1 Short lived victory

Warren Vandal tasted sweet victory as he hoisted the MVP trophy above his head. As it turned out, hockey was a great place to put his misplaced anger. Shortcuts to the top didn’t exist in Warren's world. He gripped the moment with ferocity and a humble attitude. He sang the praises of his teammates, the great plays they made, and the spectacular saves of their goaltender.

He shook hands with the last of the reporters and waited for his mother by the water fountain. A man with a clipboard strode up to him with a smile on his face. Atop his gray hair, a battered Edmonton oilers hat, and a matching jersey. He extended a wrinkled hand, “You are Warren Vandal, Correct?”

Warren looked around for his mother, but she was nowhere to be seen, “Yeah, that’s me. What can I do for you,” Little tendrils of pain ran across his hand? The old-timer had a tight grip. Warren flexed his hand and winced.

“My name is Vincent Nette and I scout for the junior team. How would you like to take your talent to an international arena?”

“How did you rate me?” curiosity bought out Warren's mind. Any scout takes extensive notes on the players they watch. “I didn’t hear people were sending scouts.”

Vincent smiled, “To answer the last question, we found players spent too much time trying to impress us, instead of playing the game.” His eyes watched Warren gauge his response.

“Look, my mom has a thing about scouts. She would prefer it if you approached me with her present. Most of the time I ignore the overprotective nonsense that comes out of her mouth. When it comes to scouts and career stuff, she has my undivided attention.”

A soft rumble shook the floor beneath their feet and intensified in seconds. The building remained sturdy in the face of the tremor. The lights began to strobe. The incident became a point of curiosity for Warren. In the movies, earthquakes tear buildings apart like uncaged animals turning on their masters. Here he remained perfectly balanced unfettered by the Earth’s movement.

“Warren? Where are you Warren?” A frantic female voice shrieked over the shocked crowd. “Get out of my way, I have to find my son.”

Vincent's pupils shrunk to tiny black dots, “Do you know her?”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?”

“Not really, she’s calling for someone named Warren. That's your name"

An odd wind blew through the entrance. Paper plates and empty styrofoam cups rose off the floor to play in the currents of air. Melanie Vanadal’s pink-streaked hair blew into her face. She reached into the old winter coat, dubbed the bag lady coat, or please put that thing back in the closet. She tamed her wild locks with a yellow hair tie and saw Warren.

A low groan, followed by a facepalm, and disheartened words left Warren's lips. “Please don’t think less of me for what’s about to happen.”

Vicent patted him on the shoulder. “She’s your mother. Let her have the moment.”

Melanie squished Warren into the horrid coat, the scent of her perfume, dubbed the grandma smell, invaded his nostrils. The grandma's smell overpowered his senses and secured victory alongside the mustiness of the coat. “Thank God you are okay. I was so worried.”

Warren gasped for air and tried to extricate himself from his mother's arms, “Mom I’m fine. You can let go.”

Wet lips touched the soft skin of Warren’s cheek. Melanie rocked him back and forth, “You're growing up too fast. One day you’ll leave the nest, and go off to college and meet some broad I’ll probably hate at first, but grow to like over time. Then you won’t need me anymore. So I have cram in as much mothering in as I possibly can.”

“Witness protection it is,” Warren said with a face full bag lady coat. “Mom, We have an audience.” he pointed to Vincent.

Vincent also pointed, except his finger drifted toward the entrance, and with good reason. A ball of light, the width of a small street, raced across the asphalt in the parking lot. It passed harmlessly through vehicles while it continued on its trajectory. People froze in fear at the tsunami of light. In an instant, the wave turned into hundreds of orbs of all colors and descriptions. The glowing spheres descended on the frightened masses and attacked. 

Melanie shielded Warren against the invasive light bulbs, “Those overgrown lamps will not take my boy,” She swatted at a golden orb determined to get at Warren.

“Mom, they hit people and vanish.” Warren shoved her away. “I’m not afraid.” The orb streaked towards him. Warren held his arms out, “Get it over with,” He shouted.

A hand reached for Warren’s coat, but he spun away. “Warren we don’t know anything about these floating lamps. I don’t call how they entered benevolent,” Melanie faked left and tried to grab a hold of her son.

Warren veered right and left an opening for the orb. For all of its speed, the golden ball hit him softer than a whisper. His body tingled and warmed. Five seconds later the feeling vanished, “I’m fine, see.” The statement remained true for another moment, then a great weakness tore Warren’s body asunder, and he collapsed to the painted concrete.

                                                     ***

Warren awoke surrounded by impenetrable darkness. A singular glow came from beneath his feet. Warren examined the ambient luminescence and found no source to justify its existence. Where was he? Was it related to the golden orb? A pinprick of light appeared in the distance and added to his confusion. The light presented a choice: he could remain in the dark, or push forward toward it.

His footsteps echoed, the sound went on forever. Warren found the noise pleasant to his ears, he had no explanation for it. Little by little, the tiny dot of light grew larger. Warren kept his eyes on the light to avoid the sea of nothing around him. Where was this place? What was this place? In an attempt to rationalize, Warren decided he was in a world of dreams and he was merely sleeping. Deep down he knew better, he did not have dreams like this.

The brightness began to take form. A powerful clutch of talons gripped him and raised him off the ground. A fierce yellow eye glared at him, and then softened its dour gaze. Warren dared to touch the head of the unidentified beast. Soft downy feathers brushed against his fingers. “What are you?”

A fierce roar ripped Warren’s eardrum asunder, and a prideful voice boomed, “I am you.” Warren's body lurched forward in the direction of the creature. He couldn’t make out the form, but he knew fangs when saw them. “No, stop. You don’t have to do this.” Inside the gaping maw, a swirling mass of energy.

“You will understand.” The voice boomed and shoved Warren down its greedy gullet.

***

“No stop,” Warren awoke with a start to the familiar sights and smells of the arena. Ragged shallow breaths came from his mouth. A hand went to touch him, and on instinct, he batted it away.

“Warren, it’s okay.” Melanie’s familiar voice eased him back into reality. Her motherly arms wrapped around Warren and everything was right in the world again.

“You’ll never believe what happened,” Warren exclaimed. 

Melanie rocked him back and forth, “You can tell me about it on the way home.”