice the red rims around my eyes or the metal pipes I threw across the room. His gaze carefully avoids the bloody smears on the wooden planks set off to the side; his questions dont ask me why my fists are clenched so tight and whether or not Ive injured myself again. He cocks his head in my direction but hes staring at a spot directly behind me and his voice is soft when he speaks. I know this is difficult for you, he says. But you must learn. You have to. Your life will depend upon it.

I nod, lean back against the wall, welcome the cold and the pain of the brick digging into my spine. I pull my knees up to my chest and feel my feet press into the protective mats covering the ground. Im so close to tears Im afraid I might scream. I just dont know how, I finally say to him. I dont know any of this. I dont even know what Im supposed to be doing. I stare at the ceiling and blink blink blink. My eyes feel shiny, damp. I dont know how to make things happen.

Then you have to think, Castle says, undeterred. He picks up a discarded metal pipe. Weighs it in his hands. You have to find links between the events that transpired. When you broke through the concrete in Warners torture chamberwhen you punched through the steel door to save Mr. Kentwhat happened? Why in those two instances were you able to react in such an extraordinary way? He sits down some feet away from me. Pushes the pipe in my direction. I need you to analyze your abilities, Ms. Ferrars. You have to focus.