The Unveiling

When Covid lifted, so did the veil on our world. We thought Covid was terrible because it crumbled economies, crippled businesses and left people feeling a sense of loss. That was until the veil was lifted.  It took two and half years of on-and-off lockdowns for people to turn from merrily singing to each other from balconies, to being pissed about not being able to celebrate thanksgiving with their families, to finally being weary of anyone outside their family or core unit. Gone were the days of togetherness, ubuntu and globalisation. And in its place was something much worse, you see it wasn't just the loss of connection that weighed heavily on you, it was also the blatant mistrust.  So when the veil lifted and we looked at each other, I mean really looked at each other, we realised we weren't human at all.  Covid had been the countdown to the lifting of the veil. And so we discovered that all the races depicted in our fairytales were real, and we were descendants of these creatures. The problem was that no one person was solely a 'shifter' or solely 'Fae'. The game had been in motion too long, and under the guise of humanity, people procreated across races without even knowing. Everyone was some sort of hybrid. Testing centres were soom erected, where you could get tested to see exactly what your mongral mix was. And, out of that came the superiority of races. The angels claimed the highest rank, with Fae following a close second. Goblins and Pixies weren't ranked highly either.  So I was privy to a different kind of divide. While we all still appeared human, if you stared slightly too long it soon became obvious.  Of course the zealots argued that this was divine and we were even closer to source, stating that these races were all different aspects of the universe. Others argued that there were different realms and this was just a small experiment for the races to see if we could get along if we simply didn't know that we were different.  And in the end, Trump's marketing campaign for the election through q-anon groups wouldn't even be remembered. And how Biden ushered in the first female VP was a moot point.  One of the problems we faced was as we were tested to find out what we were exactly, took down our genetics to keep on ‘file’. But, as with all things regarding the government, I’ve learnt what they try to implement or ‘keep on file’ is rarely in our best interest.  People lined up at the testing centres eager to see what their mix was. Would they have powers? How would it impact future procreation? And did our mythology match up with lived experience. And like most things, we were our own demise, because we simply handed over all the information they needed to implement new rules and regulations to impose on us.  When it came to powers, it was a tricky subject. Most people didn’t boast any powers, the cross-mixing of races essentially windling down any power they may have had to a solid zero. But the ones that did have powers? Well, those powers came out as something else entirely because of the mix. If someone was a mix of a shifter and fae, those mixed powers often presented and solidified themselves in strange and unexpected ways.  And with these races all ‘put on file’, soon nations and geographical divides didn’t matter as much as racial divide, with the belief that if you somehow procreated with someone of the same (or as close as possible) race as you, your children would be infused with the powers and abilities that had been lost in the dilution process. And so, people started reshuffling themselves in accordance to race, arguing that their government or nation shouldn’t have more control than their actual race elects. Soon enough, national government had little say, and local base camps for each respective race were erected. A global government was put in place to oversee everything, with the various races electing their own representatives thereof. The world found itself with the knowledge and history of human technology, coupled with the emergence of these powers. It was currently a boiling pot on the verge of explosion. We were on the cusp of a global race war - within the likes we had never seen before.  I actually didn’t care about my genetic mix or heritage, but when the government made testing mandatory, I had little choice.  And as I sat in the waiting room to receive my lab results along with a dozen other people, the lab technician herself walked out, asking to speak to me in private. I knew then that whatever she had to say couldn’t have been good, and I had the forboding sense that it would shape and define my future. I was numb when she told me the news. She looked like a kid in a candystore - she was delighted. I supposed she would get some sort of promotion or something simply for being the one to find me.  Half Angel and Half Shifter. In fact, those genes were so dominant that they couldn’t pick up anything else in my mix. It wasn’t the shifter in me that had her all giddy, no - it was the angel. She was so busy jotting down her findings and calling her superiors that she failed to notice my non-response.  With this kind of testing I would never go unnoticed again, and that thought had me stopping for pause.  New housing was arranged immediately for me, but because there were so few of us with the angelic bloodline, I was placed in a compound with a mix of Fae and Shifters - all high ranking of course. I was suddenly being forced to leave my life behind, I mean sure it wasn't a great life, but it meant that I was leaving some core people behind. Shay for one.  Shay was my flamboyant friend who identified as a him and enjoyed the company of men. He was my dandy, but he also had volatile outbursts and seemed to be developing super strength - all thanks to his shifter bloodline. It was because of him that I had suspected that I had shifter bloodline within me. I had some volatile emotions that often seemed unexplainable. It would also explain my mother's volatility, which only made me want to distance myself further - anything to not be like her.  While my testing results certainly explained the vivid dreams I’d been havin, it also gave me insight in the mythology around Angels - most of which was wrong. My nights were filled with vivid dreams of Angels clashing against Foe in battle, whilst lightening lit up the backdrop from the sky. Angels pressing down human women against a rocky alcove overlooking a valley, enjoying them in the most intimate of ways, whilst the females rode human men into ecstasy. “Look down there,” one large male Angel commanded, “that Valley is where you will make your home, infusing your powers within this plain.”  And just as abruptly as those dreams began, so they ended, leaving me with more questions than answers.  I only knew for certain that our depiction of Angels had been all wrong. They weren't benevolent, all-loving creatures looking out for mankind. No, they were brutal, violent warriors. Somehow in the mix of religion we seemed to have forgotten that they were warriors, and in being so, there was a certain amount of brutality that went with that.   In all the mess that the lifting of the Veil had brought, I was grateful to my mother for her fairytale teachings. She read and spoke of all the mythical tales long forgotten, infusing my childhood with whimsical rhymes and the naive belief in magic. And yet, she still dutifully sent me church with my grandparents every Sunday.  “It’s called balance,” she said as she kissed me on the forehead and ushered me out the door.  My father had died when I was younger as a Military hero. But looking back, I now realised that a desert war over oil was hardly something heroic to die for, although I’m sure it was spun in a different way.  My mother? She was pregnant with promise. Even when I described her like that, I hated it, and yet it was true. She was so full and bursting with potential that it was painful to watch, as if it was trying to stretch itself right out of her. Of course she did the opposite and found any form of escapism available without putting any real effort or substance into it. There were moments in my life where my mother enjoyed painting, and when people asked me what she did for a living, I would proudly proclaim that she was an artist. And when she dabbled in writing? She was an author of course. But the unsavoury escapist habits she found, I always omitted. And when the potential was too great. When it overwhelmed her, she simply lay in a bathtub with her favourite book and waited for the sleeping pills to do their work. So when someone tells me "oh look, they have potential" I shudder at it. Because I've learnt that potential can very well kill you. I found myself completely alone and at the mercy of the system with some choice individuals who had taken special interest in me due to my genetics. To say that I wasn't thrilled was the understatement of a lifetime.  I had been in the basecamp for a week. The housing was fine. If I were honest, it was better than I previously had. But I wasn't about to dish the government out any compliments or gratitude at this point.  It was a small two bedroomed freestanding home that was all one level. The kitchen was small, but functionable, and the lounge had one large couch seated in front of an old TV that I doubted connected to anything in this age (I still hadn't switched it on yet). It still didn't feel like home. In fact, I hadn't felt a sense of belonging perhaps even before the virus took hold of our world.  Splashing water on my face, I stared at myself in the mirror. After discovering I had Angelic blood running through my veins, everyone had been falling over themselves to tell me how pretty I am, how wonderful. Yet before this whole debacle my eye colour could have been described as baby-s**t brown. Caramel if someone was being kind or polite. But in light of my Angelic revelation? Now everyone commented on my 'gold' eyes.  It's not that I'm not pretty. I mean, as I examined myself in the mirror I could see the attractiveness. My thick dark hair, coupled with my caramel eyes and full lips made me look exotic. Beautiful at times, if I tried and put in a bit of effort. I had my mother's eyelashes that were thick, dark and long. The problem I had was the double standards - no one here would have noticed me a week ago - which was exactly how long it had been since I'd received my lab results and since I'd been living in the base camp.  To call it a basecamp was not a fair description though. It was much more like a military base, with whole families set up within the houses. I could almost imagine the military wives meeting up for book club in a time before the virus.  I heard a hard rap against my front door as I yelled, "coming!". I threw on a cropped sweatshirt that matched my low-rise joggers and headed towards the entrance.  I swung the door open only to be greeted by two suited men with clipboards in their hands.  A strand of hair fell out of my messy bun, whipping in the breeze on the front step.  "Um…." I said, at a loss for words. I mean it's not like I was expecting them.   "Hello Reya," one of the suits greeted me, his hand outstretched towards me.  I shook it tentatively before saying, "was I supposed to be expecting you?"  He flashed a salesman smile before answering.  "Of course not. We just stopped by to see how you were settling in and to share the rules and regulations of the basecamp."  Were they here to see if I was happy, or because I had done something wrong? I honestly couldn't tell.  After taking too long to answer the second suit asked, "May we come in?"  I stepped back, allowing the two men into my sitting room. Wondering what the rules and regulations actually were.