#ThursThreads Week 468 : It Takes Me Back

The streets were always swarming with traffic. Honking horns, racing engines, screaming tires, and all the rest. No one walked. Walking got you killed. Yet, there I was, walking. One block this way, three blocks that way, then a block back on the other side of the street.

It was all I could do to find her, the one who was calling for help. I didn’t have a name, or a description. Didn’t know her size, race, hair color. I didn’t know anything, except she was one of the hidden.

Like me.

The only way I had to find her was to sleep, and hope I found her in a dream, or to walk everywhere, and hope I  wound up where she needed me to be. It was the same way I’d found Deborah, and so many others. Some strange, hidden ability to know where to be, where to go, to help someone who needed help.

“It takes me back to think about it.” And it did. Back to my past, like the first time I wound up somewhere I needed to be. I didn’t know it was a gift, then. Didn’t know I was one of the hidden. I’d done what felt right, followed my instincts, let my emotions guide me. And I wound up finding someone who’d been shot, and dumped in an alley, hidden from sight, and left there to die.

That was the first time I’d helped someone.

242 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 468 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. The prompt told me to write this. It didn’t ask. It ordered. 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.

#ThursThreads Week 464 : And I Can’t Do That

Deborah was true to her word, like always. After I banged on my piano keys for a while, my head started to clear, and I started doing the math about what happened. “Maybe it wasn’t an electromagnetic field.”

“It wasn’t,” she sat in her chair, next to my piano, with my dinner on a tray in her lap. “It was one of us. One of the hidden.”

I didn’t say anything, I didn’t need to. She was an empath, a complete empath, one of the hidden herself. She knew everything I felt, and used that to piece together a lot of what I thought. She handed me the tray of food.

After I half emptied the can of soda she’d got me, I picked up the sandwich, looked at it, then at her. “One of us, huh?”

She nodded, “I felt so afraid. So desperate.”

“We need to find them, don’t we. Stop them before they do this again, and maybe kill someone.”

“No. You need to,” I could count, on one hand, how many times she’d said no to me, and have fingers left. “She needs help. And I can’t do that.”

“She?”

Deborah had one of those looks that said, “Yes,” and at the same time told me she was done talking about it. “How did you know which building to be in?”

She knew I couldn’t answer, that it was hidden, even from me. Something I felt, but never understood. “She’s calling for help, isn’t she.”

“Yes.”

250 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 464 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. The prompt told me to write this. It didn’t ask. It ordered. 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.

#SwiftFicFriday Week 77 : Practice Your Music

Deborah had tried to talk me into staying at the hospital a few extra days, “Just to be safe.” I wouldn’t have it. A Fruit Loop out there somewhere able to crush buildings with air wasn’t a good thing, and I couldn’t let such a being run wild. Besides, they’d dinged me up, and tried to kill Deborah. Even though everything still hurt, I got out of the hospital. They made me sign a waiver, not for the first time.

Of course, she knew. She knew I was angry, and worried about her, and about air being used as a sledge hammer. Just like she knew she’d never talk me into staying in the hospital until the doctors let me out.

She drove. I knew better than to demand I drive. I knew she sensed every ache and pain I felt. It was that empathy thing. Something about her I could never figure out.

After we got home, she made me take a nap on the sofa, with the TV playing some random program, hoping I’d sleep. I remember I did drift off to dreamland, but the dreams didn’t go well. Something about watching a solid wall of air crush people that made me wake up.

She was right there, next to me when I woke. “Here. I know what you need.” She helped me to my feet, and led me to my piano. “Practice your music.”

I did. Like I said, she knew. That empathy thing, you know. She understood the music healed me in more ways than medicine ever could. It even cleared my mind, so I could see the pictures, hear the words my brain wanted me to. So I could understand what I needed to understand.

“Practice your music. I’ll bring you dinner in a bit.”

300 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 73 of #SwiftFicFriday, hosted by Katheryn Avila. I’m wondering what the heck is going on with this story. There seems to be only one way for me to find out. Anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #SwiftFicFriday. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up regularly.

#ThursThreads Week 459 : Can You Give Me An Example?

Once the police learned I was conscious, of course they had questions, mostly about, “Why were you there? What were you looking for? Did you find an explosive device?” The idiots kept asking that same set of questions, endlessly, like some robocall message on an answering machine that repeated all day, every day.

“She had a feeling.” I kept explaining that. They kept ignoring that.

After an hour of answering the same questions over and over again, they finally shut up. That’s when Deborah spoke, “You guys don’t know what happened, do you.”

“A building got bombed. You two were inside. Maybe you set the bomb up, and didn’t make it out.”

I’d have laughed, but laughing hurt too much right then.

She’d laughed in their faces. “It wasn’t a bomb.” She nodded to me. It was my turn to speak.

“It was a wall of air. Crushed the entire front of the building. No damage to anything around it. Just the building.”

“Explain to us how that works. Can you give me an example?”

“Works like crushing a can with your foot.”

“Seriously? Crushing a building with air?”

Everybody looked at Deborah. They knew she felt things, sensed things, they couldn’t. I did what I always did. Protected her. “Yeah. Air. Probably used an electromagnetic field to make it.”

They left, with the always expected, “We’ll be watching you. Don’t leave town.”

“I see they’re as silly as they always have been.”

Deborah nodded, “Some things never change.”

249 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 459 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. And I have no clue what the heck is writing itself. 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.