Page 2 of The Commons

Ahh, so exciting, death and apathy. Wonderful combinations. There’s no way they are gonna select me. And anyways, why is everyone so obsessed with these Patrons? Because they can make or break you, Shantavia.

“Oh my goodness, do you think we will see any of the Patrons come near us?” another student whispers.

“I doubt it. No one can see an Earth Patron unless they are on Common grounds, that’s what my recommender said.”

“Who was your recommender?”

“The President.”

“Oh nice, mine was the Vice President.”

I wonder why those students are on this side of the gate with such notable recommendations? A former classmate’s recommendation was a member of Congress, and she is with her fellow elites on the other side of the plane. Oh, did I forget to mention, this decorated golden prison cell I’m in is a plane. A sailing, roaring plane that can zoom through waters and fly through mountains. A plane that’s currently heading to The Commons as its final destination. But if I don’t get selected by a Patron in the next few minutes, I may be taken out. But most likely not to my blissful bed in New York, to Oblivion. Some people call it death. I call it paradise. That’s wishful thinking.

And why am I here? I have a “save the world complex” from my overly genius sister, Levon, who decided to throw her life into the pursuit of The Commons and it led to her becoming missing. Yeah… that’s the part I’m trying not to think about. What has become of her…

The rules of The Commons echo through the intercom reminding me that Patron contact must be avoided, lest they kill me upon scent: “If you look at any one of the Patrons in the eye, you will be sent to Oblivion. If you get in a Patron’s way, you will be sent to Oblivion. If you interrupt a Patron while they are speaking, you will be sent to Oblivion. If you disagree with these rules, you will be sent to Oblivion. If you disagree with a Patron in your mind, you will be sent to Oblivion. If you⁠—”

I can’t help myself. “Apparently they can read our minds,” I whisper to Xexi with a cheeky smile.

She giggles softly, and just before I can laugh, my moment of guilty pleasure is interrupted. “What did you say?” a stern voice calls out to me. Who’s that? My mind pulses.

And now to our grave shock, a Patron stops at our cell. Everyone shudders, falling to the ground, their faces pressed to the floor beneath me. Oh my world. I shiver in shock. I knew the rule was not to look into their eyes but… I am the outlier. The only one standing. I am the odd man… woman… girl out. Crap! Certainly dead. Slowly, my head tilts and it collides with a being in front of me and my eye is looking at him straight in the eye like laser lightning, like volcanoes in the night, like shooting stars that pierce into your medulla oblongata and vaporize your iris, so my soul feels itself staring at the being in front of me. I have locked eyes with a Patron.

Rest in peace. Shantavia.

Shocked, my eyes are caught staring into the most piercing hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.

A flash of fire in his eyes. His jaws carved like a sharp blade, its edge enough to kill the particles in the air. A presence that arouses a sudden consciousness of one’s frailty and mortality in comparison to his seraphic figure. A stern glare that would summon the darkest secrets out of the most cryptic soul upon sight.

I can’t quite discern where he’s from, but his brass-tinted skin seems like a hybrid of different constellations, and I’m sure immortality is somewhere in the mix. I am confused about his background, but the combination is intoxicating. Strands of his shadowed hair glide down his golden gaze in a majestic haze and I feel like I’m looking at a god in human form.

He looks about two or three years older than me. His toned body stands out like a sculpture in a museum of rare things, voice tinted with a British cadence.

Intimidating, but with a calm edge to him. He looks like royalty, so regal and stern and enthralling. Not to mention his face, the most attractive thing I have ever laid eyes on. His gaze on me obviously does not share the same sentiments. His intense stare cuts through me. He repeats, “What did you say?”

I gulp from awe to fear. “Nothing,” I whisper.

A girl pinches me from under with a side eye. “Don’t look at him.”

I turn to her, confused as someone whispers his name. And that is when it hits me: this is Pesh. The famous Patron Pesh. Wow.

I’m no longer looking at him, but I can feel his gaze piercing into my soul. He stares at me with a subtle aggression, as though I’ve just offended him. I keep calm and manage to stay still, my heart pounding.

Suddenly, I remember, there are blindfolds covering my eyes… transparent ones. Oh… he can’t know that I’m staring at him. I jolt my head down immediately, but I can’t help but think, this could be it. This could be my chance to be claimed by a Patron. If I am not claimed, I am as good as dead. If I am dead, I cannot find my sister. I have no plays but my blasted bravery, so I use it. I do not bow. Like the others.

The Patron does not seem to even notice me past the second he did, discussing with his fellow Patrons on the livestock… us… that’s in front of them. Why did the famous Patron Pesh come to the middle-class station? He doesn’t even select the elites. Why is he here?

A proctor enters and begins to call out names. Each person is called forward and stamped. We all proceed to line up along with the elites.

The customs-looking officers check us in on their tall tables with golden lines and scanners inscribed on the furniture. The Commons’ mascot, a brown dragon, is inscribed on every table.

“First name?”

“Zavish.”

I look to the right. Zavish Lumiere. His hair slicked to the back with perfection as usual. He turns my way from a distance, staring at me with water-blue eyes thirsty for an ocean of power. He is in the “speed line” so he is not searched.

“All good,” the speed line officer says to Zavish. “And what was that high school again?”