Sometimes the anonymity of a big city was a good thing. If I didn’t talk to anyone, they probably wouldn’t talk to me. First the surrender song and now that horrible gift had come back. My mind again demanded, why now? There must be a reason. I couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled over my lower lashes and left an icy trail down my face. Nor could I halt the terror marching up my spine.
“Please, not again,” I whispered through my sobs. Seeing energy creatures again meant only one thing. Trouble. Somehow, I had managed, by the grace of whatever power, to banish the visions of the insidious beings, but only after long practice and long denial. The gift I did not want was coming back.
Why me? That phrase chimed inside my head; I wanted to scream it into the night. This “gift” had done nothing but ruin my life and turn my family against me. I had nobody to talk to or ask for help. People would call me crazy, or well on my way there, if I said anything about strange visions. After all, though the Bible may talk about things like demons and the Gifts of the Holy Spirit, folks I knew talked about them in past tense, not as something you ever saw in real life. It all sounded so beautiful and harmless in the scripture, but the reality brought me nothing but pain.
My next train rolled up, and the doors opened and spewed out bundled passengers. I stepped into its warmth. No visions, but I could feel so much despair and loneliness around me. Just what I need; an emotional barometer of humanity. But at least no one had brought a source of evil with them that I could detect. This time I was able to sit forward-facing, which made it easier to stare into the mingled reflection and blackness of the window.
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