Chapter Three - Threads of Fate

Instructions

Mirai finds herself on the sidewalk in a wealthy neighborhood - the houses gleaming, the yards immaculate, not a single mark on the driveways. “W-where am I?” she asks, only for her words to fall on deaf ears. “This looks… too picturesque… And why is there no noise?” She finds herself glued to the spot, unable to move, waiting for what can’t be more than a few minutes but feels like an eternity. Then, she hears it. Laughter. Mirai follows the sound of the laughter to a house that actually looks lived in - overgrown grass in the yard, dust on the roof, actual skidmarks on the driveway, and the lights inside glowing. The girl peeks through the window to find a cozy, warm house. There are two adults in the kitchen. The man, who looks to be Norwegian, German, or some mix of both, is mixing pancake batter, which is everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere: the countertops, the stoves, the floor, the ceiling, even the family’s faces, clothing, and hair. The woman, who appears to be South Asian, is cradling an infant, who smiles up at her. The couple and their child look so… happy… joyous. But something goes wrong. The faulty water heater bursts in flames. The couple look at each other, panic arising. “Take her and go!” The man insists. “And leave you here?” his wife asks, mortified. “Just leave,” he pleads. The lady rushes out of the house, but it is too late for her. Her skirt catches fire, and she realizes too late. She places the infant on the sidewalk—too close to the burning house for comfort, but just far enough to stay safe. And the scene melts away as a scream is ripped from Mirai’s throat. Heavy footsteps echo from the hallway as Mirai’s mother and father burst into the room. “What’s wrong, kiddo?” Mr. Sayer questions. “Liam!” Mrs. Sayer berates, “The first thing you say is what’s wrong! Everyone knows that you’re supposed to comfort them first!” Mr. Sayer sheepishly apologizes. Mrs. Sayer hugs her daughter, who sobs into her mother’s shoulder, “Oh honey, cry however long you want.” In between sobs and hiccups, Mirai tells her parents, “The fire… the dream - it looked so real! Oh momma, it looked so real!” Mrs. Sayer looks worried. After all, what sort of dream could have shaken her daughter up so badly, she’s shaking, drenched in sweat and tears. Mr. Sayer, on the other hand, has an expression on his face that looks like a mix of confusion and relief. After Mirai calms down a few minutes later, he asks, “Did your school’s staff say anything about some sort of ‘Calling’?” She blinks, “Yeah. You know something about it.” “Well… not exactly. My childhood neighbor’s cousin kept having nightmares nearing the time of the Calling. They were all about the past or future. He ended up being a psychic,” he shudders, “apparently, you do not wanna be a psychic. I dunno though. It’s just a hunch.” The next few days pass in a blur for Mirai. She keeps on seeing scenery and people she doesn’t recognize. No more dreams, just random flashes. Like once, in the middle of school when Mr. McCulloch was droning on about different kinds of rocks, she vividly saw the Golden Gate Bridge, which would be normal if she lives in the Bay Area, which she does but Dublin - the Dublin she lives in because there are two in that region alone (don’t ask me why there are two) - is located in the South Bay and she’s never actually seen the bridge irl because it’s too far and long a drive. Now Mirai is reading a book about some of the most famous scholars in history when it happens. Again. She starts to shake, not too violently but enough to be noticed by others, while her vision blurs and the metallic sheen to her hair dims temporarily. She blinks a few times, feeling woozy, when an image floods her senses. This time, instead of the usual scenery like a cherry blossom forest in Japan or a street in Venice, Italy, it’s a location she knows. A classroom lab at her middle school, vials of chemicals on the floor. In the middle of it all, one of her schoolmates - one she barely knows - holds a broken vial, looking at it curiously. And that’s when she notices it. A small puddle, starting to flame. That’s when Mirai blacks out. ✵ ✵ ✵ Alan, who is in P.E., looks at the ceiling in the far corner of the North gym - it’s one gym with a divider that separates the North and South sides; today the divider sections the halves off. “How in the name of the multiverse does someone MANAGE TO BREAK THE CEILING!!!” he exclaims to no one, not that he could be heard over the buzz of chatter and echoing thump of multiple basketballs being used at once. I mean, Alan HAD seen Ezran A punt a basketball, which landed near where the broken tile lays, a few minutes ago. And the fact that some of the rowdiest boys in class are playing at the hoop in that exact corner…