The Inner Self: The Prophecy Read online

  The Inner Self

  The Prophecy

  Raqurra Ishmar

  For those who love the moon should love me too

  I figure

  Do I not trigger, the change in moods like the moon does the tides?

  With my approach does the light not shine like the sun when it sets behind the horizon

  As the moon rises?

  Does the shadows not grow ever longer as the sun hungers for an extra minute it will never get?

  Do you not forget?

  The warmth from the sun as the moon bathes you in it’s chilling light

  Bringing death to the glow but birth to the night?

  As that one eye amongst so many sit so high in the sky

  The stars dropping tear drops in the ocean as the night cries

  Am I not the moon?

  Or do I fantasize a bond with such a being to cover my gloom?

  I presume

  Sheya

  Contents

  1. Renee

  2. Renee

  3. Renee

  4. It

  5. Sheya

  6. Renee

  7. Renee

  8. Renee

  9. Renee

  10. Renee/Sheya

  11. Renee

  12. Renee

  13. Renee

  14. Caylen

  15. Renee

  16. Renee

  17. Renee

  18. Sheya

  19. Renee

  20. Renee

  21. Zavid

  22. Renee

  23. Caylen

  24. Renee

  25. Renee

  26. Renee

  27. Renee

  28. Renee

  29. Caylen

  30. Renee

  31. Renee

  32. Renee

  33. Renee

  34. Titus

  35. Renee

  36. Renee

  37. Renee

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Inner Self: The Prophecy

  Copyright 2020 by Raqurra Ishmar

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  1

  Renee

  The mundane drone of my fifth period teacher’s voice causes my eyes to droop lower and lower as time passes. I occupy the desk in the back right corner, which allows me to lean against the wall and feel the sun against my face. I’m almost fully asleep when the vibration from my phone jerks me awake. I look around, trying to make sure no one else saw me have a heart attack. I pull my phone from my pocket, and see that I have a text from my mom.

  Mom: will be out late again, there’s food in the fridge.

  Great. Just another night by myself.

  “You’re not by yourself. What am I? A ghost in the wall?”

  I ignore the voice in my head. Like I’ve learned to do. It’s been there for a long time.

  “And I’ll continue to be here.”

  I type out a quick ‘ok’ to my mom and put my phone back into my pocket. It’s only been two weeks into my senior year and I’ve already been written up twice. Dad will be home from his business trip in a few days, and I’m not looking forward to the lecture that’s sure to come my way. How can I tell him that it wasn’t me that did those things without winding up drugged and locked away?

  “You can’t.”

  There has to be something that I could do. I feel like I’m going insane. I need to sleep but it won’t let me sleep, knowing that when I’m at my weakest, it could take over.

  “Just a matter of time.”

  “Miss Harrington!” My teacher’s frustrated voice startles me out of my head. I quickly look up and I see that all of the faces of my classmates are turned towards me. Clearly she’s been trying to get my attention for a while.

  “Ma’am?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry if I’m boring you to death, Miss Harrington. Would you care to share what’s grabbed your attention so completely?” Mrs. Williams is a terrifying teacher. Not because of her auburn hair that looks like it has a mind of its own, or the constant frown and severe blue eyes adorning her face, but I’m pretty sure she taught during the time period where beating kids with rulers was socially acceptable.

  “Tell her that you can’t figure out how one mole can have so many strands of hair.”

  Shut up.

  “Or ask her why did she decide to pull her pants all the way up under her breasts?”

  Shut up.

  “Well, I shouldn’t say ‘all the way up’. They’re pretty much slapping her knees at this point.”

  “Shut up!” The gasps assaulting my ears clued me into the fact that I said that last one out loud. I turn my wide eyes to Mrs. Williams, only to be met with an icy glare that even shut my inner voice up.

  “Come again?” she asks, voice so quiet and soft I feel like I’m talking to a serial killer.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Williams! I wasn’t talking to you!”

  “Enlighten me, then, who were you talking to?”

  “My… self?”

  “Good one, Dipshit.”

  “Do you think you’re funny? Principal’s office, now.”

  “No, you have to understand-,”

  “I said now!”

  I hurriedly grab my bag off of the floor and stuff my notebook into it. I keep my eyes glued to my black converse sneakers as I flee the room, avoiding eye contact with everyone at all cost.

  “You’ll never stay on top of the food chain if you don’t grow a backbone. I would’ve looked them all in the eyes one at a time.”

  “The last time I listened to you, I ended up getting jumped by a group of social outcasts.”

  “You wouldn’t have gotten jumped if you would’ve let me take over.”

  “I rather get jumped than to let you murder a group of kids.”

  “I wouldn’t have killed them, I would’ve just hospitalized them.”

  I decide not to even respond to that. I have no idea what’s wrong with me. But when it takes over, my body is all of a sudden equipped with strange skills. I refuse to say the “p” word. This isn’t a sci-fi movie.

  My gaze is so intent on my shoes that I don’t even notice the person in my path until I plow into them. For a second it surges to the surface but I quickly shut it back down.

  “Shit. Almost had you there.”

  Strong hands grip my arms and my hands presses up to an equally strong chest. A green t-shirt is stretched over his broad chest and his blue-jean clad legs look like they can leg press a house.

  “His eyes aren’t down there.”

  “My eyes are up here.” I hear him say. My heart rate kicks up, because for a split second, I thought he overheard what it said. I glance up and I finally realize what they meant by lust at first sight.

  “You meant love at first sight.”

  “I definitely meant lust.”

  “Oh, you naughty girl.”

  The stranger had to have walked straight out of a magazine cover. A full, close cut beard covers his strong jaw. His black hair is cut, faded, and lined to pure perfection. Pair all of that with his warm brown eyes, impressive height, and deep baritone voice and it’s time to find a room to get acquainted in.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I didn’t think there would be anyone wandering the halls during class.” />
  “Then why are you wandering them?” he asks.

  “None of your damn business,” It hisses.

  “I’m heading to the Principal’s office.”

  “Why are you telling him anything? You don’t even know his name.”

  “Who are you?” I ask. Now that the lust is clearing from my head, I can finally think and I know he doesn’t go here.

  “I am Zavid.”

  Oooookay.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, since it seems like he’s only going to answer my questions and nothing more.

  A smirk pulls at his full lips and I swallow almost audibly. “I didn’t know you owned this school,” he murmurs. “I guess I should’ve asked your permission to enroll here.”

  I take a step away from him, realizing belatedly that I was still pressed up against his chest with his arms gripping me.

  “Oh, well, welcome to Central High,” I lamely say.

  He doesn't respond, instead, he stares into my eyes with an intense expression gracing his face. His brown eyes bore into my own, like he can see into my soul. Or souls.

  “What the hell is he doing? Is this foreplay?”

  “Pretty sure this is not foreplay,” I respond.

  “Well, alright then. I have to head to the office. See you around!” I quickly skirt around him, practically sprinting to the office.

  “See you around, Renee.” I hear his deep voice say, almost stopping me in my tracks. How the hell does he know my name?

  2

  Renee

  I step inside the front office, resigning myself with receiving another write up. The office is less than ordinary. The secretary, Mrs. Diane, sits behind a tall desk, which barely allows me to see the bottom half of her face. Behind her is three offices, but they don’t hold my attention for long. It’s the office to my right, bold letters of her name on the door, taunting me with my final destination.

  “Miss Harrington, we were expecting you ten minutes ago,” Mrs. Diane states without looking up from her screen.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran into the new student and I was trying to help him find his class.”

  “Oh so we’re lying now?”

  “Shut up.”

  “I guess that was easy for you, seeing as though his class is the one you were just kicked out of,” she states.

  You have got to be shitting me. How the hell am I going to focus with him being in the same room as me. It’s becoming painfully clear that this school year will be the absolute death of me.

  “You can’t blame this one on me.”

  “For some reason, I think I can”

  “Take a seat, Miss Harrington. The Principal will be with you in a little.”

  I shoot her a smile that she completely misses and turn around to flop onto the old leather couch that’s against the wall. I begin to pick at the hole in my jeans, slowly making it bigger than the designer had in mind. I can feel my anxiety building and I’m pretty sure I’m getting suspended for sure. Whenever my anxiety takes hold, it tries to take hold. Maybe they’re one and the same.

  “Or maybe you should give me a damn name instead of calling me it. That’s rude as hell.”

  “Pfft! Why would I name you? You know what they say: once you name a stray animal, they tend to stick around.”

  “That’s not even how the fucking saying goes.”

  “Whatever. Your name is it. Better grow to love it.”

  “Don’t piss me off, Renee. It’ll be my turn soon enough.”

  A shiver creeps along my spine, slowly filling my veins with ice. I try not to remember the last time it was in charge. The feeling of being a backseat rider in your own body is the worst feeling I’ve ever felt. It’s been two months, but it feels like just yesterday.

  “Imagine how I feel.”

  “It’s not your body so I can’t possibly imagine how you feel.”

  “And yet, I’m trapped here just the same.”

  “If you weren’t so evil, you wouldn’t be.”

  “It can’t be helped, it’s in my nature.”

  “Miss Harrington,” the soft, yet strong, voice of the Principal cuts off what I was about to say. Mrs. Jenson stood in all of her five foot three glory. Her pantsuit was pressed to perfection, the deep purple complementing her mahogany skin. Her waist length dreadlocks were pinned atop her head, with a few loose tendrils framing her small face. Everything about Mrs. Jenson screams soft and delicate: that is, until you get to her hard brown eyes… the same brown eyes that’s staring straight through me. “Any day now, Miss Harrington.”

  I quickly gather up my bag and stand, all but tackling her in my haste to get into the office. Despite the hard gleam in her eyes, Mrs. Jenson’s office was actually very warm and welcoming. The ceiling lights were off, leaving a single lamp to bathe the room in a warm glow. A small vanilla scented candle and miniature waterfall finishes off the setup. I don’t know if this is because she wants to be welcoming or if she’s stressed as hell and is trying everything in those zen books to chill out.

  I sit down in the soft armchair in front of her desk, keeping my spine straight and pointedly ignoring the laughter in the back of my head. Even though I tower over Mrs. Jenson, being that I’m five foot nine, she still scares the hell out of me. Let’s chalk it up to the fact that she could make my life a living hell if I keep winding up in her office.

  “It’s already a living hell,” It says.

  “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “All right, Renee, let’s drop the formalities for the next ten minutes. This behavior you’re exhibiting is quite unlike you, and frankly, I’m more concerned than I am upset. What’s going on with you?”

  “Tell her you have irritable bowel syndrome and you just can’t get your shit together.”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep,” I state honestly. If being honest is going to help me not get in trouble anymore, she can know everything.

  “Everything?”

  Ok, almost everything.

  “I’ve been having nightmares and it feels like my anxiety is becoming its own person. I don’t know what to do.” I reach up to pull at my long, black hair, only to barely grasp the ends. Right. Someone decided that I’d look better with a short cut. Though it does highlight my full lips, it leaves me feeling naked.

  “When did this start?” Mrs. Jenson asks, breaking me out of my mental world.

  “I’ve had anxiety for as long as I can remember. It’s been getting worse lately. Probably from old age,” I lamely joke, cringing inside when I look at the slight wrinkles adorning her face. Yeah, not one of my best moments.

  “Have you talked to anyone about it?” she asks, thankfully ignoring my joke.

  “No, ma’am. Just you.”

  “All right. That settles it. Instead of a write up or suspension, you’ll be tasked with visiting the guidance counselor once a week until your behavior returns to normal.”

  I grimace, knowing that I haven’t been nowhere near “normal” in a long time. But if I can fake it til I make it, then I’ll be free.

  “Is that a problem?” she asks, noticing the look on my face.

  “No, ma’am. Thank you.”

  She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and probably imagining that she’s somewhere that I’m not. As she exhales, her shoulders loosen and her posture becomes more relaxed, and when she opens her eyes, they’re the softest I’ve ever seen them.

  “I’m worried about you, Renee. I know I may not seem like the easiest person to confide in, but if you need someone, I’m here. You understand?”

  I swallow back tears, guard lowering for a second. A second is all I can allow. I tense, expecting it to take advantage of my weakness. Surprisingly, it was dormant.

  “I’m letting you have a moment. Don’t get used to it.”

  Afraid to hope, I relax my shoulders and lock eyes with Mrs. Jenson. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Jenson. I really appreciate it and I’ll definitely
take you up on your offer.”

  “Good. Now head on to your next class, we’ll discuss your schedule and figure out the best time to talk to Miss Claire.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I nod my head, quickly escaping from her office. The light from the main office hurts my eyes for a second before adjusting. I shoot a quick wave towards Mrs. Diane, one she fails to see due to her face being glued to the computer screen, and I rush out into the hall. The bell had just rung and students are spilling out of the classrooms, eager to get to their locker for two minutes of catch-up with their friends.

  “Ren!” Someone yells out. “Ren! I heard what happened, girl.” I turn around, finding my best friend in the sea of kids. Cymone was a stunning girl. Obnoxiously loud, sometimes, but stunning nonetheless. Dressed in an off the shoulder green t-shirt, black leggings and ballet flats, she’s definitely my opposite. Her curly brown hair bounces around her shoulders, whereas my straight black hair hangs just at my own. Her short stature and bright outlook on life complements my taller stature and considerably more bleak outlook on everything. Her sense of style is a lot more fashion forward than my own, which she has no problem expressing her disgust every time she sees me. But today, there seems to be something more pressing to her than my lack of style.

  Her green eyes sparkle with mischief as some of the kids turn to look at us. Oh Lord. “So, you’re telling teachers to shut up now?” she playfully asks, giving me a tight hug.

  I groan, turning my head to the ceiling and trying to not lose my temper. So the rumor mill is in full swing, only this isn’t a rumor this time.