It reminded her that people like Elle were in some sort of haze just as she was, and liberty was something that suddenly felt of utmost importance somehow in some unclear but pressing way.
She peeled herself off the bed and finished washing up just in time to make coffee in her favorite French press before class. Today's going to be a good day, she thought to herself as she waited by the steel coffee press. And indeed it would be better than she had expected, because a kinsmen was coming her way.
---
Ahem. Allow me to make myself known.
This is story retold by yours truly, a messenger of the King. My name isn't important and neither are any introductions about where I come from or how it is that I enter into the thoughts of every creature and thing. I am merely sent to assess and record what I see and hear as it happens in the lives of the King's kinsmen. It would be beyond your comprehension to mention that time does not exist in the New Land where the Good King lives, and in that sense every kinsmen is already there, but for you simpletons who refuse to believe that which your minds cannot grasp I will say that what I do is much like an historian. I explain things in order to color and project the beauty of the New Land, and this is closest to what you might consider to be the future. So in essence I'm explaining the future with this story. I know things before they happen, but I don't make things happen to change anything. I simply see, hear and know the deeper unseen things for the sake of bringing back delightful news to the King. It is my honor to deliver the most thorough presentation in the form of a story, particularly about she and him.
Please continue reading with your befuddled enjoyment as I color the images you see with a different pair of eyes.
Oh and one more thing.
Now I haven't really explained what a kinsman is because I don't want to explain everything in order for you to know it all at once, but I will briefly let you in on a small secret. As she is about to meet a kinsmen this is not to say that she is about to meet him again. This isn't that kind of story. She's about to meet a kinsmen and that is all, but of course you simpletons want it to be all about her. Keep in mind that this isn't that kind of a story.
---
She got into her car and headed to class wearing a floral top and green shorts. She was feeling particularly bouncy that day.
The others in the class also looked brighter to her. Well meaning people, even if some were pledged as a Desirable.
This thought reminded her of the first time she encountered the Prince many years ago. The professor started reading from the textbook on brushes and bristle counts, a very fascinating topic for her on most occasions, but this time her mind drifted. She wandered back to those years before she and him had met, and her fascination with the Prince was all she knew to be fascinating.
It happened during her sophomore year in high school. She was picked and assigned to represent her club--the rebels of Tristan High at the gala for troubled teens. It was a fundraiser event to help teens with angst issues, and she was picked to go by her school teacher, because she seemed like the least likely teen to do something rebellious, ironically. She laughed at the memory of being picked and how it had been for that reason.
The Prince was extremely seductive. He walked into the room with such confidence and style that all eyes immediately went towards him like bugs to a light. He was desirable and hence his reputable campaign for the people was coined as such. The way he moved and the way he stared straight into the eyes of the people he spoke with was a captivating sight of handsome stature and cool beauty. She recalled the way it all fascinated her. The big lights, the grand designs and elegant fashions. He was the star of the gala, the envy of the room, and the most interesting thing in her line of vision up until then.
She continued walking through the memory of that time, all the while her face toward the class looked as present as a pretty stone.
The Prince not only spoke of being desirable, but his words and persuasive manners made the campaign feel most valuable. It was a worthy cause to be a Desirable, and this was indeed a cause that many took to.
She remembered feeling small and undesirable in the presence of the Prince. So she had let the rush of all she would never be slide off her in a listless motion. After all, she didn't care, she was a rebel teen, chosen for her ability to not rebel. She watched and daydreamed of what it would be like to be a Desirable, but as the night had drawn to a close, and a good sum of money had been raised to buy new computers for kids to distract themselves with, she watched as the Prince made his final rounds to the people of beauty and intellectual charm. After all, that's what it meant to be a Desirable.
How things had changed since then. Just then she heard her name called from the mist of the present.
"Yes?" She replied.
"Hello, I was just asking if I could borrow your pencil really quick." A short man in his early twenties asked her.
"Oh yea, here." She quickly shook off the daze and handed him the pen lying on top of her notebook.
"Do you have a pencil?" He asked before pausing to take the pen from her little hands.
"Oh, oh let me check." She reached into her bag, though she already knew she never carried or used pencils, but nonetheless found the effort of trying to be necessary. After a quick attempt at fake fishing for something that was definitely not there, she shook her head and apologized for nothing.
"Thanks anyway" he said as he handed her back the pen.
She sat back in her chair, fully present for the rest of the lecture on soft bristles and the importance of taking care to wash them in warm water every so often, before time was up and she was ready to go. She would stop by the art supply store and pick up some paintbrushes with soft bristles now that she felt confident about using them.
The short boy followed her around the corner, and she turned back to acknowledge him with a polite wave of her hand. At that moment she felt a twinge of something curious that made her think of kinsmen, but brushed the idea off before it materialized in her mind.
And she headed to the corner cafe, where Alvin was working, to her window-seat-loving triumph.
She opened her laptop, as Alvin brought her a mug of black coffee, and they exchanged smiles.
There was a letter in her inbox from him! It almost made her scream with joy and confusion and laughter all at once. Instead she just stared at the screen for what felt like seconds, but half an hour later she clicked on it.
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