Sanctuary

Prologue

Sanctuary

How does one start the story of their life?  How do you tell the bits that matter and leave out the tedious details that don’t?  How do you hook the reader, expand the mind, and get the story right?

Really? 

What moment on the timeline from my birth until right now do I select?  And do I choose a moment or an event?  Does location matter?

And speaking of location, where exactly am I?  What is this place?  Besides a plane of existence to stall along before we reach the Final Judgment?

So I chose to pick up my story in third period gym on a Tuesday just before homecoming week.  Only three hours before THE  event.  That culmination of all my curiosity and feelings of inconsequence.  Of never truly mattering.

**

“Seriously, could she possibly be wearing any more layers?”

That’s Sienna.  She’s talking about me.  The quiet freak who dresses all in black and uses that same pallet for makeup as well.  I am a sixteen year old trapped in the most horrible societal prison known to mankind… high school.

Sienna and her friends are the popular girls.  The cheerleaders.  The rich girls.  The snobs.  The mean girls.  The ones most likely to pass out at a party after blowing their boyfriends because the guys are getting bored with the reluctance to be called a slut impeding their need to dip their sticks.

I wonder if Sienna’s boyfriend – football captain, could you just die – has that pretty pink shade of lipstick at the base of his trouser snake.  Not enough to care, just enough to make a mental note.

Anyways, that wonderful observation occurred during triangle pose.  Jade, Sienna’s sycophant of the day, was more than willing to suckle on the vitriol.  “And despite the massive amount of cotton blend, she’s barely hiding that boyish body of hers.  Poor thing.  Maybe she will go through puberty one day.”

“Girls!  I’ve warned you about the derogatory comments.  Either you say something nice, or you shut up.  If you refuse the shut up option, it’s detention,” says Mrs. Collins.  She tries, but there are only so many under-the-breath comments she can intercept.

“Yeah,” drawls Sienna.  “If you give me detention, my father will make sure you are the newest greeter at Walmart, you fat dike.”

Huh.  Never knew Mrs. Collins could move so fast.  Or that a teenage girl could screech that high when dragged by her ear into the Athletics’ office.  Guess Sienna is going to get detention after all.

While Jade’s jaw hangs slack and gathers flies, I recline into child’s pose, and that’s when the world goes all wonky.  Noises mute, colors blur, my head packs itself into cotton, and time freaking slows.

I sit up and look about the mat-covered room that serves dual purpose for our yoga classes and wrestling, and study the other students.  Twenty-three girls lie folded over their knees, arms above their heads, Jade standing in shock as she stares at the door.  But they are frozen and muted… bordering on the grayscale.

As I stand, my legs wobble and my mind spins.  Below me – me – is my body.  Perfect yoga form.  Covered in a tank, t-shirt, sweatshirt, leggings, and shorts.  Me.  I’m looking at me.

What. The. Hell.