Supernova

by Mia Rodriguez

Chapter 11: Star

  “What did you say?” I ask incredulously.

  “You’re the Supernova,” repeats Royce. “And we’re on your side.”

  I shake my head, trying to get the words Royce had said into a cohesive form. “Supernova?” I murmur.

  Constanza nods enthusiastically. “Yes.”

  “That’s nuts!” I blurt.

  Royce’s charcoal eyes penetrate into me. “Madrigal—”

  “All those years you made everybody believe I was crazy but it’s clear that you’re the crazy one—you and all of your buddies here.”

  “Just keep an open mind,” Constanza urges.

  “What do you know about the Supernova story?” Peter asks with a coaxing tone.

  I’m familiar with it because my fake parents had told it and re-told it to me through the years. They had asked me many questions to make sure I memorized it. When I think about it, they had never shared another bedtime story with me. I had always assumed that the Supernova fairytale was a cautionary fable to keep me and other kids from rebelling against our parents. Was there more to it than I thought? Is this group not so crazy?

  “You know it very well, right, Madrigal?” Royce asks quietly.

  I solemnly nod.

  “What’s the story?” he asks.

  But for some reason I’m reluctant to go on. This whole impossible scenario that I’m stuck in is getting too convoluted and surreal by the minute. I’ve had choppy nightmares that made more sense than this.

  “Madrigal, tell us about the Supernova,” gently prods Constanza.

  “I don’t see the purpose,” I explain.

  “It’ll show you the way,” Royce announces.

  “But—”

  “Madrigal,” Peter utters, “’There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.’”

  A sharp pain strikes me. Arthur had told me that famous saying. I sure miss him.

  “Once upon a time, there was a young girl . . .” I mumble and then stop.

  “Go on,” Constanza prods patiently.

  I clear my throat. “She was unhappy about her life. She didn’t like where she lived, she disrespected her parents, and she dreamed of running away and becoming famous. One day, she came across an elderly witch who told her she could have everything she wanted if she only took a potion. The girl’s blind ambition was so huge that she forgot to heed her parents who always told her to be leery of strangers bearing gifts. She happily gulped down the potion and turned into a star—the shiniest one in the sky. People all over the world admired it, and she became so obsessed for more and more attention that she exploded.”

  “Interesting take on the prophesy,” Peter says dryly.

  “Why do you keep calling it a prophesy?” I question.

  “Before we get into that, let’s eat something. What do you say?” Constanza asks.

  She must’ve heard my growling stomach. I had been ignoring the hunger for a while now. “I could use a meal.”

  “Let’s unbind her and go into the dining hall,” states Royce. “I can’t stand seeing her tied up.”

  The dining hall is a plain room with a long oak table and chairs. I’m still getting used the lack of silver in my abductors’ world. It’s weird and comforting at the same time. I always related the color silver to the United World order—a political movement I detest. At least my abductors had that going for them—they seem to abhor it too.

  But what’s their agenda? They can’t seriously believe I’m going to fall for this Supernova nonsense. I have to keep vigilant. Trust has always been difficult for me.

  As I stuff my mouth with spicy chicken—another one of my favorite meals, I try to focus on how to escape. Now that I’m unbound, I can work on getting out of here.

  “It’s good, right?” asks Peter with a smile as he points at the dish.

  I nod as an idea occurs to me. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

  “If we had wanted to poison you, we would’ve already done it,” states Constanza.

  I nod again—I had already thought of that but I wanted them to confirm it nonetheless. “I still don’t know what you want with me.”

  “We don’t want to hurt you,” assures Royce from across the table.

  “Abducting—”

  “Abducting you was necessary,” proclaims Peter as he sits on my right side.

  Constanza, who is sitting on my left, lays her hand on my shoulder. “It’s important that you know the truth. There’s so much for you to learn.”

  “If what you have to tell me is so important then why take me? Why not just talk to me without stealing me?”

  Constanza fervently shakes her head. “We couldn’t talk to you in the state you were in.”

  “State I was in?”

  “How do you feel, Madrigal?” asks Royce quietly. “How do you feel without the Estraphil?

  “Fine,” I mumble. I wasn’t expecting the question.

  “Haven’t you asked yourself why you’re not dead without it?” asks Peter.

  “I figured that you gave me a better medication.”

  “We didn’t give you a replacement drug,” states Peter.

  “Yes, you did,” I insist. “You gave me the black pills.”

  “Those black pills were to ease your dependency on Estraphil,” Peter assures.

  Constanza nods. “They were to help with your withdrawal symptoms.”

  “What are you saying?” I question.

  “You don’t have a disease,” announces Peter. “You don’t have Estrapheria—it doesn’t even exist. You’re healthy as can be, especially now that you’re not an addict anymore.”

  “You’re telling me that I was hooked on Estraphil?” I ask, my voice shaky. “A drug I didn’t need?”

  “Yes,” Royce states, his unblinking dark eyes on me.

  “I’m not sick?” I mutter.

  “No.”

  “But-“

  “Do you feel sick?” asks Constanza. “Do you feel as groggy and out-of-it as before you came here?”

  “No, but—”

  “Weren’t you always being told that without the Estraphil you would immediately die? Why are you still alive?” asks Peter.

  “Think about it, Madrigal,” Royce interjects. “If you think that the black pills took the place of Estraphil then think back to when you last took them. It was a while, and you’re not dead. Not only that but you feel better than you’ve ever felt before, right?”

  “How would you know that?” I mumble.

  “School, remember?” he asks quietly. “You always had a glazed look in your eyes, your skin was blotchy and pale, and you had problems stringing words together.”

  I sigh. He’s right. “Why was I lied to about my supposed disease? My fake parents lied, my doctors—everybody.”

  “They had to lie to keep you down,” Peter asserts.

  “There was a conspiracy to keep me down?” I question.

  “Yes,” Royce says simply as if it’s at all logical.

  Peter nods. “The drugs kept you in place.”

  “Why not just kill me? Wouldn’t that have been a much easier solution?”

  “They can’t kill you,” declares Royce.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re the Supernova,” Constanza announces.

  “There’s that fairytale again,” I blurt.

  “It’s time to explain the prophesy,” Constanza states.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “For many years, it was foretold that a special girl would be born,” Constanza explains.

  “Special?”

  “This girl would have some sort of abilities and be able to inspire the downtrodden of the planet.”

  “This sounds more like a fairytale than a prophesy to me,” I assert.

  “The leaders of the world believed it.”

  “They did?” It seems preposterous.

  “They changed destiny.”

  “Ho
w did they do that?”

  “The leaders took over the story and changed it.”

  “They changed it?” I ask, confused.

  “The actual prophesy goes differently from the fairytale they changed it to,” Constanza explains. “There was a young girl who hated the way her world had changed. Much had happened to her. The evil rulers of her planet had changed destiny and had killed her parents.”

  My mouth turns dry. “Killed her parents?” I gulp.

  “Yes.”

  My mind spins and the drought in my throat chokes me. “It wasn’t an accident?”

  “They lied about it to take over the little girl.”

  “They did?” I ask, barely able to get out the words.

  “They knew if they killed the parents, they’d be able to shift the rug from under her feet and forever unbalance her.”

  “Does that sound familiar?” asks Royce.

  “Go on with the story,” I beg Constanza, my attention fully piqued and horrified.

  “The young girl was put in the care of people who would make sure to keep her in a haze and keep her down.”

  “What?” I gulp.

  “If you keep a person drugged and put nothing but ugly thoughts in her head, that person usually doesn’t actualize her abilities,” Peter interjects.

  “I still don’t understand why they didn’t just kill her,” I blurt.

  “She was the Supernova,” states Constanza.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It has everything to do with it,” Peter announces.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Supernova, like all stars, is made of energy,” Peter explains.

  “So what?”

  “That energy is atomic, Royce explains quietly. “If you mess with it, you could detonate the whole world.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I declare. “How can a person be atomic?”

  “How can you explain your life?” Royce asks quietly. “How can you explain everything that’s happened to you?”

  “I . . . I . . . don’t know.”

  Constanza pats my hand. “The fact is that the government kept you contained in more ways than one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Silver.”

  “Silver?”

  “The color silver keeps you contained—at least that’s what the seers tell us.”

  “Is that why nothing here is that color?”

  Peter nods. “Bingo.”

  “I hate telling all of you this, but you’ve made a huge mistake. I’m very ordinary. I have no special abilities.”

  “You sure about that?” asks Royce.

  “Positive.”

  “You’re wrong,” Royce states. “I’ve been observing you for a long time. You pick up on things very fast—even when you were drugged.”

  “That’s not a special power,” I state. “Many people are fast thinkers.”

  “There’s something about you,” Royce asserts.

  “But—“

  “Besides,” interjects Constanza, “you are still getting all that junk out of you, and the seers predict that all of your abilities will come little by little.”

  “Little by little?”

  “How were you able to hit me squarely on the head with toothpaste?” asks Peter. “Where did you learn how to throw?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There you have it,” Peter states.

  “I think my real dad taught me,” I declare.

  “Since you were five years old?” asks Royce.

  “Yes,” I say uncomfortably.

  “Throwing correctly takes more practice than memory,” states Royce.

  “Madrigal,” Constanza patiently says, “do you really think that you suddenly woke up from the half life you led and were able to do things you haven’t done since you were a small kid just like that?”

  They’re right. In my life with my fake parents, they’ve never let me physically exert myself because of my supposed illness. I had never done anything remotely athletic and yet, I had almost escaped. I had landed a tube of toothpaste on the first try and had plunged a plastic knife into someone. What about when I almost dove into the waterfall? I had had no misgivings about doing it. If Royce hadn’t grabbed me, I would’ve jumped. Where did all of that come from?

  What they were saying was making sense.

  But, still. How could I be this Supernova person?

  “You’re her,” Peter insists as if reading my mind.

  “Who?” I ask, trying to deflect his statement.

  “It’s all over your face,” Peter ignores my question. “You don’t believe you’re the Supernova but you are.”

  “That can’t be,” I murmur. “It just can’t.”

  “You’re her,” insists Peter.

  “How can I be an exploding star?”

  “You are,” Constanza asserts.

  “An exploding star—it doesn’t even make sense.”

  “The Supernova is an exploding star that will create other stars and incredible visions.”

  “It could also turn into a black hole,” I mention.

  “We’re here so that that doesn’t happen,” Royce explains.

  Peter nods energetically. “We’re on your side—just like Royce said.”

  I exhale a long breath. “This is so crazy.”

  “Not as crazy as having a one-world government that does what it wants with you,” interjects Constanza, frustration in her voice. “Not as crazy as living a life where you never actualize yourself—where freedom is only a dream. Where you have to hear those who have total control over you manipulate the masses over and over again, and you know the truth. You know what liars they are. You know how they twist everything and avoid the important questions.”

  “Madrigal, do you ever wish your life was just a nightmare you could wake up from?” Peter asks.

  With that question, it’s obvious that he knows what’s in my heart. “Yes, many times,” I mutter.

  Peter nods gently, his hazel eyes solemnly on me. “I thought so.”

  "It's time to get you to where you need to be," Constanza declares.

  "Where's that?" I ask suspiciously.

  Peter jumps in, "Where you're not treated like a leper. Where you're treated like the special person you are."

  "Where's that?"

  "We've got to get you to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters, Royce states, matter-of-factly.