Helena Elaine Everett's Story

---

---

The morning sky was painted with soft, colorful pastels, as the sun started it's descent from behind the horizon line and into the sky. A few clouds were scattered here and there, blotting out some of the stunning sunrise, but they only increased it's beauty. If you listened closely, some birds were chattering constantly, getting roused from their nests in the scarce trees on the block. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise would soon disintegrate, leaving the sun to take over and make the sky a brilliant blue. Against the tri-colored rainbow sky, trees, powerlines, and the roofs of houses were like shadows. These were the moments that made Skylar love her name.

The sky. It was a part of her, well, a part of her name. It meant so much more than just that to her though. The sky was brilliant, lovely, and warm, and she paled so much in comparison with it. Yet, her mother had still decided to name her after it. Every now and then she wondered why for hours and hours, but sometimes she just accepted the fact that there was no way for her to know why, or even get close. She never dared to ever to think she could even compare to it, since that was impossible. Who would be able to compare to such a beautiful thing?

Upon the small porch of Carol and William's house, Skylar was sitting at the top of the steps. Leaning against one of the side railings, she was curled up in a small ball. A quilt and her own black hair draped around her shoulders and pajamas, fending off the very same frigid early September air that was nipping at her bare toes. She wasn't paying attention to this though, instead, her eyes were locked on solely one thing; the sunrise. Admiration, adoration, and awe gleamed in the reflective surface of her bright green eyes, at the sight of the unfolding sunrise before her.
It was around eight in the morning, maybe fifteen minutes before. Skylar had been out here ever since five though, sitting on the porch in solitude with only the quilt from her bed to keep her warm. As her mother had used to say, 'Skylar rose with the morning sky'. Of course, this wasn't true; it was only because of her insomnia and deathly fears of nighttime and sleeping that she never slept in like normal teenagers, and her other siblings. Sometimes she wondered if all of these would truly go away after she got the cure, since the scientists said anything like fears and worries would go away after the procedure, and she'd be happy for the rest of her life.

Breathing out, the black-haired girl watched as her breath formed what looked like a puffy little cloud. After two or three seconds, it faded away into the crisp air of the early Saturday morning, and Skylar did it all over again. She loved doing this; sitting on the porch to watch the sunrise, and watching her breath float through the air. It was one of her favorite parts of the day, and even though she did it over, and over, and over again, she never once had gotten bored of it. It calmed her down. It surrounded her with a peculiar warmth that drowned away all the tiresome frights from the horrid night before. It reminded her of her mother.

---

A tiny black-haired girl with bright green eyes sat on the porch, staring out at twisting sea of colors before her. She was dressed in only her pajamas, and had nothing to keep her warm from the chills that pressed and poked at her visible skin. She didn't notice this though, even though the surface of her skin was as cold as icicles in Winter. She probably wouldn't even have noticed if she had developed hypothermia by now.

"Lala, what're you doing out here?" The familiar voice came floating out from the direction of the door, and the sound of it closing followed it. The girl's mother was now standing on the porch, watching her little five year old black-haired daughter stare out across the sky. She had been talking to some of her other children, when she noticed the absence of one little optimistic girl.

The girl's bright green eyes specked with gold turned to reveal themselves to her mother, the girl having to twist her body a bit to do so. "Watching the sun come out," she said simply, wondering why her mother wasn't doing the same. "Doesn't everybody watch it?"

Her mother raised an eyebrow slightly, before laughing softly and walking over to sit down next to her feeble daughter on the porch, "Well, not everybody, but it sure is beautiful." Wrapping her arms around the pale body of her daughter, she almost pulled back as quick as she had hugged her. Her skin was freezing cold, you could even call it snow with it's pale complexion and freezing surface. A look of worry crossed her face, and she stared down at her daughter, hoping she wouldn't have a fever later, or maybe even the flu.
"Aren't you cold," she asked, before adding, "and tired?"

Confusion shone through Skylar's eyes as she blinked up at her mother, wondering why she even thought such a thing. Shaking her head, she pointed out towards the sunrise, silently wishing she could be closer to it, be surrounded and embraced by it's majestic appearance and colors. "No, it's morning, so doesn't that mean everybody's supposed to wake up?" she said. "And the fire's warming be up. Isn't it warming you up too?"

For a brief second, her mother wondered what she meant by 'the fire'. Realization hit her as quick as the question did, however, and she smiled softly as she glanced at the brilliant sunrise, drowning the town of Portland in colors of orange, red, yellow, and pink. "Just because it's morning doesn't mean you have to wake up, Sky..." she said softly, staring out at the sun as it inched it's way into the sky before turning her attention back to her daughter. "And the fire's very, very warm, and beautiful... But I don't think it'll keep you completely warm."

Skylar frowned a tiny bit, obvious disappointment showing through her expression. What did her mother mean the fire wouldn't keep her warm? It confused her greatly, but then again, she didn't even know that it wasn't a fire in the first place. "What do you mean?"

"Well," her mother started to say, but soon trailed off. She didn't want to say that it wasn't a fire, like how she didn't ever want to say she was infected with the deliria. It was better to let her daughter, and the rest of her children, stay happy for as long as they could. Of course, the truth would soon backfire at some point, but they were all so young. Theo had ever started to tell her that what she was doing was wrong, even though he was only five.
"Never mind. It's a secret." Smiling again, she leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "I'll tell you sometime."

A huff came in return to her mother's teasing, and Skylar stuck out her lower lip in a pout as she crossed her arms. This earned a bright laugh from her mom, which made her smile a bit again. "Promise?" she asked, not wanting to have to wait to know the secret.

"Promise."

At some point, her mother would tell Skylar the truth about the sunrise. Just like at some point, she would tell all her children about how infected she was. She wished she could just keep all these secrets locked up in a little box, and toss it into the ocean, freeing her children of all worries and cares. In this world, there was no possible way though, not even through the cure.
For now, she just had to continue smiling, even if all the smiles concealed drops of sadness.

---

---

Drowsily, Sylar's eyes fluttered open, consciousness slowly starting to come back to her. For a few seconds, she just remained there, leaning against the railing, wanting to sink back into a world of happy, yet saddening memories. There was a loud creaking sound filling her ears, along with what sounded like footsteps. Her mother, her mother, was she heading down the stairs of the porch in the night that she left? Was she maybe still alive, and coming up the stairs to sweep Skylar up in her arms? No... that wasn't the sound. Awareness then slapped Skylar in the face, and she sat up abruptly, glancing around with wide eyes. Aunt Carol was heading down the stairs inside the house, and, even from out on the porch, the sound echoed throughout the air.

She must've drifted off for a few minutes, as much as it horrified her. Pictures, thoughts, memories, and the sound of her mother's voice lingered in her mind, refusing to budge, and a fleeting forlorn look showed in her eyes. Push the thoughts away, push them away. she willed herself, tears threatening to fall. To her relief, Aunt Carol's voice then came to her rescue, distracting her to keep the memories from flooding over her.

"Skylar!" A muffled click followed the familiar call, and the sound of a window sliding open. Carol was already in the kitchen, probably preparing breakfast. It must be a pain to have to cook for eight people every single day, Skylar would think ever now and then. Then again, Carol hadn't offered to take care of the six siblings out of care or love, it was simply out of responsibility and family duty.
"If you get sick from being out there in the cold every single morning, don't expect to get any special treatment from me or William," Carol said, narrowing her eyes at Skylar. Skylar knew Carol never liked her habit of coming out here on the porch in the morning, especially since she always would come out before Carol was awake. This was almost just as bad as breaking curfew, in Carol's point of view. As Skylar looked backed at her aunt, she caught a look at the clock inside. Eight o'clock. She must've drifted off for only fifteen or ten minutes, which was a slight relief.

For the first month when the Everetts moved in with Aunt Carol and Uncle William, almost every single night, Skylar would come out onto the porch once Carol had fallen asleep, and would sleep out on the small bench, curled up in the thickest quilt she could manage to find. These nights were usually spent sobbing, and hiding in her little mass of blankets whenever she heard regulators pass by, hoping they wouldn't see her. Luckily, the regulators had never noticed her cowering on the porch, but Carol certainly had. She had been scolded countless times in that month, and at some point, she gave in. It was then that she started to climb out of the window in the bedroom she shared with Theo and Fishi, to crawl up onto the roof and sleep up there under the stars, and even now, she still does it sometimes.

"I know," Skylar said, her voice soft and honey-like, yet quiet, like if she spoke too loud she'd ruin the beautiful sunrise. To look at her aunt, she had to adjust herself a bit, despite the fact that she hadn't wanted to move from her comfy spot. "I've been making sure to bring the thickest blanket I can find out with me every morning, and I'll start to wear my coat as it gets colder." Of course, she'd probably get sick at some point, even with the coat, but she didn't care. As long as there was a time when the sun came up, lighting up the sky and ridding the town of nighttime, even if just for a bit, Skylar would be happy.

A tsk came from Carol's direction, and as she closed the window to keep the cool air from drifting in, Skylar heard her mumble something about how one day the regulators will probably get mad at her for being out on the porch so early. She simply disregarded this though, and turned her attention back to observe how much the scene of the sunrise had changed. The sky now looked like a sea of cotton candy, drizzled with many layers of honey. It brought a small giggle to Skylar's mouth, at the thought of what such a thing would taste like. Cotton candy and honey would probably taste gross. She'd have to try it sometime.

The little amount of sleep Skylar had gotten the night before now was taking it's toll, and Skylar's face turned tired. Nosing back up against the railing, she pulled the quilt tighter around herself, wondering if any of her other siblings had woken up by now. Maybe she would be able to go and pester Theo to give her a piggy back ride? Well, she'd go inside to see if he and the rest of her siblings were awake later, for right now, she just wanted to remain out on the porch, watching the sun's never ending climb. Anyways, if anyone needed her, they'd know where to find her. She wished she could just watch the sunrise forever though, the very same sunrise that washed away every worry in the world. Of course, she knew it could never last forever. There was always a beginning, and an end. Like life and death. Like when you are born, and when you get the cure.

I shouldn't even think of things like that... she thought, shaking her head as if it would literally shake away the thoughts. Standing up, she held the quilt around her shoulders as she went inside, rubbing her eyes to try and get rid of the tiredness.

"Skylar, breakfast should be ready in around ten minutes. Go wake up everybody else," Carol said, "William plans to head to the Stop-N-Save after breakfast, so he's already awake."

Skylar grabbed the quilt in one of her hands, and let it fall to the ground. A yawn escaped her parted lips, and she stretched her arms above her head, before replying to what Carol told her to do. "Alright," she mumbled, heading through the tiny living room before starting her trek up the creaky stairs. Hopefully Theo would carry her back down the stairs, since she really didn’t want to have to walk all the way back down the stairs.

"Theo, Fishi!” she hollered, finally reaching the top of the 'mountain', getting an irritated call from her aunt downstairs at the racket. "Tux, Hannah, Lulu! Dinner- Wait, wait… breakfast! Breakfeast's ready! Well, soon to be ready!”

---

---

It begins in the same way, every single night. In the land of dreams, nightmares preyed on the weak. They tendered their knuckles across Finnegan's errant temples, pressing down until they inflicted some kind of residual pain, some sort of reminiscent discomfort that could carry itself along in his consciousness. Like a leech, or a suckling patch of barnacles. He wasn't very strong in those vulnerable spaces, hunkered in some familiar room with his mother clutching tightly to her pillow. His mother's letter, already peeling like an orange made out of cream-paper, seemed to linger in the air. The words were stagnant and final, irreversible. It always ended the same, like a broken record, or a tape playing in reverse. Her dark eyes full of pain and longing — poet's eyes, rising away from the pillow to regard him. The windows would shatter inwards, releasing steady streams of water until she was drowning and he, caught between the porch door and the kitchen, was forced to watch her die. Why didn't she grow gills and webbed feet? Why didn't she, after all this time, learn how not to drown? The world didn't end abruptly like everyone believed it would. It fell apart in increments, tiny and insubstantial, until the grand denouement that was the loss of his father and mother. It ended so gradually that it snuck up on him and suddenly he was confronted with the undeniable fact that society as they knew it was over. Or else, it'd suddenly begun. He waited patiently, as the walls caved in. It always began the same, and it always ended the same. These dreams were more like a sigh than a bang, a slow, soft, stuttering gasp of someone on his or her deathbed rather than a nuclear bomb or a hurricane.

Finnegan sat abruptly in his bed, nearly knocking his head on the overhead lamp. His breathing came in ragged gasps, like a fish floundering on dry land. Skylar would appreciate the comparison. As if he were climbing out of a hole, or shaking off the last dribbles of a particular stormy day, Finnegan took a few deep breaths, concentrating them in his stomach, before hunkering his shoulders forward, as Klein had taught him to do when he couldn't control himself. Remnants of tears were quickly swiped away, under the guise of mussing up his shaggy hair. He reclined backwards, stretching his arms above his head like two flightless wings. Yawning loudly, obnoxiously. Dusty beams of sunlight sifted through their curtains, reminding him that he'd better get his sorry butt downstairs for breakfast – and just on time, he heard Skylar hollering up the stairway, followed by Aunt Carol's frustrated whoops at her being so loud, so early in the morning. His heart was still beating quickly, racing like a gunshot. He let his head list to the side, so he could glimpse slivers of the sun rising lopsided on the horizon – he liked being awake for things like this, because it was one beautiful thing that the Regulators couldn't take away. It signified more than time passing. He was sure of it.

His fingers were already dripping with unwritten sonnets, ballads, sonatas. He was so soft it was pathetic. Finnegan closed his eyes, and traced his eyelids, lightly, before dropping his hands resolutely to his sheets. Like a groggy hound snatching away from the porch-light, Finnegan yawned again, and grabbed a random sweater from the hanger, probably belonging to Theodin. They were the same size, so it didn't really matter – unless his brother bit his ear off for wearing it without asking. He'd pretend like he didn't notice, anyway. These were small, miniscule ways to pull him out of his shell. He'd rather be yelled at, then watch him skulk around in silence. For a couple of seconds, amidst the bickering, it felt like things were back to normal. It was better that way, even if it eventually drew them further apart. “Skybar. What are you... a time traveler? Skipping meals isn't healthy.” He called back, cupping his hand to his mouth before poking his head outside the doorway.

He mimicked blub-blub-blubbing down the hallway, puffing his cheeks like a fish, before flipping up a strand of her long hair, and pretending to masquerade as a man with a particularly long moustache. Just as quickly, Finnegan dropped her hair, grinning wide. He tapped his finger against his chin, thoughtfully. “Hope it's something different today. Carrot muffins, with cinnamon... and good luck waking the rest of 'em, I'm clocked out of watch-your-back-shift today.” Certain siblings were easier to wake than others. Others were reminiscent to grumbling bears, all claws and teeth. With a tune humming deep in his throat, Finnegan hopped down the steps to help Aunt Carol dole out the dishes and utensils. He always did.

---

---

Finnegan shuffled around the kitchen, passing plates along the table. He only momentarily stopped when he noticed Hannah gracefully shuffling down the stairs – sometimes, he wondered whether or not she was the only one capable of such a thing. They were a family of stomping feet, all moving forward, in different directions. He smiled gently, then idly waved, totting a fork between his knuckles. “Morning, Hannah.” He'd never given her a nickname because he liked the way her name sounded. It was bizarre, but it reminded him of his mother. Full of elegance, of peonies growing in a garden, or leaves crunching underfoot. It wasn't something that could be explained, but rather it could be felt in the pit of his stomach. She was light on her feet, quite graceful, and he imagined how well she might dance, given the opportunity. None of them danced, anymore. How could they? If they were caught doing anything out of the ordinary, then they'd fall apart. They'd be taken away to the Crypts, buried in governments beliefs, buried in silence, in darkness. Was she afraid? He was terrified for her, and it wasn't even happening to him. He had plenty of time. His fingers immediately twitched to his hair, combing through it's messy waves before settling against the back of his neck. He was already swimming in his thoughts. He'd wanted to approach her yesterday, sit her down, and see what she thought, or at least try to get her to talk about her – lighten the load, even if it wasn't enough. Instead, Finnegan only managed to lean against her door, racking his brain for proper words. Did she have bad dreams, too? Why was he in so much pain, watching her, seeing her like that, when the cure was supposed to be a good thing? Troublesome thoughts for a happy breakfast.

He'd have to talk to her later, if only for awhile. It almost felt like a final goodbye, a breathy, hoarse whisper before something terrible happened. Like letting go of someone's hand in a growing crowd and losing sight of them. A slight frown pulled the corner's of his lips before he turned towards Klein, tipping an imaginary hat and breathing out softly through his nose. “G'mornin', Fancy.” Fancy because he was classy. Because he managed to hold them altogether, while somehow remaining whole, untouched by the frantic, hair-pulling anxiety he was sure they all felt deep down. Even Theodin must have been affected when the lights went out, when they were supposed to be sleeping. Wasn't it eating him up inside, too? He'd realized it a long time ago, even before he understood how to weave words into poetry. How to express what he really felt. They were his truth, strength, hope – and he couldn't live without them. Like ink pressed to the folds of paper, composed of beautiful things: almost, but more permanent.

He shuffled through the cupboards, clinking glasses together, finally settling his fingertips against a particular mug. Finnegan gingerly tipped the pot he'd been watching, pouring something fragrant, and making a point to conceal it with his hand. It was almost funny. It was difficult to procure anything that wasn't regulated, that didn't fit into a particular family's habits. In all honesty, Finnegan hadn't come by the coffee by any conventional means. If anyone asked, then he would have told them that he'd bought it at the Stop 'n Save. He settled the mug in front of Klein, and grinned softly. “Might help a little, yeah?” Sleep marred Klein like bruises. It wasn't hard to see how exhausted he was, probably from trying to keep them together. To keep them from stumbling in opposite directions, like hardheaded kids.

“Mornin', Luce.” He blinked, once, then again. “And Luce's unmanageable hair.” Finnegan leaned against the counter until Aunt Carol shooed him away, waggling her fingers. He scooted away, hopping on his toes, before slumping in his own designated seat – because they all had their own sitting arrangements, unless Skylar was feeling particularly mischievous. Sometimes, Skylar and Theo switched, but they generally stayed the same. He leaned precariously in his seat, head listing over the back of his chair. He frowned thoughtfully at the window, towards the back of the porch. The sun was already creeping on the horizon, casting it's pastel colours against leaves, shingles, and streetlamps alike – never truly showing a distinction or preference because colours were as free as his words. She could light up the dark like that and make everything seem brighter, a little more hopeless. The tight knot braided across his chest, pushing against his heart, his lungs, came looser at the thought. He'd go see her. Hope to bump into her, or something. It was stupid, but necessary.

He'd be gone after breakfast. They were free from school – thankfully, because he was tired of defending himself. The fading splotches of yellow, sweltered beneath his left eye, was testament to his clumsy trips. Either way, if he said he was off for a run, then no one would suspect where he was really going.

To Shell Beach. To her, to her, to her.