Apotheosis of a Cynic

Jarring him back to reality, Mathew's mother tugged on his arm and dragged him into the living room. It was a cramped space with nothing but a battered dining table and a few mismatched chairs around it. Behind that sad setup sat a single cracked window, and in the corner of his eye, Mathew could see a group of figures moving just outside the building, beyond it.

If they were not already, his groggy eyes instantly cleared and his heart started to race. The corpse lying in her room, the suspicious figures outside their home. None of this made any sense to him. And how could it?

"Mom? What's going on?"

He asked again, this time with more urgency and purpose in his voice. But yet again, she didn't answer and only tightened her grip on his hand, leading him towards the kitchen, and through a back door they barely ever used.

They exited into a back alley, where they found a tarp draped over something. His mother swiftly yanked it off and below it, there was an old and broken-down looking car that looked to have been there for years. She pulled out a key and opened the door, shoveling Mathew into the front seat, before throwing the bags in her hands into the back and jumping into the driver's seat.

Mathew stared on, baffled by the developing situation, then as she closed her door he asked in a skeptical tone.

"You know this thing hasn't run in years right?"

He continued, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

"So, what's the plan here? Pray it magically..."

But before he could finish his statement, the engine sputtered, coughed then roared to life. For a moment, he just stared on and blinked, his lips curling into a dry, humorless smirk.

"Well I'll be damned," he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Guess miracles do happen."

M

Despite the constant bouts of sarcasm, there was a growing sense of unease that crept into Mathew's thoughts. Using cynicism as a shield against his emotions had practically his identity, but right now it was clear that something bothered him.

Before he could gather his thoughts the sound of tires screeching pounded against his eardrums and the car sped away. Leaving behind the place they called home for many years.

Half an hour passed and throughout the drive, Mathew's mother did nothing but constantly check her mirrors. One would think that she had committed a crime worthy of such panic. Well, she had, but that wasn't the reason for her, current state. It would take days for the authorities to find the body in her room.

So what could warrant such worry?

Looking for an answer to that very question, Mathew asked in a demanding tone.

"Mom, I'm not settling for silence this time. What's going on? And where are we going?"

A quiet moment in the car passed and Mathew's gaze was locked on his mother waiting for her reply.

Then another.

Then another.

'Why won't she just answer me? What the hell is she hiding?'

A reluctant sigh escaped her lips. Finally, after nearly an hour, she was ready to speak. But the question she answered wasn't the one he wanted to answer the most, but it was an answer nonetheless.

"We're going far away, son."

Mathew frowned, dissatisfied with her answer then asked.

"Where exactly is 'far away'?"

With a reluctant tone, his mother responded.

"As far as we can!"

At this point, things were getting ridiculous. What the hell did she mean by as far away as we can?

She is a frail woman who barely scrapes by to put food on the table, and now in the space of an hour she has committed murder and is fleeing with nothing but the clothes on her back and a few extras stuffed in a small bag.? It might sound repetitive that Mathew keeps asking this question, but it is the only thing he can feasibly ask in this ridiculous situation.

"Mom, what's going on."

He asked the question, but yet again was faced with silence as a response.

Mathew's brows furrowed in frustration, and with a groan, he folded his arms and sighed. Then leaned back in the seat then said.

"Okay fine. Be that way. Not like I care."

He tilted his head to the side, resting it against the car's door. Crossing his hands and glaring out the window as his thoughts raged.

'Why did I even expect an answer? Not like she has ever answered any of my questions before. Hell, I don't even know who my father is or if he's alive.'

His frustrations only grew as they traveled further in silence.

But despite his irritation, the rhythm of the car bouncing on the road and the hum of the car's engine eventually lulled him. Though a scowl lingered faintly across his face, before long his thoughts had dulled.

His eyelids grew increasingly heavier and the tension in his body eased. His eyes shut close and the cynic found himself slipping into a restless slumber.

A time later, it was the same engine hum that had lulled him to sleep that stirred him awake. His eyes fluttered open. He turned his head to the small, digital clock on the dashboard, an hour quickly flashed by, and the time read three twenty-two.

Usually, by this time, the cynical young man would be comfortably lying on his small, creaky bed in his cramped mess of a room but due to this... unforeseen circumstance, he found himself going on what he thought of as an impromptu road trip. That way at least he could make some semblance of sense of the situation.

The roads were relatively empty as normal people didn't travel on the highway at this time of day and would be lying cozily on their beds. But even at that, something was off, the roads weren't supposed to be this empty. In fact, the street lights were all fully erect and functioning. He didn't know anywhere in the city sector that had such good lighting.

Looking out the window at an upcoming sign, he was utterly shocked by its contents. It read District fifty, Route One. A glaring reminder of where they as well as all those who lived behind the point stood in society.

As nothing but its dregs.

But it wasn't always like this. There used to be less of a divide between the people of this world, but all that changed about two hundred years ago. After the great cataclysm. During this horrific period in history, most of humanity's lands were lost to powerful monsters known as the fallen. But due to the emergence of super-powered humans known as Harolds chosen by a messenger of the gods called the codex they were able to protect a portion of what was left. On those lands, massive cities were built, totaling nine in number. In each city, there were sectors, numbered from zero to fifty-nine.

The powerful and wealthy of each city live in the lower districts while the poor and weak live in the higher districts. And they as poor and weak individuals lived in the higher districts. And right now we're on the fastest path to the higher districts.

He looked to his mother to confirm his suspicions.

"Wait a minute," he began, his tone laced with a hint of worry. "Are we going to..."

Unfortunately for the young cynic, before he could finish his question, the sharp glare of headlights shone across his face, reflected off the car's side mirrors, jarring him.

"What the hell!"

He flinched, reflexively throwing up a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light.

Squinting towards the rearview mirror, he spat.

"Are they crazy? That's too damn bright!"

But soon his eyes adjusted to the light and the silhouette of the car became clearer as the seconds ticked on. And as they did, his spark of irritation quickly faded and gave way to unease.

The car seemed to be getting closer, and fast.

"I know you want to keep up this tough, mysterious mom act up, but could you at least spare me a second to explain who those lunatics trying to run us down are? Or is this just how you make friends now by any chance?"

She furrowed her brow then looked into the rearview mirror and asked in a defensive tone.

"What are you talking..." she froze mid-sentence upon locking eyes with the onrushing car and Mathew could feel it. The tension that instantly settled on his mother's shoulders, and the way she looked back at the road but kept glancing into the mirror.

Whatever it was they were fleeing from had finally caught up to them.

Mathew looked back once more to see that the single-passing car had now become two, then three then four. Soon a line of six cars raced behind them and were gaining ground fast.

His mother's voice rang out.

"Buckle your seatbelt Mathew, and hold on tight."

Mathew barely had time to snap the belt into place before she pressed down on the accelerator till it was flat on the floor.

The car's engine roared as it surged forward. The force of sheer speed forced his head back to the seat.

Now racing down the empty road with the pursuers slowly gaining on them, the young cynics heart practically jumped out of his chest. Prompting yet another question.

"Mom who's following us?"

Her knuckles whitened as her grim on the steering wheel tightened. And her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.

"Don't look back, Mathew... Just keep your head down."

With the car accelerating and getting faster with each passing second, Mathew's worries only grew. If the speed didn't kill them, only the gods knew what those people chasing them would do.

Mathew's gaze flickered between the speedometer that continued to steadily climb higher, to the rearview mirror that showed the increasingly blinding lights of their pursuers growing, and to his mother's pale face.

Not long after the pursuit began, they came upon a roadblock that diverted them towards a sharp exit.

Mathew gestured towards the barricade and asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Just checking if we're on the same page here Mom, you see that right?"

But she didn't hesitate nor slow down, driving straight for the barricade at full speed. Mathew's heart leaped into his throat.

"Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Waiting until the last possible moment, she yanked the steering wheel, the car's tires screeched as the car went careering onto the exit ramp. Mathew slammed into the door, his seat belt straining to keep him in place.

Settling back in his seat, the sound of metal clumping and glass shattering erupted behind them. Mathew didn't need to look back, anyone could tell what had happened based on those sounds. At least one of those cars had crashed. And at least one person had died.

The young cynic's eyes widened slightly, before narrowing again as he processed what had just transpired.

As Mathew's mind raced his mother continued to race down the ramp and onto the narrow streets below. Weaving through oncoming traffic and going in excess of a hundred miles an hour, which was not something he thought he would be doing at the age of seventeen but here he was, and he was doing it with his mother no less.

Finally getting a grip on his emotions, he gripped the door handle and took a deep breath. He glanced into the car's side mirror and furrowed his brows as he counted the cars. Five were still in pursuit but suddenly two broke off for reasons he couldn't be bothered to care for. As long as they were gone he was fine.

Not that it mattered though. Three of them were still on their tails and practically breathing down their necks, which was more than enough of a problem.

'Great! Now we're only being chased by three maniacs. Real improvement.'

Things were getting dangerous. If they continued this, it didn't matter that they were in the fifty-ninth district. The authorities would be on their backs soon.

"Well that's new" Mathew muttered dryly as he caught sight of a man crawling out the sunroof of the lead car in his side mirror.

Kaleb watched in disbelief as the man raised his hand, and in it, a spear of jagged ice formed.

"Oh no!" he thought, and oh no indeed. Their pursuers weren't just lunatics who had probably chased them down all the way from their home but were also harolds.

Why did it have to be harolds.