"Are you listening, Jackson?" His mom asked, fury plain in her tone.
Jackson stopped staring out the window and looked at his mom, then the principal, then back at his mom. He raised his eyebrows and did a half-nod to show he was paying attention.
His mother's brow furrowed in anger. "That behavior is not acceptable. A two-day suspension is the least of what you deserve. What could possibly possess you to start a fight with your best fr— Well, who I thought was your best friend," She said. "Go ahead, let's hear your side of it."
Jackson didn't want to talk. Wasn't it enough that he was being punished? Or even being dragged here in the first place? Why should he have to keep defending himself? He couldn't help but feel like the world was against him.
After a few seconds had passed in silence, it was clear the two were still waiting for an answer, so he tried to get the words out of his mouth.
"He humiliated me," Jackson mumbled.
"How?"
"They were picking teams for dodgeball and Beck was team captain. He kept skipping me to pick someone else in the class."
"That's why you punched him?" Jackson's mom asked in bewilderment.
"Well, it made me mad… I asked him afterwards why he didn't pick me, and he said it's because I suck at dodgeball… in front of everyone. So I got even more pissed off. So yeah, I punched him. Happy?" Jackson folded his arms and turned to look out the window again.
"That's not a reason to hit someone, Jackson!" His mother protested. "In fact, there's no reason you should stoop to violence like that. Didn't I teach you—" Her throat caught, and she stopped talking.
"It's okay, Mrs. Cooley," the principal said reassuringly.
"No, no…," Jackson's mom started, "I'm fine. I just… wish there was something more I could do, is all."
The principal reached out and touched his mom's hand. "I think you're doing just fine. I'm a mother too, so I understand what it's like. Don't worry so much," she said in a voice too sweet for her face.
"Any thirteen-year-olds?" Jackson's mom asked, gesturing to him.
"Not quite, but I have an eight-year-old."
"Me too!" Jackson's mom said in a cheerful tone.
Jackson was beginning to fade out. It was clear he wasn't going to be the subject of this conversation for the next few minutes. The two women continued to go on about how many children they had or how old those children were.
Jackson just wanted to be out of there and back in his room. He wasn't going to come out of there for the rest of his life, if he could help it. He just wanted to be alone.
Eventually, the conversation came to a lull and it was finally time to leave the school.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Cooley. Thank you for taking the time to come here," The principal said.
"I came here right after work, so it was no real trouble," his mother replied. "Thank you, Mrs. Beldein."
They shook each other's hands and Jackson followed his mother from behind as they walked down the empty hallway. They went outside, and the air was humid, but a little brisk. The sun was clearly going down any time soon—even if it was too cloudy to see it.
Jackson wanted to hop in the back seat, but his mom told him to sit up front in the passenger seat. He knew that meant it was going to be a long drive home. Once they were on their way, his mom started talking.
"I just don't get it, Jackson. Where do you get this from? Is it the TV shows? The video games? The internet? Either way you lost your privilege to all of those things for the next week."
Jackson's heart sank a little at that, but he was still mad enough to act like he didn't care.
"We don't need this right now. Your father just left for work, and I'm all alone here. You know the company he works for is shorthanded, don't you? He's had to accept every shipment he can take just to keep his job.
"And now I'm working again. You think I like spending all day at the grocery store just to get off and use what little time I have left to go to a school meeting because you don't know how to behave? Please, Jackson. Please. I need you to see things from my perspective. I have three kids to take care of all by myself."
Jackson didn't say anything. He tried his best to ignore his mother's little rant, but it was hard when she sounded so sincere.
A few minutes passed in silence before she started talking again.
"I can't believe you have two months worth of late work! What were you thinking?"
Jackson didn't respond.
"Don't go thinking you can spend all day everyday doing whatever you want during the suspension. You are super grounded. You'll be doing homework from sunup to sundown. When you're done with it all, you're going to stay in your room. I don't wanna hear a peep from you, understand…," Jackson's mom continued on.
Her sincerity seemed to have left, as did Jackson's attention. He effectively blocked her out of his mind.
He was staring out the window again. He could see the ocean off in the distance. Port Orange, Florida wasn't exactly a sleepy town, but when you got this far into the suburbs it tended to feel that way.
The city that never slept was Daytona Beach, just up the coast. Sometimes, Jackson could hear the distant drum of some concert or event happening in the city. It gave him the feeling of being left out at a party.
Some time had passed, and it took Jackson a while to notice his mom had stopped nagging. He turned to look at her. She was in her own world; hyper-focused on the road ahead.
Madison Cooley was a fairly tall woman with long brown hair she tried to keep in a bun, but the hair would come slipping out of her scrunchy during the day, and she just didn't have the patience to keep fixing it. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, Jackson could tell his mom was exhausted. It put him in reflection of what she was saying before.
His mom did worry a lot about her children, but that wasn't a bad thing. It made her caring and attentive, and Jackson loved that about her.
Suddenly, Jackson snapped out of the spell of admiration and went back to stewing on the passenger seat.
. . .
When the two arrived at home, Jackson's mom asked for his cell phone, which he begrudgingly handed over. He wasn't too worried about it, since he knew exactly where she hid the thing. It definitely wasn't the first time his phone had been confiscated.
Jackson went ahead of her into the house and went straight to his room. His brother Mark was in there, of course—they shared a bedroom. Mark was completely hypnotized by the tablet screen in front of him and didn't even say "hello."
Jackson lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His brain replayed the embarrassing and rage-inducing moments he experienced during the day. He felt betrayed by his best friend.
Jackson and Beck had been friends since elementary school. But after today, he didn't want to see Beck's face ever again. If anyone thought he wasn't serious, they could just wait. He would show them all how long he could hold a grudge.
The whole situation ate at him, but he tried his best to ignore it. Maybe if he could only get a few minutes of sleep, that might help.
He tried to stay completely still with his eyes closed, but everytime it felt like he was getting near to dozing off, a strange red light appeared right in front of his eyelids. Jackson opened his eyes to see what it was, but there was nothing there.
It was getting dark in his bedroom. Mark had gone to the living room and left the door open. Jackson got up to close it and—just then—heard his mother calling from down the hall. It was time for dinner.
He didn't want to go, but Jackson knew his mother would just get more angry if he ignored her, so he trudged to the kitchen.
Jackson's brother and sister were already at the kitchen table, and his mom was just putting the last few plates down before taking a seat herself.
Mark was on his tablet still, even at dinner. It seemed like he was watching a streamer play a video game with other streamers. At least, that's what it sounded like based on the voices. Mark was a little short for an eight-year-old and had thick, messy brown hair just like Jackson.
Jackson's older sister, Sophie, was on her phone, but was just putting it down to look at Jackson as he sat down in his usual spot. Sophie had long, straight hair, and had recently gotten red dye applied to one side of it. She also had multiple piercings on her ears.
Sophie turned to their mom. "So Jackson got suspended? What a surprise," she said sarcastically.
"Shut up! Or I'll be beating another person up today!" Jackson yelled and stood up, scraping the floor with his chair.
"Jackson," his mom said curtly. "That's enough! Do you want to be grounded for two weeks?"
Jackson sat back down, grinding his teeth.
Sophie gave Jackson a smirk.
"We're going to have dinner like a nice, happy family," his mom said, "Mark put the tablet away, please."
Mark did as he was told, but not without a little attitude.
The plate had some macaroni and cheese and some microwave chicken. It was probably the quickest thing his mom could prepare, since today she was at the meeting with the principal. Jackson didn't mind; the food tasted good to him.
He didn't want to say anything for the rest of the meal, though, and apparently neither did anyone else. The time went by in silence, now and then interrupted by a small sigh from Jackson's mother.
It could have been worse. It had been worse. Sometimes his mother couldn't prevent the chaos that occasionally erupted in a house with three children.
When Jackson was done eating, he put his plate in the sink and went back to his room. Whether he was grounded or not, it was where he spent most of his time anyway.
He didn't even bother turning on the lights. He lay on his bed once again. All he wanted was to sleep through it all.
Sleep through the suspension. Sleep through the next three months until school was out. Sleep through the next four years after that—because he already knew high school would be worse than middle school. Maybe he'd finally stop sleeping when he could leave this place and live life how he wanted.
Jackson noticed a flicker outside. It was 7 PM, and the street lights automatically came on. But the light across the street had been flickering for the past few weeks, and no one had come by to fix it.
Jackson tried to cover it with the blinds, but there was a big tear in them from the time he threw his math book in anger. There was no way to block the light from flickering right on his face as he slept.
Jackson let out a huge sigh and threw himself back on the bed in frustration, covering his face with his pillow. That seemed to stop the light from annoying him, but he couldn't stay like that all night.
With his face covered, Jackson's mind wandered as he lay there. It wandered back to the fight at school. It wandered to the meeting with the principal. It wandered to the lousy dinnertime with his family.
He was momentarily interrupted from his thoughts by a conversation he could hear in the living room. It sounded like his mom and sister.
"Why have you been acting like this?" Jackson's mom said in bewilderment.
"Acting like what?" Sophie shot back angrily.
The voices were muffled, but loud.
"You know what I mean, Sophie. You're out with friends way too often, you've been ignoring me, ignoring your father when he calls, dressing like…"
"Like what?"
"Like a delinquent."
"Maybe I am one!"
"Don't say that, Sophie. If your father were here, he—"
"Well, he's not here, is he?" Sophie said before stomping across the hall.
Jackson took in the silence that followed. He could barely hear anything except a few scuffling sounds around the house. He put the pillow back under his head and got in his sheets, trying to cover the flickering light with his quilt.
If he could just get to sleep, then he could get to the next day. Then he could get through this suspension. Then he could ignore everyone until the school year was over. Then he could be happy. Then. When would that be?
He closed his eyes tightly. That red light was in his eyes again. What was that? It wasn't the street light. This time, however, it didn't bother him so much, and he found himself slowly drifting off to sleep.
◄——————————————————►
He awakened. His eyelids felt heavy, as if he was waking up for the first time after a nasty cold. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and sat up, finally managing to open them. He felt different—very different—almost like his joints were made of rubber and his skin was made of plastic wrapping. Another new feeling came to him at that moment.
Itchy.
Every time his clothes shifted he felt it. Then he realized. What was he wearing? Not his clothes. He was wearing a strange material that reminded him of potatoes; it was a sackcloth robe. Why? When? Wait.
Where was he?
Jackson wasn't in his bed, neither was he in his bedroom. He was lying in some sort of half-coffin-like box made of stone. He could feel the cold of that stone seeping through his sackcloth robe.
The room he was in was even more strange, however. It was a circular room entirely made up of stone walls. There were torches mounted on the walls as well as a few tapestries with strange symbols he did not recognize. And right across from him was a wooden door that looked to be very heavy, yet not much taller than an average door. There was a ring latch on it instead of a door knob.
Despite all of the strange and ancient-looking things that surrounded Jackson, what intrigued him the most were the two people propped against the wall across from him—one on each side of the door.
They each looked like medieval guards, with a torso of chainmail and a red shirt partially covering it. The red shirt had a symbol of a triangle with a white circle at each point and one large white circle in the middle. The men also had on helms of iron that were painted red and that covered their heads and noses. The helms were topped with a red feather. They held spears in their hands that ended on a curved point.
The only thing that did not make them seem like guards was the fact that they were asleep. They were turned toward Jackson; they were even standing up, albeit leaning on the wall. One of the men was snoring loudly.
"Um, hello?" Jackson said. "What's going on here? Is this some kind of joke?"
The guard that wasn't snoring fluttered his eyes open and stared at Jackson for a good ten seconds. His eyes were red. Just like someone might have green or blue eyes, but instead they were red. Those red eyes widened and he yelled, "Alma Ni kami'a!"
The other guard shot awake and looked at his fellow before looking at Jackson. His eyes were red as well. "Alma Ni kami'a!" He started yelling in unison with his comrade. They both ran out of the room.
When they swung the door open, Jackson could see a garden right outside the room before the heavy door slammed shut.
What on Earth was happening? Could this be a dream? What language were those guys speaking? Why did Jackson feel so strange? What was this place?
Jackson slipped out of the blanket he was under. The blanket itself seemed to be made of a fine material—unlike his clothing—and red in color, except for that same white symbol that the guards had on their shirts. There was also a pillow—made of the same material as the blanket—but the pillow was completely white.
Jackson stood on his legs but immediately started to wobble. He used the coffin-like bed to steady himself as he crawled out, then started walking toward the door. He could feel it getting easier to walk with every step, but his wobbling continued.
All of a sudden, a pudgy woman pulled open the door just as Jackson was a foot away from it. She started speaking quickly, but not in any language Jackson could understand. He could, however, see how elated she was. She was practically running out of breath.
Another woman appeared in the same doorway. This one was skinnier, and as old as Jackson's grandmother. Both of them had red-colored eyes, just like the guards. They pulled him along—half supporting him—through the doorway and into the garden area.
Jackson could now see that what he was standing in was some kind of courtyard. All around him, he could see into corridors separated from the garden by open arches.
There was a second floor, but he didn't see a way up to it. The second floor had arched windows looking in on the courtyard, and the same guard Jackson had seen before was running around up there, yelling that same phrase.
Alma Ni kami'a.
The garden itself was not very big, but the flowers looked like they were well taken care of. Before he could take it all in, the women rushed him into one of the corridors and through another wooden door.
Inside were a couple of tools and counters lining the walls, and in one corner was a curtained area, which was exactly where the women rushed Jackson to. They opened the curtains, and there was a copper bathtub being filled with water by a third woman with long black hair.
When she turned around, Jackson could see she also had red eyes. She started speaking rapidly to the other two women in that same unknown language and gesturing toward Jackson. It seemed like she wanted him to enter the tub, but even if it was just a dream, Jackson was not about to—
The three women slipped off Jackson's sackcloth robe, exposing him completely.
"Hey! Hey! What are you doing?" Jackson yelled as he tried to cover himself with his hands.
They did not listen at all; they pushed Jackson into the tub. The water was cold, and made his throat catch. He tried his best to complain, but the women paid no real attention to him. Only now and then would the three share glances with each other, as if they were hoping the others would understand.
In the end, no one showed any sign of comprehension. Two of the women put their hands on the sides of the tub, and the water started getting warmer—which was of some small relief. Although, Jackson had no idea what they were using to heat the water with.
The third woman grabbed a glass bottle on a nearby table and poured it onto her hand. She then began rubbing it into Jackson's hair, pulling and yanking it all over the place. His head felt heavier than usual. It was almost as if he had a lot more hair than he should. In fact, when his hair would hang down in front of his face, Jackson could see that there really was more than there should be.
It wasn't normal; none of it was. This was the strangest dream Jackson had ever had, and yet he could process every detail as if it were all really happening.
The ladies continued to bathe him until he felt like his skin was about to tear. Finally, they finished what they were doing and dried him with some cloth that was in a basket near the tub. Two of the women finished drying him off, and the third woman left briefly, returning with a set of clothes.
First, the women slipped on two undergarments, which were made of a soft material, but still clung to Jackson quite nicely. The one was a sleeveless shirt, and the other was a pair of shorts that went halfway down his thigh.
Next, they slipped on a pair of brown pants through his legs. The pants had some cords at the top that looked like suspenders.
Next, was a white shirt that had a few buttons near the neck, and sleeves that went near to his elbow where the cuffs fit tightly. The women wrapped the suspenders around Jackson's torso in an X shape.
Just then, a fourth woman came in with a stool in one hand and scissors in the other. She placed the stool in the middle of the room, and Jackson was forced to sit down. The fourth woman immediately started cutting his hair with a vigor he had never seen before in any barber.
What was the rush? Why were they doing this? As the hair fell to the floor around him, Jackson could now see a new detail. There were patches of dark hair and a few locks of white scattered across the floor.
That wasn't his hair. In fact, his hands weren't his hands. His legs weren't his legs. It was like he was a completely different person. How could this be? He needed to find a mirror right away.
The woman was still cutting his hair, but Jackson didn't care. He pushed himself off of the stool and looked around the room. The women started speaking in panicked tones, but he ignored them.
He saw what appeared to be a sink on one end of the room and ran over to it. The sink was made of some kind of clay, and it was much deeper than he expected. Just as he'd hoped, there was a hand mirror placed next to the sink.
Jackson picked the mirror up to look at it, and when he did…
He saw a stranger staring back.
A pair of red-colored eyes, a head of straight black hair. Not black, dark brown. From the tip of his hairline, a white stripe stretched over the top of Jackson's head in the shape of a V, cutting through the dark brown locks.
His nose was different. His mouth was different. Every facial feature he had… was different.
This couldn't be happening. The mirror slipped out of his hand, and Jackson felt dizzy. His bottom hit the floor. For some reason, he was suddenly hit with vertigo like he'd never felt before.
His head felt like it was turning in circles; Jackson had no choice but to lie down—right there on the cold, hard floor. As he lay there, he could feel his eyes closing and his consciousness fading. Against his will, he blacked out.
◄——————————————————►
Jackson jolted upright in his bed. His bed. His bedroom. His house. He felt at his chest and then at the hair on his head; everything felt fine. He got out of bed and looked out the window at the flickering street light.
Something was different; a man was standing there—right there next to the lamp post. It sent chills down Jackson's spine. The man was facing the house. It was hard to tell, but it seemed like the man was looking right at him.
The light flickered again… and the man was gone.
After that, the light never flickered again. Jackson kept staring through the window, rubbing his eyes. The street light was totally fine—as if there was never anything wrong with it. Did they send someone to fix it? What time was it anyway?
Jackson noticed Mark fast asleep on his bed with the tablet next to him. Jackson walked over and shook the tablet a little, and the screen turned on, showing 3:05 AM on the display.
He walked out of his room, opening the door slowly so as to not make any noise, and went across the hall to the bathroom. He closed the bathroom door slowly behind him and locked it.
After turning on the light, Jackson could see himself in the mirror clearly. It was just his normal face—nothing unusual about it. His messy brown hair covered most of his forehead. He used the sink to wash up and looked back in the mirror.
All normal.
"It was just a dream, then. That was crazy," he said to himself.
Then he went back to bed.