2 Being different

The child was playing on her bed, her hand up in front of her eyes, a smile in her face. Through her fingers the sun rays were jewelled mots dancing in the air. No sound could be perceived from the rest of the house, the "siesta" hours as quiet as always.

The girl moved again her hand, watching the fascinating dance of the aura only she could see enlargening and decreasing with every twist she invented. Her joyful eyes didn't know anything of how strange she would appear to anyone witnessing the scene.

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The teenager looked as a regular teenager to the regular passerby.... Uncomfortable even in her comfy jeans, the books in her arms, the bus pass hanging from the rubber tied to the card in her palm, her golden glasses shinning in the last rays of sun of the winter afternoon. She was worried, passing her right palm over her right tight, feeling a ominous opresion in her chest. That was a bad day, she knew now enough to recognise the signs, but there was nothing she could do except waiting for the event to happen.

And then a car entering the street in front of her with a screeching sound of her injured tires made her raise her eyes. She locked her gaze with the driver, unable to change what she knew too well was going to happen. The middle aged man made a lascivious gesture, and her mouth couldn't help but start the curse. The words in her mind were presenting to her like letters written in flaming lava..."I expect you to crash". She broke the link with the man eyes and gave her back to him, with tears in her eyes. She knew what was coming next, the sound of the brakes and the loud sound of the heavy object impacting its pair...

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She was crying and she was mad with herself because of it. The music had been perfect, beautifully executed and sang, and the poor guy couldn't be blamed for the scenes and connections her odd mind was making. She knew he couldn't be addressing her directly. She knew he was not really sending her those lovely messages only her witchy mind could be dreaming. But she couldn't help it. She was wickedly drawn to think of him as a friend, and after listening the last song of his album, sadness had hit her hard. She felt the connection breaking as thin ice under the weight of a blue whale. Big! Catastrophically! Metaphorically silly!

She was crying, but not for him, not for her either. She was crying for the end of a magical relationship between an avatar her mind had created and a feverish powerful imagination.

She needed more tears to fall before completely understanding that what her powers had invoked was more than just a dream about a group of boys she admired...what had her turned into?

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