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A Drop Overflowed The Ocean
Ordinary. That's the only word I'd have chosen to describe myself. Normal, standard, typical, simple, or unexceptional—all of these fit me perfectly. But there is one thing that makes me different, well, me and select others. There are these cells that were discovered a couple of decades ago, named, 'Clemons Cells'. There is no explanation for their existence, they replace one of our genes and do the same job as the gene it took over, feeding itself and releasing more energy to the host which leads to these people being healthier, having more energy, and being naturally stronger, but to no extreme difference, they're not a miracle cell. But for the last thirty years, there has been a surge of them over the island where I live.
My name is Ellion, I'm from Vanity Island, part of an archipelago that has three additional islands. Vanity got its name because it remained neutral during the old wars, never aligning with other nations, and the locals never yielding to conquerors. But what the foreign nations craved lies within Teyó, one of our neighboring islands. Teyó boasts a vast rainforest that appears to float, thanks to the crystal-clear waters that surround it. This island is a repository of unique plants, fruits, seeds, insects, and birds, preserved carefully by the people of Vanity for generations. Vanity Island itself is a melting pot, home to settlers from across the globe who brought their flora and fauna, creating a rich tapestry of life found nowhere else.
However, not everything thrives here; what doesn't adapt is swiftly culled. I could immerse you in tales of our islands' histories, but dwelling on the past seems futile now. For the last thirty years, there has been a surge of people that possess a unique type of cell called 'Clemons Cells'. Vanity Island has ceased to forge new tales of its own. The Union States of Columbia (USC) has been gradually infiltrating our government, leveraging corrupt officials to their advantage. Previous attempts to expose USC's silent invasion have all been quashed, the voices behind them erased from history, their names unspoken by newer generations. Today, the USC's influence is undeniable, privatizing healthcare, seizing public lands, and disrupting natural habitats with their construction, all while eroding our traditions. A new revolution was brewing, one that demanded more than mere solidarity. This time, we needed real power, the kind of strength that could shift the balance. I just hoped our endeavor wouldn't prove us to embody the very vanity our island was named for.
The story begins on the day that I decided to do something out of my ordinary routine; My best friend Ryan had been pestering me to join him at a protest on the beach. He was planning to pick me up and head there to meet some other friends. Honestly, I wasn't keen on going. I imagined it would be packed, and Ryan would be buzzing with energy around his friends at the protest—an energy I knew I couldn't match. But after declining his invitations a good twenty times, and with my sister Annabella berating me for being a poor friend, I felt compelled to agree this time. However, I immediately regretted my decision.
Ryan's other friends were acquainted with Ivory, one of the most vocal protesters on Vanity Island. Lately, she had become quite prominent, known for her unwavering presence at every protest. It seemed she hadn't missed a single one, as if she could be in multiple places at once. Ivory was hard to miss with what people called her 'natural' green hair. More than just a participant, she was a catalyst, drawing influential figures into the movement and inspiring others to join. Her charisma and connections were turning her into a major force, potentially outpacing Lucía, a veteran protester who had been active for over two decades and was the organizer of this very protest. Knowing Lucía's reputation and with Ivory's presence there, I was certain the event would be swamped, which did nothing to ease my apprehension.
I lay on my bed, nerves tingling as I awaited Ryan's call. Dressed for over an hour, I had been imagining various scenarios of how the day might unfold, preparing myself for any eventuality. Glancing at the clock, it read '7:12 am'. Ryan had mentioned the protest was set to start at 7 am, so he should be arriving any minute now.
Ring
At the sound of my phone, I leaped from the bed. He must be outside. I grabbed the phone while simultaneously slipping on my sandals.
"Hey, are you here?" I asked, a bit breathless.
"Nah, I'll be out in a few. Just checking if you have a red hat, or something crimson to match?" Ryan replied, his voice annoyingly relaxed.
"You're still not ready? I thought we were late, it starts at 7 am, right?" I questioned, my anxiety about being the last one to arrive spiking. I dreaded the thought of having to greet everyone individually upon a late arrival.
"Yeah, it starts at 7 am, but there's no way I'm going that early. Gotta take my time with this hair and keep it looking smooth. I need that red hat to shield it from the sand and to match my outfit." he explained.
I rolled my eyes. "I don't wear hats, Ryan. So when are you coming by?"
"Sialamadre, I was hoping you had one. Now I have to change my whole outfit. I'll be there in about 20 minutes. You'll know when I'm outside—I'll honk. See you later, cabrón." With that, Ryan hung up.
Great, another 20 minutes of overthinking ahead of me. My sandals are already on; I might as well head downstairs and grab something to eat. I have enough time to boil some eggs.
I tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to wake my sister. Her college break was almost over, and her days of sleeping in were limited.
In the kitchen, I pulled the eggs from their carton, placed them in a small pot, and turned on the gas stove. Settling on the sofa to wait for the eggs to soft-boil, I flipped on the TV. The news came on immediately.
"—the third act of the unknown protestors who have been targeting the ports around the island, setting fire to USC landing sites." The topic caught my attention, and I leaned in to listen more closely. "But first, summer is ending, and the island's hurricane season is approaching, expected to be stronger than—" My interest quickly waned.
Bored by the weather report, I quickly turned off the TV. My sister always leaves the news on. She's fascinated by it, not because she believes everything they say, but because she thinks it helps her understand what they're trying to hide from us. I don't quite follow her logic, but maybe one of these days, I'll buy her an aluminum hat.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
"Aw, why did you turn it off?" A voice floated down from the stairs. I turned to see Annabella or Annie as I called her, clad in her pajamas, descending sleepily. "I wanted to hear more about the hurricane season. It's been years since we had a big one, and I think this year might be it. I want to be fully prepared."
"I thought you were asleep." I said, surprised.
"I was, but the noise you made coming down the stairs woke me up." she replied, rubbing her eyes slightly.
"I was as quiet as I could be. It's not my fault you have the ears of a bat." I shot back, standing to return to the kitchen to check on the eggs.
Annabella followed me into the kitchen and spotted the boiling pot. "Really? Boiled eggs again? You complain about me mothering you, but look at what you're eating. You're heading to a protest, you'll be out in the sun for hours and you don't know when you'll eat next. That's not going to keep you energized all morning." Without pausing, she rifled through the freezer, pulled out some bacon, and fired up another burner. She placed a frying pan on it, dropped the bacon in, and then loaded some slices of bread into the toaster. Moving seamlessly, she then started the coffee maker, continuing her lecture on proper breakfast as she cooked.
"You operate on autopilot, it's like you're a robot. You cook, clean, and juggle a dozen other things simultaneously. It's not that I can't do it; I just need more time to think about what I want to eat and how to make it right." I said as the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen. "Plus, I know you enjoy it—you like feeling needed."
"You take ages just deciding which foot to put in your pants first; you're practically a toddler. And yes, I do enjoy it. It feels good to know you'd be a mess without me." she said with a grin, handing me a cup of coffee and laying the bacon slices on the sizzling pan. The sound of the bacon frying made my stomach growl, and I could almost taste it already. I eagerly took a sip of the coffee.
"If all it takes to get a delicious breakfast every morning is admitting I'm a disaster, then it's a small price to pay. Thanks, 'Mom'." I responded with a light chuckle. But the moment the word 'Mom' slipped out, both our smiles vanished.
That word was a harsh reminder of our past. I might have said more, but Annie had made it clear that discussing it further was off-limits. We could never truly uncover what had happened, and bringing up the topic only deepened our wounds.
The thing is, around five years ago, something inexplicably happened; our house was destroyed as if struck by an earthquake, but only our home was affected, the neighborhood around us remained perfectly intact. Strangely, my memories from before that night are hazy at best. All I can clearly recall is Annie's cries for help and the struggle to navigate through the rubble that had once been our home. When I finally reached her, she was miraculously unharmed in her room. Yet, there was no sign of our parents—no bodies, no blood, nothing that would indicate they were once there. It was as if the house had erased them from existence.
Annie holds onto the belief that our parents chose to abandon us that night. She remembers screaming for them as the house shook, only to be met with their horrified faces as they ran away, leaving us alone to die. This difference in belief about what happened causes friction between us. Every time we discuss it, it ends in an argument and leaves Annie visibly upset. I can sense a profound sadness building in her, a feeling that strangely built inside me too, thickening the air around us. It's an inexplicable phenomenon, but dwelling on these thoughts seems to drain her, mentally and emotionally. A couple of years ago, she chose to stop pursuing the truth behind that night and asked me not to bring it up again. Hence the heavy silence that now hung in the kitchen.
Eager to shift the mood, I seized on the one topic I knew could distract her—the news. "So, what's the latest with these rebel protesters lighting up the ports? Got any conspiracy theories about them?" I asked, hoping to spark her interest.
Her face lit up as she spun around, the gloom momentarily forgotten. "Actually, there's talk that it's just one person setting the fires, not associated with any protest groups. And get this," she leaned in, her eyes wide with intrigue, "someone who was interviewed claimed they saw the arsonist conjure fire out of thin air with just a wave of his hand."
Her enthusiasm was infectious, even if I was skeptical. "I don't know, people tend to exaggerate these things online. Remember all those stories about the Lady Siren in the Itayó rainforest? Loads of people went looking for her and just ended up getting lost."
Annie rolled her eyes at my skepticism. "Oh, come on. Here, look at this." She pulled her laptop towards her, opened it, and sat down at the kitchen table. She arranged the plate of freshly cooked bacon slices and toasted bread beside her laptop, then swiveled the screen toward me. A video began to play—predictably grainy and unclear, like all supposed evidence of the supernatural.
The video, clearly shot at night, captured a young man with short brown hair standing atop one of the shipping containers. In the background, a murmur of voices could be heard, along with the intermittent clatter and flashes from the pier workers. The camera then panned to a ship a few dozen feet away from the pier when, abruptly, a bright orange flash erupted. In an instant, machinery, storage areas, and even part of the pier were engulfed in flames.
The people near the cameraman erupted in shouts, "Fue el tipo arriba del contenedor! Lo ví como movió sus manos y todo se encendió al mismo tiempo!" They were adamant that the young man on the container had ignited the blaze with a mere gesture of his hands. By the time the camera swung back to where he had been, he had vanished.
I looked over at Annie with skepticism painted across my face, trying not to outright dismiss the credibility of the video which was so blurry it was hard to make out any definitive action. However, Annie caught my doubtful expression and was quick to defend her point.
"I know the quality isn't great, but this video was leaked through forums, and it's genuine, unedited footage," she argued earnestly. "And think about it—why hasn't the news mentioned this man or shown this video? Instead, they blame the protestors. It's clear they're using these incidents to undermine the protests, hurting their reputation and discouraging people from joining the cause."
"It was clearly a group effort, and those guys filming could even be part of it, staging it to seem like it's just one person to throw the government off track. But really, one person causing all that havoc alone? Seems far-fetched. Trust me, they'll get caught eventually, and the news will confirm I'm right." I asserted.
"You're so naive," Annie countered, shaking her head. "You can't trust the news anymore. Ever since the USC got involved, it's like they're spinning everything to turn the island against itself. I just hope they don't catch the guy. Did you see his curly hair and that intense look? He was kind of cute." she mused, rewinding the video to catch another glimpse of the mysterious figure.
Just then, a series of honks blasted from outside, making Annie jump. "Is that Ryan?! Tell him to stop with the honking; it's still early!"
"Yeah, like he'd listen to me. Why don't you tell him?"
"Because I don't want to get dragged into that protest like he dragged you." she replied, flashing a sly smile and waving her fingers in a mock goodbye.
I grunted in response and headed outside, stepping into what would be the start of a new tale on Vanity Island. Unbeknownst to me, this day would set off a chain of events that would forever change not only my destiny but also the fate of our entire island.
Unbeknownst to me, this day would set off a chain of events that would forever change not only my destiny but also the fate of our entire island [https://img.wattpad.com/20935e7fe9aeb3e468c3c146f3b086947f9507a2/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f446a41466c7066556548647642773d3d2d313432383736363236352e313763373738306364393661353363643333363036353838323232372e6a7067?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]
Vanity Islands' (Not a descriptive map, only where the landmasses are located)