Rain and Routine

THE AWAKENING WITHIN

Power is not given.

It awakens.

Chapter 1 — Rain and Routine

Written by

Roviel (Testimony Aigbe)

The Manchester rain was a constant companion, a soft, insistent drumming against Sarah Smith's umbrella. It wasn't a dramatic downpour, just the typical, persistent drizzle that seemed to cling to everything, making the grey city gleam with a muted, watery light.

Sarah pulled her worn school bag higher on her shoulder, adjusting her glasses as a gust of wind threatened to whip her fringe into her eyes.

"Snickers, hurry up!"

Jack's voice, a booming counterpoint to the gentle rain, cut through the morning air.

He was already a few paces ahead, his lanky frame effortlessly navigating the slick pavement.

"You wan' us to be late for school? Mama go vex, oh."

Sarah quickened her pace, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I'm coming."

But her attention drifted to the world around her.

The patterns of condensation on shop windows.

The subtle colour changes in old brickwork.

The way raindrops clung stubbornly to lamp posts before finally falling.

Sarah noticed things.

Small things.

The sort of details everyone else seemed to miss.

And sometimes she wondered why.

Their street, a terraced row of red brick houses, was a familiar comfort. The scent of fried plantain and spices still lingered faintly from their kitchen, a testament to their mother's early morning efforts. Their Nigerian household, nestled within this very British city, was a blend of cultures, where Nollywood movies shared space with BBC News and where Pidgin English appeared whenever emotions ran high.

As they passed the corner shop, Mr Osei stood outside arranging a display of newspapers beneath a small awning.

"Morning, Sarah. Morning, Jack."

"Morning, sir," Sarah replied politely.

Jack raised a hand.

"Morning, Uncle."

The old shopkeeper smiled and returned to his work.

Further down the road, Sarah's attention caught on something unusual.

A symbol.

Sprayed onto the side of an old brick wall.

An infinity sign.

Nothing special about it.

At least that was what she told herself.

Yet something about it felt strangely familiar.

She slowed.

The symbol seemed almost deliberate among the random graffiti surrounding it.

Clean.

Perfect.

Intentional.

"Sarah."

Jack's voice snapped her attention away.

When she looked back, the symbol was still there.

Ordinary.

Just paint on a wall.

Still, a faint unease settled somewhere in her chest.

She couldn't explain why.

The school gates soon appeared ahead, crowded with students escaping the rain and gathering beneath overhangs.

St John's Secondary buzzed with its usual morning energy.

Laughter.

Conversations.

Arguments about football.

Complaints about homework.

The normal sounds of teenage life.

Jack immediately spotted his friends.

"See you later, Snickers."

He gave her shoulder a gentle shove.

"Try not to disappear into another dimension before lunch."

Sarah rolled her eyes.

"No promises."

His laughter followed him as he disappeared into a crowd of Year Eleven students.

A familiar voice called out.

"There you are."

Sarah turned.

Lily hurried toward her, pink hijab bright against the grey morning.

"You know I nearly froze waiting for you?"

"You've been waiting for three minutes."

"Three very cold minutes."

Sarah smiled.

Lily always seemed capable of finding humour in everything.

"Did you finish the maths homework?" Lily asked.

"Obviously."

"Can I copy it?"

"No."

"Wow. Some friend you are."

"You say that every week."

"And every week I mean it."

Together they entered the school building.

The familiar scent of wet coats, cleaning products, and cafeteria food greeted them.

Students flooded through the corridors.

Teachers attempted varying degrees of crowd control.

Normal.

Predictable.

Safe.

Or at least it should have been.

As they approached their classroom, Sarah noticed Jessica Robbins standing near the doorway.

Jessica was one of those people who always seemed perfectly composed.

Her uniform was immaculate.

Her hair was neat.

Even the way she stood felt deliberate.

She glanced briefly at Sarah.

Their eyes met.

For a moment Sarah felt something strange.

Not fear.

Not hostility.

Recognition.

As though Jessica knew something she didn't.

Then Jessica looked away and entered the classroom.

The moment passed.

"Still weird," Lily muttered.

"Who?"

"Jessica."

Sarah shrugged.

"She's always been like that."

"Exactly."

Lessons began.

The morning settled into routine.

Teachers talked.

Students complained.

Pens scratched against paper.

Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows.

Sarah found comfort in routine.

Comfort in predictability.

Which was why the headache terrified her.

It arrived without warning.

One moment she was reading from her exercise book.

The next, pain exploded behind her eyes.

Sharp.

Sudden.

Violent.

She gasped.

The classroom blurred.

Sounds stretched and distorted.

The teacher's voice became distant.

Like it was coming through water.

The walls seemed to ripple.

A pressure built inside her skull.

Then the vision came.

A white room.

Bright lights.

Cold metal.

A girl.

Dark hair.

Terrified eyes.

She was screaming.

Not with her voice.

With her mind.

Sarah couldn't hear words.

Only fear.

Raw.

Overwhelming.

Desperate.

Help me.

The feeling crashed into her with such force that her breath caught.

The image vanished.

The classroom returned.

Students.

Desks.

Books.

Reality.

Yet the terror remained.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She rose unsteadily from her chair.

"Sarah?"

Someone said her name.

She wasn't sure who.

The floor tilted.

The room spun.

A high pitched ringing filled her ears.

She stumbled into the corridor, clutching her head.

The pain intensified.

Another flash.

The white room.

The metal table.

The terrified girl.

This time Sarah saw a number on the wall.

E-17.

Then darkness surged forward.

The last thing she saw was Mrs Davies rushing toward her, concern written across her face.

Then everything disappeared.

.

Until.

---

To Be Continued...

© Roviel

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