“So, as you can see, the differential of proper time is equal to the differential of time divided by the lorentz factor. This, in a sense, is similar to the time dilation equation I introduced earlier, except this works better in the case of an accelerating reference frame. If we integrate the differential of proper time from a to b…”

Lyra’s eyes roamed the room. She never really understood relativity (or calculus for that matter), and she never planned to. The subjects felt irrelevant to her. Because of this, she often fell into deep thought during Samuel’s lectures. It wasn’t that she didn’t respect him; no, she respected her blond-haired physics and mathematics teacher greatly. She just could never get her head around the “mathematical beauty” of his passions.

Her mind eventually ceased its focus on anything tangible, focusing far out into the distance. Once again, Lyra was lost to the world of tiny pastel horses. Before she knew it, a bell rang to signal the end of class and likewise her mental tangents. In response, the few students placed in Samuel’s course stood up. With their belongings in tow, they navigated to one of the two wooden doors leading to the main hallway of the building. Lyra, like a robot, imitated the mechanical movements of her fellow classmates and stepped outside the classroom.

The halls were filled with the clanging of lockers and the loud conversations and liquid-like movements of students and teachers alike. Lyra sighed; another day of high school was halfway over. It would only be another three and a half hours before she could return to the warming embrace of her bed and the book that awaited her. The thought put a smile on her face and a slight bounce in her step, and she traveled to the lunchroom eagerly, knowing the day would end and the night sky would reign supreme again.

Like in the hallways, the room was full of chatter. Smells of all kinds wafted through school cafeteria. It was Thursday, and there had always been a long standing tradition among the school of serving fried rice and chicken that day of the week. Lyra never really liked fried rice for some reason. She didn’t like rice in general, actually. Lucky for her, Ruby made her something for lunch today. She wouldn’t have to eat the repulsive food the cafeteria served on a daily basis.

Lyra sat down at a table and removed her lunch from her backpack. She looked at the sandwich in her hands, observing each crater in the sourdough bread before grinning wide and taking a bite. It tasted like wet cardboard. Even though Ruby worked four part-time jobs, genetically modified foods were all she could afford when piled on top of paying taxes and loans for the house. Lyra could not complain, though. Anything other than that rice was good enough for her.

As she took a second bite of her sandwich, Lyra saw a brown haired boy coming closer and closer to her table, until he was sitting in front of her. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the word “music” printed in a large, white font on the front, next to a red treble clef. Lyra nodded her head in respect and greeting to her older friend, making sure to maintain eye contact. He, in turn, grinned at her and, without words, waved his hand. He did not want to annoy Lyra, so he planned to avoid any form of small talk unless it was an absolute necessity.

The boy reached into one of his pockets. He held a plastic fork in one hand and had reached up with his other hand to pluck at the teeth of the utensil. Each tooth of the fork was a different length than the others, and when they were plucked they vibrated at different frequencies. Sticking out the tip of his tongue from behind his lips, he began to play a melody. Lyra raised an eyebrow in response to the bizarre tune her friend was playing. When he finished, she decided to raise something else.

“Toby, what were you playing?” Lyra asked. The song felt familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on where she had heard it before. When she finally realized what it was, she blinked once and knowingly nodded.

Toby froze for a moment, then remembered he was supposed to say something. He glanced to the side before speaking.“I found it in a book in the music section of the library. It was in an unlabeled leather-bound journal. The pages looked pretty old. The song itself wasn’t named, just written down,” he said. He raised a hand up to his neck to briefly scratch it, then his reddened ears, before laying it in his empty lap.

Lyra looked into her friend’s amber eyes, a dull expression on her face. Then, the staring contest ended just as soon as it had started, and she returned to casually eating her sandwich. She could see through him similarly to how she could see through a freshly cleaned window. Toby was never good at lying, she thought. However, instead of making it known that he was indeed a terrible liar, she put the conversation down. She took a final bite of her sandwich and put her lunchbox back into her bag.

Just as Lyra was about to go to her next class, Samuel sat down next to Toby. Bad grades again? Damn it. Damn it all, she thought. Though nobody could hear her thoughts, they were clearly reflected in her facial expressions. Every single time her quirky physics teacher joined her at the lunch tables it was because she had bad grades in his classes. This time was different though; Samuel was not wearing that face this time. He wasn't wearing an expression of disappointment and mild annoyance. Rather, he wore a face Lyra was not well acquainted with.

“Hello Lyra,” Samuel spoke in a tone that made Lyra want to actually talk to him. That rarely ever happens with her; in fact it had only happened once before now. “I got my hands on one of T. Sparkle’s works. It’s called ‘Space and Hyperspace Travel: Everything Needed to Know About Spacetime, the 11th Dimension, and Advanced Teleportation Spells’,” he said. “I'll give it to you after I finish reading it.”
Once again, an eyebrow was lifted on Lyra’s face. She knew T. Sparkle tended to use long titles, but that was large for even a T. Sparkle book. But that was not what caught the majority of Lyra's attention. Instead, it was her teacher. In her mind Samuel was the least likely person to read any of T. Sparkle's writing.

She giggled. Then, she broke out into the sounds of a cackling hyena. She was suffocating from the thousands of assaults on her stomach that had slowly built up into an uncomfortable pain. Him of all people? Oh man that's rich!

Samuel’s face contorted into a look of confusion from the event which had just taken place in front of him. “What’s so funny?” he asked. He was trying to understand why Lyra was all of a sudden so open with her facial expressions. Usually she was a very reserved person. Did he really know his student as much as he thought he did?

“Oh nothing; just you’ve always insisted Sparkle’s work was fictional and didn’t interest you.”

“And I meant it. Primarily it is the topic itself that interests me...” He paused, took a breath, and continued. “Well, most of it anyways.”

“Whatever. Just don’t come to me saying it’s pseudoscientific or anything like that. I don’t read Sparkle’s work for its scientific contents. I read Sparkle’s work because I’m bored,” Lyra lied flatly. She believed Sparkle’s work to be genuine fact. The only problem for her was she could not prove it, so she didn't bother to formulate an argument for it.

“Don’t worry about that, Lyra. I’m not here to crush your dreams.”

“What dreams? You know what? Nevermind that; I have a class to go to.”

And with that said, Lyra got up from her seat, slipped her arms into the shoulder straps of her backpack, and walked to her next class alongside Toby. Finally, something that entertains me!

It was a pleasant monday in early January; the first day of third grade for Lyra. School had just ended, and her parents were walking her home. The sounds of cars, people talking, and the occasional street performer filled the streets of the town with an underlying rhythm of liveliness. It was on this day, however, that the typical streets were to become much less so for the eight year-old Lyra.

As they turned a corner, two very seemingly out-of-place figures came into view. The first of the two individuals looked like she was in her early 20s and looked incredibly casual; she wore a grey sweater-jacket and a pair of black tights which had been ripped near the knees and thighs, presumably on accident. On her nose nested a pair of purple-lensed sunglasses, which had black frames that created a contrast against the pasty, almost white skin of her face. The most noticeable trait, however, was that unlike all the other townsfolk, her hair was striped with aquamarine and electric blue.

The second of these individuals, left of the first one, who looked like she was in her late 20s, gave off the complete opposite air of her companion. She wore a simple, gray dress, which was very similar to the charcoal color of her hair. The only real color she wore was on the purple bowtie she had around her neck and the lavender in her own eyes. Most unexpectedly, this person was smiling just like her companion, either due to the cello in her arms, or the electric guitar playing of her partner.

At first, the two played what seemed to be just a simple melody. Then it got much more complex. In an instant, a cascade of notes from both the stringed instruments the two played was flowing through Lyra’s mind like a river of sound that filled her soul with glee, content, and wonder. It was then that Lyra came to a sudden truth.

I want to be like them.

What she didn’t know is that she had much more in common with the two than she ever expected.

It was, by definition, chaotic. The school auditorium boomed with the raucous sounds of students playing their musical instruments. Everything from a trumpet, to a piano, to a violin, to even a bongo and xylophone could be heard by those unfortunate enough -- like an unusually calm yet still energetic Lyra-- to be treated to such torture. She had laid her fingers on the strings of her beloved lyre, the only memorial of her mother she had after she seemingly disappeared alongside her husband. She plucked at the metallic strands, generating a light-hearted melody over the background noises of the room.

Lyra’s world soon blurred out of her mind, the grey walls of the auditorium covered in a veil of darkness and the sonic chaos replaced by a symphony of strings of many kinds that played in harmony with her own plucking. Then, slowly, her sight returned alongside her other senses. A gentle blue accented by wisps of white greeted her openly, and combined with the embrace of the cotton sheets, covered her in warmth.

Suddenly, the gentle sparkling and crackling of unicorn magic could be heard from over the musical symphony, and the clouds began to warp. A black void appeared in the sky. Then, once again, Lyra was plunged into near darkness, the only source of light being the sky behind her. Unlike last time, however, this darkness was ominous, cold, and remorseless. Her arms and legs and body were trembling, and goose bumps had covered every part of her body as she was wrapped in the icy cold. Then, the sky disappeared from sight. She became restless, and wished to be embraced by light once again. Her horn answered her request eagerly, sparking and cracking and whirring, and lighted up with a bright, warm halo of golden hues.

As the glow of her magic provided some leeway to see, Lyra noticed three other figures floating close by, but they were still unrecognizable to her, and so she directed her attention elsewhere; to the strange objects nearby.They were like nothing she had ever seen before. They were strange in shape; tangled messes of glowing, vibrating string. A moment passed, and then she was warmed by gentle, but still bright background radiation. Then another second passed, and the background radiation was replaced by enormous gas clouds and blinding, jagged arcs of blue, orange, yellow, and white. After a few more seconds, these things did too disappear, only to be replaced by a pink, diffusely textured ceiling.

As the symphony disappeared, Lyra’s eyes rapidly opened to be greeted with a tired, lackluster face and matted brown hair and empty eyes. She grinned sheepishly at her teacher and apologized, “Sorry, Mrs. Muse; must have closed my eyes again.”

Author's Note

Alright, finally another release!
Sorry I've been taking so long; I'm really caught up in a homework pickle right now (as I said in my blog), so productivity is a bit slow in the writing department.
Anyways, this chapter is a doozy.