Water in the Desert

The sun pierced down, glittering on her water-blue cloak, as she made her way to her first class on the strange new planet. She shielded her eyes, glared up at the offensive light and waited impatiently for the rain. If only it didn’t stop raining every ten minutes.

She reached a tentative hand out into the sun and her skin cracked instantly in the dry heat. It lost its luminosity and turned grey and lifeless. Quickly, she pulled her hand back under the cloak before the dryness seeped deeper than could be repaired. Soothing water from the personal mister she carried fixed the dryness and she breathed a sigh of relief. It kept her wet and alive as it left a trail of vapor in her wake. Although it wasn’t heavy, it increased the alien feel of this place. She didn’t know why the elders sent her to this school, except she was apparently the best ‘candidate’. It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t the best student, and she was afraid of other races. Why would they force her there, in the midst of the aliens she feared?

She turned a corner and headed to the classroom written on her waterproof schedule. A clear spot formed in the midst of her vapor trail, as something she couldn’t see passed through the mist. When she attempted look again, the blessed rain began falling thickly and overwhelmed even a hint of her personal fog. She shook her head, flinging water droplets. The void in the mist must have been in her imagination.

A voice eased through her mind, “Not yet.”

She jumped, startled, and spun around. Her sea-green eyes slit vertically as she searched for the source of the quiet words. She saw nothing, but she couldn’t help but wonder, what did the voice mean? And where had it come from?

She threw back her cloak, letting the rain seep down into her skin. It felt so good, so normal, that she stretched out her arms to luxuriate in the healing, life-giving water.

With regret, she headed to the door through the suddenly vacant courtyard and into the unfamiliar classroom.

She stopped just inside the door, her eyes wide in shock. Her personal mister shook and began to work overtime causing drops of water to dance down her skin. The sand floor shimmered in the heat as personal suns glared from each of the corners. The students had to have been dry climate inhabitants. The room was a small desert, devoid of any life-giving water. Fog grew around her as her mist evaporated instantly in the heat. There is no way someone from her species could possibly survive for long in that kind of environment. Why was she there?

Her new classmates sat around the room, talking amongst themselves. No one looked up as she moved within my spray of water to the center of the room. She huddled in her cloak, attempting to shield her skin and eyes from the small suns. They knew she was there, even if they refused to acknowledge her. They shied away from the few drops of water that made it to the sand, dark dots against the white floor, but they never even glanced at the source.

Cringing in the midst of the heat and dryness, she waited for the teacher to enter the classroom. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to wait very long. Or else she would die.

She ducked her head deeper into her cloak, pulling it tighter around her blue hair and skin, struggling to keep as wet as she could, but the heat was drying her out so fast that her mister couldn’t keep up. Even as the few drops of water hit the ground, her skin turned pale and grey.

The door opened and she peered out, hoping it was raining again. Maybe she could stand outside until the teacher arrived. The bright sunlight streamed in smashing her hopes. Still, it was more bearable in the brightness outside than in the room. She started to stand as a tall thin being with a professorial bearing blocked out the sunlight as it walked in the door. She didn’t know what species it was, but its scales and lizard-like movements left no doubt that it, too, was from a desert planet.

She moved quickly to stand beside the teacher and saw something from the corner of her eye in the mist that floated behind her. She turned to look, and again nothing was there. Reaching a hand out toward where she thought she had seen the form, she encounter nothing except very dry air. She whipped her searing hand back into the water while again a voice whispered with urgency, “Not yet.” She knew she was going crazy, the heat and dry air destroying her mind.

The teacher advanced towards the desk just under one of the little suns. She called after it in her soft liquid voice, so different from the dry voices surrounding her. The teacher never looked up, nor did any of the students. She wondered if they could actually see her, or if she just wasn’t worth their time. After all, what could a water child have to say that would matter to them?

She shrank ever deeper into her cloak, fearful of drying out, and forced herself to approach the burning sun and the teacher.

She whispered to the teacher, “I don’t think I belong here,” but it didn’t appear to hear her. She flowed around the room and tried to talk to the other students. They all ignored her, only pulling away as she got close.

She glimpsed the empty space in her mist once again. It seemed like whatever it was; it was the only thing that actually paid attention to her. Even if it was just a figment of her imagination.

Suddenly, as she stood in the middle of the room she felt invisible arms wrap around her and through her dripping mist. She barely saw the near-transparent figure holding her close. It whispered to her as she sucked in a wet breath to shriek, “Now.” It reached behind her and turned a switch on her personal mister. Exploding in a mass of water, she splashed the desert-dwelling students, causing them to scream in pain and terror as their bodies dissolved.

A voice laughed.