#ThursThreads Week 485 : That’s Not Why I’m Here.

I started with the first thing on the list, “Figure out what I do know.” That took me back to where the building had been. They’d been fast, it was already nothing but a concrete slab on the ground, blocked off by a cheap chain link fence, the kind with posts stuck into cinder blocks filled with concrete, and a razor wire attachment that ran along its top.

“No entry permitted, go away.” I shook my head. “Go away? That’s not why I’m here.”

I took out my cell phone, and added the zoom lens attachment. It worked really well for looking where I wasn’t allowed to go. Brought such places right up close. I looked over the walls of the adjacent buildings. I looked at the concrete slab that was left.

“What do I know?” I set the phone to record.

“I knew this building was important. I knew something was going to happen at this building. Why this building?”

That’s when I started to break that first list item into smaller items.

1a. Who owned the building?
1b. Did anyone want the building gone?
1c. Did that anyone make an offer for the building?
1d. Did the owner say no?

From those questions, I knew why this building. I didn’t know who. But I knew, finding out who owned it, and who made the offer, would fill in more details. And might well answer item 2 on my list, “Figure out what I don’t know.”

247 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 485 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Looks like Harvey and Deborah have returned. 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.

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#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

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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

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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.