Technocracy: Epiphany, Part 2

School started on Monday, January 8^th.

So a day was bent, and posed, and Saera wandered around the house. She had felt weak when she had first recovered, after so many days being sick and fighting the sickness. But one day of good health and good food was enough to restore her stamina, and on the 7^th of January, by midday, she had felt as good as new. She had thought of going to see Marin.

But Marin had texted her curtly:

>Not now

And Saera had heard no more from her friend that day. So she had read a book of poems she’d gotten for Christmas, a book she had not been able to peruse much due to her illness. Some of them were good, some of them were not. But there had been a tingly thrill up her spine to simply be sitting and reading, something normal, as opposed to lying in bed feeling like death. It was good to be back to normal. So she had read, and watched a digital show, until dinner time, and then she had read and browsed the internet until it was time for sleep. She was eager to get to school in the morning, to start the Spring semester.

So she had slept.

And she had awoken. And she had sighed, and again that breeze, that billow of air, had seemed to swirl around her. She sat up in bed at the push of cold air on her skin. She blinked. It was gone. Was it even real? Had it just been the edge of a dream? She sighed again. No breeze, not this time.

So she had gone to her bathroom to brush her teeth.

When she reached the sink she grabbed her toothbrush from the clip,

And reached for the toothpaste sitting right next to the sink.

Then she looked up at the mirror—and her eyes went wide.

She dropped both the toothbrush and the toothpaste, both at once.

Whitish silver eyes were bulging, open wide in shock.

Saera leaned into the mirror, fingering her hair;

Ran her fingers through a tuft of hair on her left side,

Her short hair—a grasp, a lock, was now within her hands,

And this hair that she held now stood out amid the rest.

This lock, this chunk, was not platinum blonde like the rest.

This lock, this chunk of her hair was white—as white as snow.

Saera gaped at it, and leaned much closer to the mirr’r,

leaning closer, wondering, thinking, that maybe she was seeing things. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe it wasn’t… because it couldn’t be. Hair didn’t just change color. And certainly not to white. This wasn’t even the faded, grayed white that old people had for their hair. This really was snow white, as white as a sheet of paper, and even amid her very-light platinum blonde hair the streak of white stood out for its shocking lightness and starkness.

“Saera?” called her mother’s voice. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

“O-Oh,” cried Saera through her door. “Oh, hold on.” She stared with huge eyes at herself in the mirror. What could she do? The streak of white stood out spectacularly; there was no hiding it, not without wearing a hat, and hats weren’t allowed indoors at school.

“Saera?”

“Coming,” she said through the door, and hastily began to brush her teeth.

She dressed in dark green pants and a heavy violet sweater. She had tried to brush the white streak of hair into the short locks and tresses of the rest of her haircut. But it was futile. And Saera came into the kitchen, and Aemelia glanced at her, and Saera felt her skin crawl as her mother’s brown eyes drifted up, and saw the streak of white in her hair.

“I know,” said Saera, lifting a pale hand up into her hair.

“Sweetie, what is that?”

“I do not know.”

“Sweetie, did you hit your head? Did you spill something?” Aemelia came closer to her, and Saera felt the tremors up her spine, she didn’t want it, her mother was coming close and she did not want it. She did not want it.

“Mama, it’s fine,” she said, turning her head away. “I feel fine. I’m not sick any more.”

“But sweetie, your hair is white,” said Aemelia, coming closer, and Saera suddenly dreaded the approach of her fingers. She just did not wish to think about it.

“Please, Mama,” said Saera, flinching away.

“What’s wrong?” Aemelia came too close, her fingertips reaching into the white streak in Saera’s hair.

And Saera said, “Do

Not,” and all the kitchen was engulfed in a great breeze,

Papers and the posters on the fridge went flutt’ring round,

As the burst of wind, strong as a gale, came swirling in,

Billowing around, disrupting every single thing,

And for just a moment, for an instant of real time,

Saera’s eyes were SHINING—glowing brilliant neon white.

Just for an instant, though. Then the gleaming neon white faded, and Saera was, again, just a tall, thin girl, with blonde hair, except for that strange, white streak. Not as she had been just for a moment: not with power and radiance, something grand, something that had frightened Aemelia to see. Saera’s eyes did not shine any more, as they had for just an instant; and now those silver eyes saw Aemelia, and saw how frightened she was, frightened of her own daughter.

Saera firmly sat down on the floor of the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing up at her mother.

“Sweetie, you didn’t do that,” said Aemelia. Still there was fear in her brown eyes. “I don’t…” Aemelia’s eyes twitched to the side. “I don’t know what that was.” She bent down towards her daughter, hesitantly but firmly. “And I don’t know what’s in your hair, either. It is very strange.” She smiled. “But it’s okay.”

Saera sighed, and Saera closed her eyes, and Saera sat there, just for a second, basking in the silence of the kitchen, as the last of the fluttering papers finally fell down and were still.

But, finally, her eyes came open, and she rose to her feet. “I do not know what it is,” she said, walking to the table where her breakfast of biscuits and huckleberry jam was waiting for her. “I don’t know why the white streak is there. It was just there, when I checked in the mirror this morning.”

“Hmm,” said Aemelia. Resuming her normal firmness of voice, she moved to the table and sat down next to her daughter. “Well, I know you haven’t been dyeing it, so it can’t be that.” Aemelia’s brown eyes fixed more closely on Saera, making Saera shiver in worry. “I don’t know… do you think it happened because you got sick?”

Saera’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps,” she said. And she thought, again, of her three friends.

“I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Crickson. Just to check and make sure there’s not something truly wrong. Otherwise…” Aemelia smiled gently. “It doesn’t look so bad. It’s actually rather pretty.”

Saera smiled. And she put jam on a biscuit, and chewed, and ate.

“Have a good day, sweetie,” said Aemelia, as the doors of the self-driving car slid open. Saera glanced across the broad concrete space, towards the white swooping arches of the high school. Her breath was fogging as the sharp, cold air entered the car. She shivered. The drama of the morning had resulted in them having to rush out the door, so she had forgotten her coat. “Saera,” and she turned, and Aemelia was smiling at her, really smiling, beaming, happy. “Saera, everything will be all right.”

Saera smiled, and her chest was airy and soft. “Thank you, Mama.” She vaulted from the car. “See you this afternoon!” And the doors slid shut behind her, and her mother’s car drove away. Saera sighed, cold air snapping against her skin and burning her lungs. She held her head up high. But her hand shifted to her head, and it ran through her hair, and she remembered her white streak. She sighed. The wind whipped.

And she wondered if there was a hint of something there?

But nothing came.

And so she sighed, a little soft whimsy returning, and hurried into the school. It was cold outdoors, anyway.

She did not see Marin, or Ardo, or Terry, in her journey to the school. She wondered where they were. Marin had waited for her, back at the beginning of the school year. But none of them were there now. And it seemed that a quiet and somber mood, a subdued feeling, had fallen, like soundproof padding, over the school, as she wended through the crowds of students. Most of them did not bother to look at her, despite being tall for a girl (and she’d grown a bit taller over the winter break). She didn’t feel any stares upon her, despite the white streak being prominently visible in her hair. Perhaps her thinness, her quietness, her gentleness, all contributed to helping her remain unseen.

So she slipped into the halls, and found her locker, and deposited her things for the day. And she headed for her Homeroom, with spirits spiking. She knew, here, that she would see her friends. She wondered how they were.

“Miss Meni, I’m going to have to report you.”

A twitch went into Saera’s ear.

“I’m not dyeing it! Do you think I would just dye one streak of my hair?”

And a thrill went up Saera’s spine. She turned.

Marin stood there in the hallway, wearing a red dress,

Angrily confronting a tall teacher in the hall,

And now Saera saw that her long black hair had a streak:

Her long hair now had a tress where it was, bluntly, blue.

BLUE! A navy blue, a darkened blue, a blue so deep,

The deep blue of ocean water, something full marine.

“Marin!”

“Saera!” Marin said, excitedly turning around. The navy blue streak in her hair swirled about as she did, starkly standing out amid the blackness of the rest of it. “Saera, I’m sorry, I—” her sapphire blue eyes went wide. “Your hair! You’ve got the same thing I have!”

The teacher saw Saera, and his eyes narrowed. “Ms. Alhimov, I’m going to have to write you up for the same reason as Ms. Meni. You know that hair dyes are against school dress code.”

“Mr. Abraham,” said Saera, “I do not think Marin is lying, and I am not, either. I did not dye my hair. I just woke up this morning, and this streak was in my hair.” Marin’s eyes bulged.

“So you two… together.” Mr. Abraham pointed between them. “You’re not related.”

“Nope!” said Marin. “We’re just friends.”

“Yes,” said Saera.

Mr. Abraham narrowed his eyes. “I am going to have to write both of you up,” he said. “You are in violation of school rules. But…” he sighed, “if you really aren’t dyeing it, if this is… natural, then we can make accommodations. A note from your family doctor would probably be enough.”

“Okay!” said Marin. “Dr. Crickson will be getting you a note super fast!”

“Well,” said Mr. Abraham, “all right. That’s fine.” He wagged a finger at them. “But you’ll have to be quick about it. We need a prompt report, or we’ll keep writing you up. You’ll have to face detention, too.”

Marin snarled, and Saera knew that this was the wrong thing to say.

“Don’t HARASS me,” Marin growled, her voice nearly a roar,

And she pressed on Mister Abraham, and then her eyes

Shone a moment—for an instant gleamed a neon blue,

And the mopping robot in the corner of the hall

Suddenly exploded, and its water boiled up,

A huge bursting blast of water shot out everywhere,

Bathing several lockers, and the students nearby screamed.

Mr. Abraham jumped back in fear as Marin’s eyes actually shone at him, neon blue gleaming from out between her eyelids. Only for an instant, though—then Marin was back to normal, and even she was surprised at her anger. But she instantly posed on her front foot, and her hair billowed, and she said, “Don’t intimidate me, or I’ll report you to the counseling staff. Okay?”

“Ms. Meni,” said Mr. Abraham, “please calm down.” Mr. Abraham flinched, and Marin growled under her breath, and Saera knew, from so many years, that Marin had found an easy mark. “Ms. Meni, please, I understand your trouble.”

“So leave me alone, and leave Saera alone, too.”

“I will have to… report you now,” he said. He nodded. “But if you can bring me doctor’s reports that this is a natural thing, then we’ll have an exception made up for you two, no matter what color your hair is. Okay?”

“Fine,” said Marin. She waved a sallow-skinned arm. “Just leave us alone, please.”

“All right,” he said. And he turned, and walked off down the hall.

“Hrgh,” growled Marin, turning to Saera. “What? What is it?”

Saera was staring at Marin, for she also had seen Marin’s eyes glow blue. And Marin’s eyes, so deep and sapphire blue, so sparkling bright, now bent upon her, and the streak of navy blue in her hair flew, and made her different than she had been before. Different and yet not different. Like she was more of herself. Not something new, but more of what she had been before.

So this felt to Saera.

This impression washed on her like waves upon the beach.

“Okay, come on!” said Marin. “Let’s not be late!” And she hurried into the classroom, Saera obediently following on her heels.

Terry was sitting two seats from the front row. He waved happily at them, and they at him. Saera’s eyes widened, not at what she saw but what she did not see. Terry’s hair did not have a strange streak of color in it. Or, at least, it did not appear to have one. There

Was no orange or purple, not a silver or a green,

So it seemed that Terry had escaped what had occurred

To Saera and Marin—yet as he turned towards them now,

Something in his hair caught up the light in a strange way,

Something shiny, bright and metal-looking in his locks,

Something not unlike the metal of his copper eyes.

And Terry smiled, and Marin and Saera both noticed that something was different about him, yet somehow he also seemed exactly the same. The two of them eyed each other. Both girls, such good friends for so long, seemed to see that same, strange thing in each other: a change, but not a real change.

Saera cocked her head to the side as she looked at Marin. “An… enhancement?”

“Wha?” asked Marin.

“Nothing,” said Saera. She breathed, and their hair all fluttered, just barely.

“Would you all please take your seats?” said Mr. Simeon.

“Ah, wait, sir,” said Terry. “Mr. Ortiz isn’t here.”

“Where is that jerk?” said Marin, blue streak fluttering as she swung her head to and fro. “He’s usually here early, not late.”

“Please take your seats,” said Mr. Simeon. “You’re already in trouble for your hair color, I don’t want to write you up further.”

Terry narrowed his copper eyes,

And on doing so these eyes were glinting, just a bit.

“Please, sir, let us be,” said Terry, stepping to the fore,

Past Marin and Saera, who now noted how he stood.

“Mr. Philips, please sit down,” said Mr. Simeon,

Causing Terry to stand straighter, to the great surprise

Of the two girls—because Terry never did such things,

Did not ever challenge teachers, never raised his voice.

But now Terry felt his lip curl, and he could not help

But say, “Don’t bug us!” and as he did his eyes began

To glow—to shine bright warm copper brown, a neon gleam,

And when he spoke suddenly the school began to shake,

Quaking, vibrating, and all the desks began to shake,

Quaking, shaking, Marin and Saera both felt the quake,

Looking, looking, both of them could see Terry’s eyes glow,

As they felt the school rock from the earth beneath their feet.

Terry’s eyes snapped back—they did not glow any more, did not shine that brilliant neon copper brown, and he huffed out a breath. The students were all murmuring around them, wondering if the shaking they had just felt had been real, or a figment of their imaginations. Saera and Marin looked at each other in worry, and the two of them came to him as one, slipping onto either side of him. And both of them, with their silver eyes and their sapphire eyes, firmly stared at Mr. Simeon, daring him to speak, daring him to say a word of trouble against the friend they loved.

And Mr. Simeon bent—bent, to see the three of them arrayed against him. He sighed. “Please, you three, calm down.”

“Please do not bother our friend,” said Saera.

“If you will take your seats, please,” said Mr. Simeon.

“You—” Marin started.

“Come on,” said Terry softly. He glanced over his shoulder; the entire rest of the class was staring at them. Terry could hear the whispering start, and he heard the words “blue” and “white” on the air, obvious references to Saera and Marin’s strange hair streaks. So he said, “Hey,” and when Marin and Saera turned to him, he said, “Let’s not cause more of a fuss, okay?”

“Whatever,” said Marin, tossing her hair over her shoulder; that navy blue streak flickered like a racing stripe amid the blackness of the rest of it. Saera put her head down, a flush creeping up her pale cheeks.

“Not you too, Mr. Ortiz. This is really too much.”

Saera, Marin, and Terry sharply exchanged glances.

“Look, man—sir, leave me alone. It’s not my fault.”

“Mr. Ortiz, I don’t—”

“Fu—Forget you,” snapped the voice, and Ardo

Surged into the door with every eye upon him now,

And he saw his three friends, and the three of them saw him.

So they gaped, and Ardo grimaced now to see them look,

Grimaced because he knew what, exactly, caught their eye:

One big streak of his chin-length hair no longer was black.

It, instead, was RED—rich red, a deep, strong crimson red,

Vibrant and compelling, the red took up a whole length

Of his hair right at the front, the red amid the black,

Looking very strange—and yet not fully out of place.

“Is this some kind of prank, Mr. Ortiz?” asked Mr. Simeon. “Did you all coordinate this?”

“No, sir,” said Saera gently. “We shall not cause any more trouble.”

“I didn’t dye it or anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Ardo. “I just woke up like this!”

Mr. Simeon shifted his gaze slowly, carefully, between the four of them: Saera, Marin, Ardo, and Terry, bunched together. The strange colored streaks in Marin, Saera, and Ardo’s hair were plainly visible; Terry’s hair at least appeared to be normal, but there was also something that looked different about it. Though perhaps that was simply from Terry’s long time away for Winter Break.

“If you will just take your seats,” said Mr. Simeon firmly. Ardo growled and stomped off, finding the nearest desk and angrily, loudly slamming himself down into it. Marin rolled her eyes, and slipped into the seat next to him, with Terry taking the other side of Ardo. Saera, meanwhile, sat next to Marin, foregoing her usual window seat.

“Are they playing a prank?” came a whisper through the air as Mr. Simeon turned back to the digital board.

“Those four are always hanging out, I bet they worked together on that,” said another whisper, in response.

“Marin’s super popular, I don’t know why she hangs out with those three. She’s Lindsey Darlton’s friend, she doesn’t need those three.”

“That Ortiz kid is crazy. He’s gotten into a bunch of fights and I hear he’s on the verge of getting expelled.”

Ardo this last whisper heard—it filtered through his ear,

And he started forward in his seat, with gritted teeth,

Brown fists clenched and suddenly his eyes shone very bright,

Shone a gleaming neon red, and Marin saw the glow.

So did Saera, so did Terry, all three of them saw,

And all of a sudden Ardo drew in a sharp breath,

And he breathed out through his nose—and from his nose came smoke.

Thick black smoke came out of both nostrils in heavy jets,

And the smell of char, of burning, rose upon the air,

Startling them all—including Ardo, not the least,

Gazing down at all the smoke that swirled around his head.

Fortunately Mr. Simeon still had his back to the class, so he did not see the strange gouts of smoke that had vented from Ardo’s nostrils. Nor had most of the class seemed to notice it. But when Ardo looked this way and that, he saw that Terry, Marin, and Saera were staring at him with bulging eyes. He smiled, and winced as he did.