Indefinite Length, Part 10
19. Aug. 2018
"Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'..."
You don't know why a Journey song is stuck in your head but you hum it. You think the glowing sigil on your palm is humming it, too, but you leave that hand in the pocket of your trench coat. Not that that's helping much; the light spills out in all directions, and you're glad that the neighborhood you're walking through is quiet, that most folks are toiling away at jobs elsewhere, or at school, or running errands on their day off. Nicer errands, probably, than yours.
In your other hand, you have your phone, and the address of your destination is pulled up on a map. You don't need to look at it. If asked, you wouldn't be able to recite the house number or street name, but the sigil is leading you there, like a game of hot and cold. You're getting warmer...
As you walk you wonder how many kids you are about to avenge. How many kids, over how many years, how much confusion and terror; maybe there were even suicides or mental breakdowns. He never got to me, you think, and feel even more furious for your survivor's guilt. If only I could give him their darkness, too.
You stop and pull up the photo from his social profile. The children standing around grandpa and his birthday cake look like normal kids. You can't see that shit on the outside, you chide yourself. It happened at least once, you think, because I saw it happen. That's all the evidence and reason anybody would need.
Checking the address since you're already looking at your phone, you head to the end of the street and make a left. The sigil heats up.
Further ahead, you see your destination, and stop again. There are two people standing on the front step, talking. Neither one is your target. They hug, and one gets into a car and leaves. The other goes inside. You pull your hand out of your pocket and squint at the glowing sigil. It's uncomfortably hot now. "Can I just do it from here?" you ask it, and sigh. "Damn."
|Detail from an original painting by Kim Breeding-Mercer|
IN WHICH: You don't know why a Journey song is stuck in your head but you hum it. You think the glowing sigil on your palm is humming it, too, but you leave that hand in the pocket of your trench coat.
© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 10"
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