I jumped up, scared and determined. Beads of sweat dribbled down my forehead, and I smacked them away. I anxiously looked around, waiting for the nightmare to continue where it left off. Gradually my heart began to slow back to normal and I realized the dream was just that, a dream. I sighed and climbed out of the bed towards my bathroom. Climbing into the shower, I try to recall what exactly it was that scared me so bad, but all I could do was draw a blank.

The only thing I remember was I was being chased. By what, I don’t know, but it scared me. I turned the stream of water off and pulled a towel around me, tucking it snug under my arm. I dressed lazily, uncaring of what I would wear. Today was just another day at school, boring. Another day I would sit in the back, not paying attention and just barely getting through without confrontation.

This particular morning, though, it feels like something different is on the horizon and not because of the unease from the dream. Something felt right, but wrong. I slink down the stairs and into the warm kitchen. Mom’s been at the stovetop again, of course playing the typical 80’s house mom. I find my plate, filled to the edges with bacon, eggs, and two waffles. I moan at the delicious aroma.

“Good morning, mom,” I greet before I devour my bacons and take two large chunks from the waffles. She turns with such a big smile on her face. We don’t exactly have the best mother-daughter relationship, but she tries. I smile a closed mouth smile and continue eating. Mom picks up the gallon of orange juice and gestures to it and a glass. I nod vigorously, suddenly parched. She hands over the glass and I swallow half the glass in seconds. I’m suddenly curious why I am so hungry and thirsty.

“Did you eat dinner, dear?” my mom echoes my thoughts. I nod and then shrug. Maybe it’s just nerves about this feeling in the pit of my stomach, or maybe I really had a workout from that dream, I could’ve been flailing around all night. I decide to not care and finish devouring my meal.

Afterwards I make my way out the door to my car. It’s a hand-me-down, from my brother Jeffery. He’s off at college, sporting around in a more up to date vehicle. My parents didn’t hesitate to buy it for him, anything for their Yale acceptance student. So I got stuck with the rust bucket, which fortunately hasn’t kicked the bed. I climb in and get the car to start on the first try, a first time thing for this vehicle. I smile and put it in reverse and make my way to school.



Today would’ve been like any other day if people hadn’t been staring. I’d always been looked upon with disgust and ridicule, so when people looked, and not with disgusted faces, I was a little freaked out. I continued through the day, ignoring the awe stricken faces, without much success. Why do these people continue to torture me? Is this some kind of sick joke? A ‘lets-make-the-loser-girl-think-she’s-special’ trick? I thought angrily and deflated. Some part of me enjoyed the attention that was usually lacking. The class bell rang and I darted out the door to the girl’s locker room. I was definitely relieved to escape the eyes as I changed in the stall but as I walked back by the lockers, passing the giant mirrors on the wall, I finally realized why people were so shocked. Everything was the same, my mousy brown hair, full pink lips that were chapped once again, the same rounded facial structure, and the same black rimmed glasses. But what lurked behind the think lens is what bothered people. My eyes glowed cranberry red, my pupils against the color almost lost. I wanted to scream, would have screamed if the girls staring from the corner hadn’t interrupted my meltdown.

“Got a staring complex?” I snapped, oddly ruder than I’ve ever been to anyone. Their eyes grew wide, as they made a hasty beeline to the locker room door. I imagined how the color of my eyes would darken with the fluorescents making my gaze even more threatening, how my lips would curl up over my teeth as my tongue formed the syllables that had exited my mouth.

I looked back at the strange sight of me and calmly pushed my hair up into a pony tail. I decided that above all the creepiness set in my eyes, I liked the feeling of power I had over those girls. I smiled, and my image contorted. I was menacing, I half expected the evil cackle to escape my throat. Looking at myself I knew two things. 1. This could be the greatest thing to happen to me, and 2. Or, this could be the worst thing to happen to me. I shook my head and walking out the locker room door into the world that maybe, I really didn’t care how it ended.



When the last bell rang, I nearly flew from my seat outside to the parking lot. I feel the burn of curious stares from all directions. It’s odd, when you feel like people are watching you and you try to see who and it seems like no one is. Only thing is, I know they are. The evidence tucked perfectly in my eye sockets.

But this time, when I turn towards the eyes watching me, I nearly shout. Eyes, like mine. For a minute I stand curious if I only caught my reflection off a car. But the reflection had short blonde hair, not long brown hair. No, the other set of eyes belonged to guy, a man standing at the edge of the parking lot. He just stands there, staring at me, but something in his eyes is beckoning me to him. I feel my leg take a step, involuntarily.

And in seconds I’m at the edge, standing in front of him. I stare into his eyes, like mine, pleading for any kind of understanding. And suddenly, I know him. As if from thin air a name pops into my head. Michael, his name is Michael, I think. I feel thoughts, but they aren’t mine.

Sage, come with me, thoughts that feel like they’re coming from Michael. I stare up into his blazing eyes, confused by the unfamiliar thought.

Sage, I am talking to you telepathically. This discussion is best done under caution. You must come with me.

Why? My familiar voice, well mind. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I knew the thoughts were coming from him.

All in due time, but for now you and I must go. We have already arranged your alibi with your mother, so let’s go. He marches over to my car, and I smile. He can’t get in, my car locked. But then the car beeps and he opens the door climbing in the passenger side.

My mouth drops open and dig around in my bag for my keys. As I pull them out, I feel light-headed and stagger a little.

Yes, Sage, I opened the doors. And, no, not with the keys. You’ll understand if you just come with me, ok? His eyes shine through the windshield with pure understanding; as if there was a time he did understand.

I sigh, and climb into the driver’s seat and ignite the engine. I pull out of the parking lot and think my life has changed forever.



“Now what?” I ask when we arrive at the ancient looking building. After several misinterpreted directions and turn a rounds, we finally arrived here.

“Now, we go inside,” Michael says, looking intently at the building. His voice is like molten chocolate, smooth and sweet. The first time he’s actually spoken to me, well aloud. I notice for the first time how handsome he is. His sun colored hair, shining as the rays of sun hit each lock. His lips are thin and pink; his cheekbones look as if they were chiseled from granite. He is gorgeous, making my eyes hurt with his beauty. Even the unsettling colors of his eyes were handsome.

A tinge of pink makes its way from his neck to his cheeks. He’s blushing! Why? Did I say something aloud?

Sage, I can hear your thoughts, remember? He looks out the window as the message seeps in. He heard all those thoughts, how handsome I think he is. A blush creeps up my face now.

Sorry, Michael. How come you can hear me but I can’t hear your thoughts? Aren’t we suppose to be, like, in the same boat here?

I have more control, Sage. I’ve been doing this a little bit longer. Plus you’re just beginning; you can’t hear mine yet because you’re not focused. Training will help that.

How long? He looks over at me a question mark in his answering thought.

How long have you been like this? He shifts uneasy. He looks over at me and smiles a nervous smile.

“You don’t want to know the answer to that,” he says.

“Maybe I do. Listen I want to know how long I’m going to be like this, I got to expect when this will end,” I state, for the real first time realizing how scared I am.

Maybe the fear in my thoughts is what made him decide to tell me. Or the understanding of not knowing, either way he told me.

I’ve been like this for a hundred years, Sage.