“Did you feel it?”
I looked at Deborah and shook my head, “There you go again. Asking me if I felt something that’s invisible, not the wind, not the air pressure, not the temperature, not the ground shaking.” I shook my head, “I didn’t feel a damn thing, and you know it.”
I cut her off. “You know I have you around to feel all the stuff I can’t. ‘Cause I can’t ever feel it.”
“Crap.” I’d have hugged her, and told her I was sorry, but I knew it wasn’t that time, or we didn’t have that kind of time. “What’s coming?” I did the simplest thing I could, and put my hand on top of hers. “What do we need to get ready for?”
She was quiet. Too quiet. I knew from her eyes, and the way her jaw was clenched, she was thinking, trying to figure something out. “This is new.”
“Crap may be too weak of a word?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never felt this.”
There were times I wished I was an empath, and could feel what she felt. But I knew, if she couldn’t identify what it was, didn’t know what it was, it couldn’t be good.
“I’m not taking any chances.” I stood up, and started to the door, dragging her with me. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Too late! It’s here!”
The sky went black, the building shook, the windows exploded, the wind screamed.
I woke up days later.
It’s Week 457 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Trying to break the ice that’s encased my writing. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.