The Other Stories

I wake up and stretch to the ache of my muscles. The house is filled with noise and I briefly wonder what is happening.
My younger sister pushes open the door. "Lo, look! The lights!"
I put foot to cold wooden floor and step in my slippers, following my sister. She runs enthusiastically to the garden.
I find her explanation apt to the situation. The streetlights are flicking and throwing off sparks. Electric blue lines are sizzling between them. It sounds like thunder.
A boy with a blue glove is screaming at the Royal Enforcers. They are advancing toward him with green-flashing nets.
A bolt arcs off a lamp and strikes an enforcer in the chest. He slumps forward.
A man steps out of the Enforcers. His glove is bright red. He points his hand at the boy.
A second later, a flash, a burning of energy, shoots with sonic speed from the glove and absorbs into the boy. The boy turns bright red and starts shaking. His body cracks and blisters. Red light shines from the skin.
He explodes with a massive sound.
The man lowers his glove and glances around smugly at the people. He turns and walks away.
I stare with horror at the crater where the boy had stood.
Tonight, it's just occurring to me how drastically my life will be changed by the glove. And how little time I will have to come to terms with it.
I've heard the stories. Teenagers kicked out of Blackwood because they couldn't handle they're power. They were sent home in shame, guaranteed a life of ruin, and their glove taken and shredded.
That boy was killed because of his glove. He was trying to defend himself and he died for it.
In my mind, I can't find reason. Why would the Royals, our protectors, kill someone?
I remember the red-gloved man and shudder.
I pull the blanket over my shoulder and fall into a fitful sleep.

Notes

Short...but maybe I'll make a longer one. Not tonight, though.