Through the Haze - Part One

When the sun rises, it brings with it the gift of life, and the haze of the day, the joy in our hearts. The sun keeps our hopes alive, keeps us thriving, even in the darkest of times.--Angelo Graceman, Book of Hope
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Isaac was never a lad to sit still while the world continued without him. He enjoyed running in the grass, the wind in his hair, the smell of the flowers tickling his nose, the grass poking at his bare feet. He was never one for rules, for barriers. Rules could be bended, he knew. There was always a way around them. Barriers were just obsticals, something to look at and admire, and then get around. Barriers and rules had no meaning to him. He ignored them completely.

But after his tenth birthday, things changed. People started to realize he was special, he was gifted, and therefore he needed to be watched and trained properly. No more running around in the fields, no more being a kid and doing what he wanted. No more sidestepping the barriers or bending the rules. He had strict instructions that simply had to be followed, no questions asked.

Personally, he thought it was a little much, and found it hard to deal with, especially at first.

So he started a journal to place his thoughts and feelings in, somewhere where he could express himself openly without having to explain himself to his tutors who came to the house five times a week.

The journal was his. And he took advantage of it when he got it on his twelfth birthday....
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Saturday, Azx 1, Keeleer Kermen's Reign, Mid Summer

Whoa, I have my own journal, this is kind of weird. I mean, I was never one to write a lot or take it seriously, but when I got this early this morning, I seemed drawn toward it. I thanked Roo, the Stable Master, over and over when he showed it to me.

For starters, my name is Isaac Renald. I'm twelve-years-old now. I don't have any parents; they died when I was little and I can't remember them. Sometimes something sparks off a memory or three, but sooner or later I forget it. Hopefully, if that happens again, I can just write it in here.

Journal, you're going to be my best friend. I don't have many friends here on the farm...okay, I don't have ANY friends, but that's because I'm not allowed to leave the farm. No one will let me. Supposedly, I have some sort of 'gift' that makes me need tutors and watchers and all that stuff.

Personally, I find it annoying. I mean, I'm a kid. Let me enjoy life for a little while. I try to have as much fun as I can, but honestly, nothing's much fun if you're doing it alone. Being alone is never fun, or at least that's what I think, anyway.

Sometimes when I'm bored and feeling lonely, I go to the stables to talk with Roo, but he's usually busy. He doesn't really understand me, either. I mean, I don't understand me, so how can I expect him too? This is just kinda weird. I mean, I can talk to Roo for hours on end and hang out with him all day, but that hole in my heart just doesn't seem to fill up.

It's like I'm missing something.

I wonder about that sometimes. Is that hole something that's trying to tell me that I miss my parents, even though I never knew them? Or is it something else entirely?

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever figure it out.
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"Isaac, please, pay attention," said Mr. Ramorhi, putting unneeded emphasis on the word 'attention'. He pointed at the chalk board with his long pointer stick. Isaac drug his attention away from the window and winced.

"Sorry, Mr. Ramorhi, won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," grunted the old man. "I expect you did the homework I gave you, right?"

Isaac paused. "Well, you see, the thing is, I was going to do it, when--wouldn't you know it?--I fell asleep."

"Isaac, honestly, how do you expect to learn anything if you don't do what I ask?" he seemed rather annoyed.

Isaac sighed heavily. "Sorry. I just can't stay interested in this stuff. Why can't we take the day off? Why do I have to learn this stuff, anyway? No one else does."

"That very well may be," said Mr. Ramorhi, "but you are not like everyone else. We've been through this, Isaac."

"I know, I know," he groaned. "But why am I not like them?"

"You have the gift."

"So everyone keeps saying. What is this 'gift', anyway? If I have it, why don't I know what it is?"

"That's for you to find out on your own."

"So why are you teaching me this? It's not going to help me answer any of my questions," he grumbled, slumping down in his chair, feeling slightly defeated.

"I cannot answer you there. What you wish to find out, will come in time. But you must wait. In a few days, it will be time to begin the next stage of your training, and I want you to be as ready as possible, for I won't be the one teaching you."

Isaac blinked. "Then who will?"

"Someone the people who know about the gift will be sending over to train you."

Isaac chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then let out his breath with a huge sigh. "Always training, always preparing. But preparing for what?"

"A battle, dear boy," said Mr. Ramorhi. "It is said in the prophecies that there are three people with the gift, each with a different part, but each the same."

"That makes no sense," Isaac pointed out.

"Prophecies rarely do," admitted the old man. "But it also says there is to be a battle in the near future, and I wish for you to be as prepared as possible."

Isaac sighed. "What if I don't want to fight in this battle?"

"Then we all die," said Mr. Ramorhi, a sad look suddenly on his face. Isaac looked at him. Mr. Ramorhi turned toward the door. "Class dismissed for he day, Isaac. I expect that homework done for class tomorrow." and then he turned, walking out of the room.

Isaac sat in his seat a while longer, then stood and walked to the door.

"Gift," he scoffed. "Yeah, what gift? There's nothing special about me. You people are badly mistaken."

He slowly, quietly, left the room.