they speak to me

I sat, staring at the keyboard that lay before me, staring at a blank Word document with the blinking indicator, ticking away moments I could spend filling the screen with words, then faces, then places, etc.

Thomas
I noticed the small boy, around 9 or 10 years of age, sitting in an upright fetal position in the corner adjacent to the computer screen. His clothes were a size too big and worn, draped over his thin and pale frame, and his hair were separated into large tufts and obviously had not been washed for quite some time. I stared at him for a moment, then he raised his head and looked at me with his sad eyes. His expression was almost cold, but mostly blank. I could sense the power inside him. It scared me.

"Are you ever gonna write about us?" he asked, his expression remaining blank.

"Where are your Guardians?" I asked him in return.

"They'll be here. I wanted to talk to you first. Don't you think it's important?"

"What's important?"

"Our story?"

"Yes, it is very important. And I will write it....someday..." I told him

"You always say that."

I took a quick glance back at my blank computer screen. When I looked back to the corner, the boy was gone.

Derek
I looked back at the computer screen. In the reflection, I could see the outline of three individuals standing over my shoulder, placed parallel to the lines of my head.
On my right sat a young man, probably my age, who resembled me a great deal. He had thin blue wire glasses and soft brown hair covering his head and chin. His clothes were plain and earth-toned, and also looked worn and battered.

Thrill
To my left sat a beautiful black girl, around 19 or 20, with a hardened expression and her short, dreaded hair placed neatly around her face. Her dress, colored in purple and black leather, was short enough to show her toned, seemingly powerful legs.

Saint
Above my head stood a man, between 25 and 30, with short blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He oozed confidence and leadership, and his handsome face appeared reassuring. His wardrobe was the darkest black fabric available, with a hint of silver thrown into his long jacket and belt.

"I know why you're here. Thomas already told me," I replied calmly. Thrill did not look amused, but Derek and Saint gave small smirks.

"Then you shouldn't be nervous. But you have to do it soon, writing our story," Saint stated.

"We work our asses off, risking our lives and crap, and you can't write down one little fight scene?" Thrill said. I blushed at her words.

"And quit using excuses," Derek picked up, "I don't care about you working two jobs and going to school and all that other useless excuses. Just write it, and it'll all work out."

"I know," I said, almost whispering.

"They have to know why we are his Guardians. They have to know what we've been through, about the ones who came before us, about everything. You have to tell it," Saint said.

And then they were gone. I stared at the blank computer screen. The story would begin shortly.

-Brock-