Left Holding the Bag II

I stood in the doorway debating whether to go back into the fire house to use the phone. I thought, this blond is in traumatized and probably isn’t going to walk very far. Maybe, she even needs medical attention. So, leaving her leaning on the side table, I went in search of a phone. Fortunately, it wasn’t far back into the fire house. With the receiver clenched in my hand I dialed 911. Continue reading

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Left Holding the Bag

Walking down the broken sidewalk, I tripped over a brown bag. Not like a lunch sack, an expensive leather bag. I busted-up my knee falling over it. I figured it was just sitting there on the walk and so was I, for at least another five minutes, I might as well check it out.  I unzipped it to find several rosy shades of soft, lacy lingerie. It was a bit on the hefty side to contain only nighties. I shuffled through them to discover a very black Springfield .40 XDSub-Compact. Continue reading

Prologue * edit 1

     I remember it  vividly. I was six, playing tag with my “imaginary friend.” My mother was chopping green cabbage in a golden pool of late afternoon sunlight. Dust motes swirled in a game of chase with my baby brother. My sisters, together in the corner as usual, played with dolls on the dirt floor. They already shun me, sometimes sharply.
     I, run-dancing away from my tag partner, grabbed hold of my mother’s heavy skirts. I felt her brace herself abruptly. The dust shifted from swirling to floating. My sisters are suddenly muted. My attention was drawn inward by a force, like gravity. I descended into my mind, my self separated from my body.
      I was surprised that I could I still see. I’d been transported to the barn though. My brother Hymn was in the loft. Only he was slipping over the edge. He was falling and terrified.
     Then, I’m in the house again. My mother is in motion already, running for the barn.  I am on her heels. I don’t understand it, but we have to get there. Help Hymn.
     Hymn was seven when he broke his arm falling out of the loft. That was my first vision. My first experience with Sight. I spent many years since trying to hide it. Now, the Indigo is too obvious to hide. Anyway, I’m ready to join the fight now.

Prologue Draft

     I remember vividly, I was six, playing tag with my “imaginary friend.” My mother chopped cabbage in a golden pool of late afternoon sunlight, dust motes swirling in a game of chase with my baby brother. My sisters, together in the corner as usual, playing dolls on the dirt floor. They already shun me, sometimes sharply.
     I, run-dancing away from my tag partner, grab hold of my mother’s heavy skirts. She stiffens midway through the cabbage head, while the dust shifts from swirling to adrift. My sisters are suddenly muted. My attention is drawn inside by a force like gravity. I am descending into my mind, my self is separate from my flesh. Oddly, I have eyes still, of a sort, but I’ve been transported to the barn and my brother Hymn is in the loft. Only he slips over the edge. He is falling and terrified.
     Then, I’m in the house again. My mother is in motion already, running for the barn and I am on her heels. I don’t understand it, but we have to get there and help Hymn.
     Hymn was seven when he broke his arm falling out of the loft. He survived. That was my first vision. My first experience with Sight. I’ve spent many years since trying to hide it. Now, the indigo signs are too obvious to hide and I’m ready to join the fight anyway.