Nirvana's Noteworthy: Faida Grímsdóttir

'As long as habit and routine dictate the pattern of living, new dimensions of the soul will not emerge'

~Henry Van Dyke~

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Dodge to the right.

Dodge to the left.

Jump back.

Cast a cold ray, freeze the enemy in place.

Dash in, swing three times with the holy blade.

Jump back before they break out.

Run around in circles for bit, avoid the fire bolts.

Wait for the right opportunity.

Dodge between the bolts and unleash your super: HOLY LIGHT OF EXCALIBUR!

Watch as the enemy bursts, floating above them with golden wings.

The captured villagers scramble out of their now unlocked cells to congratulate your victory.

“Thank you Miss Faida, you have saved our people from demon Lucifer’s wrath. We are forever in 

your debt”

Everyone is happy, smiling, laughing.

Do do do do doo~

CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE BEATEN HEAVEN’S CONFLICT.

Achievement Unlocked: Good Triumphs Over Evil

I collapse backwards onto my bed and breath the deepest sigh of relief I’ve ever breathed, basking in the glory of beating the most difficult game of the year. I chuck my glasses to one side and pull the pins out of my hair, letting it sprawl out over my pillow. For the next few minutes I just lie there in much needed peace. It took about a 3 days’ worth of complete focus to beat that game. Pretty much my world has been enveloped in fantasy for so long that I just need the time to tune back into reality. Slowly, although my vision is fuzzy, I glance around my room, trying to adjust to the difference in graphics. Every time I do this I’m disheartened by how dull the real world looks compared to my video games. Even the ancient 8-bits I’ve got stored back are more interesting. I sigh again, with a little less enthusiasm.

As I continue to lazily scan my room, something catches my attention. At the bottom of my bedroom door is some sort of black blob, standing out against my feathery carpet. I put my glasses back on, though I’m unsurprised to see the black blob is just a holo-projector button. Right now, I really can’t be bothered to leave the sanctity of my bed, so I lie flat on my belly and stretch my arms out far as I can to reach  the button. Once I press it a small, light blue holographic screen pops up. It reads:

~You seemed like you were busy again so your brother and I have gone to the cinema. Dinner is in the microwave. See you around 11pm, Dad~

Ah damn it. I must have had my sound up too loud. That’s becoming a bad habit. When was the last time I actually ate dinner with the family?

Still, I guess I am kind of hungry so I should eat something, even if they’re not here. Before I make my way downstairs I grab the button and hair pins, shoving them both in my pockets for later. I yell out to no-one, as I leap onto the bannister and slide my way downstairs.

“MIKE, HEAT UP FOOD FOR 1 MINUTE 30 SECONDS”

I flinch at my own voice activating the microwave, becoming acutely aware of the uncomfortable silence of the house.  The hum it makes feels like unnecessary white noise; technology trying to make conversation with a lonely teenage girl. I peek inside to see what my dad left me to eat.

Fish and rice? Again?

The day in, day out mediocrity of this reality is mentally exhausting.

The microwaves pings. I roll up a sleeve over my hand and reluctantly remove the mediocre meal.

“Don’t worry poor salmon, I shall free you for your thermal prison”

Grabbing a spoon on the way, I plonk down on one of the dining room chairs, shovelling down a mouthful. To my surprise I find a minimal amount of delight in the mild tang of pepper treating my tongue. I’ll give dad some credit, he’s at least trying to mix things up. Still, the more I fork down the slightly peppery mush becomes less impressive. Good things never seem to last. Maybe my expectations are too high.

But, I mean come on! We were invited to live in what’s supposed to be the most perfect city in the world. Technology beyond what I’ve ever seen, peace, space to ourselves. It’s beautiful and stunning.

Then why. Why do I find myself stuck in the same routine as my homelife back in Iceland?

So few Diamonds came from my country, so we ended up as one of the duller, forgotten countries. My father and brother are the only two people I know who had the mental abilities. Then there was just me. Smart, very smart, but not smart enough.

Ack!

I nearly choke on my food as I forget to pace myself. This stress is getting to me again. As it always does. I need to get away from this. Maybe a walk will do it. There’s always one place that calms me down.

Without stopping for anything else, I throw my hair up into a messy bun with the pins and start running out the door, slamming it behind me. I don’t stop running, not for all the city’s night-time beauty. I imagine the golden wings of the holy light of Excalibur flaring out from my back. They glide with me, breezing on the concrete, over the hover-tram, through the trees of Mikail Square. I pay no mind to any of it. Not until I hear the melody of rushing water.

My shoes tear a little as I come to a screeching halt in front of the fountain. While I catch my breath, I close my eyes and simply take in the atmosphere. The air is clean, infused only with the smell of wet stone. Distant echoes of music and laughter blend wonderfully with the serene stream of water the angels share and take. I am transported again to my fantasy world. Peasants making their way home from the pub, our tiny village built beside a river. I smile and open my eyes, looking up to pray to my goddess. She stands tall in the fountain, two of her smaller disciples beside her, holding out her hands to me. Like I love to do, I jump high as I can to her, catching one hand in hers. I pretend the water flowing out of her hands is what I’m holding, like I’m connecting with some sort of aquatic deity.

Ping!

Something goes off in my head. It distract me and I lose my grip, slipping off the angel. I am dunked fully into the water by my weight. Somehow, even though all the sound is muffled by the water the ping rings loudly again in my head. I pull my head out and scan the area quickly. Just where the hell did that ping come from?

“You’re looking a little soggy there Faida”

Ah, I recognise that voice!

I shift around, still sitting down, in the fountain. Looking up through droplet stained glasses, I’m able to still see the face of Mrs Henriksen. I’ve been found by our postwoman. She’s extending one of her burly arms out to me. I shake my head to her. The water is rather calming if I’m perfectly honest. In response she chuckles heartily and pulls back.

“You are a strange one dear, if any of your mail was some sort of sign of that”. She jokes.

I laugh weakly in response. There’s a stagnant silence for a few seconds. We’ve not really talked much outside of her deliveries. I slip my hands in my pockets, nervously fiddling with the holo-projector button. It feels awkward looking at her face so I turn my gaze downwards. It strikes me as odd that she’s still dressed in her uniform at this time of night.

“So, um, Mrs Henriksen, are you still on the clock?” I manage to sputter out. She looks down at herself and laughs it off.

“Yes, that. Well, truth be told I got back only a short while ago from a late-night delivery to Gehenna. Don’t do too many calls from there but this client offered quite a handsome payment. I tell you, Mr Henriksen wasn’t too happy until I told him that part!”

“I guess it’s pretty dangerous, huh? I wouldn’t be surprised if he worried”

I say that. I’m more jealous than anything. I had no idea Mrs Henriksen was able to go to the other city for her job. Now that would really shake up your routine.

“In fact, I have another delivery there tomorrow. Some sort of orphanage donation. Just doing my good deed for the week and all that”.

Somehow that piques my attention. It didn’t really occur to me often that the lawless personification hell holds its own children. Now I think about it, it’s kind of a ‘duh’ thought.

But still, I’ve gone through my fair share of kids matching my age and can’t seem to have any luck socialising with them. Dating sims have taught me nothing about interacting with normal people.

So, how about we try the not so normal people?

“Any, I keep rambling. I should really head home to the mister and get some rest. It’s been a long day. You should probably get home to your family as well. Good night Faida”

Damn, no, wait!

Mrs Henriksen turns to leave, waving me off. Blindly I stand and clumsily leap out in her direction, grasping for dear life at her arm. The water dripping from every inch of me soaks through her sleeve, so I let go. Thankfully though, she doesn’t run away after that and stays to hear me out.

“S-sorry about that, but, please, before you go”

Fumbling around my pocket, struggling to grip with my slippery fingers I’m able to eventually get a hold of the small black button. I erase my dad’s message from earlier and quickly type a new one. There’s a couple of spelling errors, broken English and scattered Icelandic in my rush but I’d rather not waste her time more than I already have. Once I finish the message I place the button Mrs Henriksen’s palm.

“Please…tomorrow, take that the Gehenna with you, to the orphanage. Give it to any of the kids there. One around my age…please” I plead. My voice cracks, my accent a little stronger than usual.

“I can pay…I’ll pay you when you get bac-“

“Not necessary” She interrupts. “Just promise me you’ll go back home now”

With another smile she places the button in the front pocket of her uniform, winks at me and walks away without so much as another word.

I feel a mixture of feelings.

Dumbfounded, relieved, excited, nervous.

My feet move at an odd pace on my home, uncertain about how to react.

The sooner I get to my bed, the sooner I’ll know.

Either everything, or nothing, will change.