Oliver Dolwyn - Chapter One: The Begining

Not everybody noticed it, the tiny red dot in the sky. Well, not at first anyway. But within a day people were whispering, murmuring, questioning. What was it? Surely not a plane or a helicopter. Rumours were spreading – a new planet, perhaps? But the astronomers shook their heads. They looked through their fancy telescopes and did complicated calculations, but no, there was no explanation. All they saw was a red light. A shining, slightly ominous red light.

But Oliver Dolwyn saw more.

~

Oliver Dolwyn had never been what you’d call normal. With piercing green eyes and startlingly pale skin, from the moment he’d stepped into this world, he’d been marked as different. However, his appearance wasn’t the only thing about Oliver that was strange. Because when he looked at the world, he didn’t just see buildings. He didn’t just see the dusty roads, the concrete pavements, the constant crowds of people that littered the streets. Oliver Dolwyn could see time. When he looked at any living thing, he saw a sort of mist, clouding around that particular thing. It wasn’t until he was older that he noticed that the amount of mist indicated how much time that particular person, animal, tree, or plant had left in this world. You see, Oliver hated being different. Despite the fact that most people in this world are determined to be seen as individual, all he wanted was to blend in. So Oliver did not mention his extraordinary ability to anyone. Instead, he kept to himself, determined to ignore the fact that his ability meant that he, in a way, could see into the future.

As a child, Oliver would sit in one place; completely still and silent, drawing for hours on end- not childish houses and blobby stickmen, but complex shapes and swirls that seemed to have a sort of incomprehensible meaning to them. At school he kept to himself, and never really had any friends. He was quiet, and blended in so much even in his last year most of his fellow students hardly recognised the boy with the green eyes and the dark hair that stood in the corner of the frame, stony faced, in the end of year photo.

He left school with moderately good grades, and found a job at a dusty antiques shop that specialized, rather curiously, in clocks. The most information he ever revealed about himself to the customers was his name. Even the shop’s owner, Mercutio Tyme, himself knew very little about the boy. They only spoke when necessary- the curt “Good morning,” when Oliver arrived at precisely 10:30 every day, and the abrupt “Good evening,” when he disappeared into the night was all that sufficed. It was just after Oliver had muttered his usual goodbye to Mr. Tyme when he first noticed the red light in the sky. He stopped, right in the middle of the pavement of the busy London street, and stared at the sky, a dark frown passing over his brow. Something triggered inside his mind, and his brain seemed to work slowly, just like the complicated clockwork that funded his existence.

The thing that made Oliver so very confused was the mist. Because the mist that surrounded this light was different. It was not the pure white that emitted from everything he’d seen before – instead it was a bright, explosive orange that was so bright, that Oliver found himself squinting. He stood there, staring at the light for what seemed like an eternity, thoughts and questions buzzing around his head. Oliver was afraid. He would never admit it, but anything different or unusual frightened him. Perhaps that was the reason he religiously stuck to his routine. Perhaps that was the reason that his heart was thumping so loudly in his chest, staring at the bright red light in the sky, seeing so much more than the people around him.

Then, realizing that he was drawing attention to himself, he stepped back into the shadow of a nearby doorway. However, he was not alone.

~

The blunt barrel of a gun, poking into his back. The strong stench of cheap alcohol, lingering in the air. The laboured, loathsome sound of heavy breathing. And then the man spoke, in a low growl of a voice. “If you want to live,” he began, in a mocking tone, “Get out your wallet, drop it to the floor and walk away. If you don’t,” he continued, “You’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”

Oliver slowly turned to face the attacker, blood pounding in his ears. In the dark shadow, he could only just see the slumped silhouette of the man. He looked at the mugger, noticing that there was something… different about his appearance. Yet Oliver could not quite lay his finger on it. He reached his hand into his coat pocket, and pulled out his leather wallet. Avoiding the man’s eyes, he slowly dropped the wallet at the attacker’s worn trainers. His gaze averted to the Mist that was slowly seeping out for the attacker. Then, gasping, he realized – the Mist was a lot thinner than normal. That could only mean one thing. “You... you don’t have long to live.” Oliver began, his mouth dry. Having never told a man that they were about to die whilst being held at gunpoint, Oliver couldn’t help but feel more than a little tense. “And wazzat supposed to mean?” the man slurred, oblivious of his soon demise. “Are you threatening me?” his already red face flushed with anger.
“No, I’m not threatening you! Just be careful… please!” he pleaded, his voice rushed, spitting out the words, before his mouth dried completely. “Don’t tell me what to do.” The man hissed, raising the gun violently. Oliver’s pulse quickened, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Every breath that the man took, he was one second closer to death. The Mist was now just a wisp, and Oliver wanted to help, to do something. But deep down inside, he knew it was too late.
~
A shiver passed down his spine, and not just because of the icy wind. “Lower your gun!” Oliver said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. The mugger shook his head stubbornly, his finger on the trigger of the gun. He jolted the barrel of the gun towards the street, and in that second, Oliver knew that there was no other way. He didn’t want a man’s blood on his hands for the rest of his life. Taking a deep breath, he leapt towards the gun, shoving the man out of the way. In the darkness, Oliver could see nothing. He wrestled silently with the mugger, searching for the gun in the pitch black. Then, all of a sudden, the deafening blast of the gunshot echoed from the concrete walls. He didn’t know what had happened. He didn’t know who had caused it. He lay there, completely unaware of what was happening, and drifted into unconsciousness.