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Invisible [MAY2015}

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posted on Apr, 28 2015 @ 09:25 PM

Emily Parks buttoned up her coat all the way to the neck, put the hood up, and shoved her hands in her pockets. Looking down, she began to make herself invisible. Not literally, physically invisible, but psychically. No one who saw the hunched figure crossing the street or heading down the alleyway would give a thought to her, nor would they remember her or be able to describe her: she was completely “blank” on their radar.

She crossed another street, oblivious to the traffic. Drivers in cars slowed down unconsciously to avoid her, the bus even coming to a full stop. They kept going after she’d moved past, not even realizing they’d done anything unusual. Invisible. That was exactly the way she liked it.

Invisibility was really only her second ‘gift,’ if you want to call them that. The first thing she could do, the best thing, sat patiently within her vaulted soul, held back by her gloved hands, and shuttered heart. She often laughed at herself, and smirked over what Superhero name she’d earn for herself, or whatever. She’d never come up with a good name, and didn’t really care.

Sidewalk dirt and trash in the gutters filled her eyes. The night was covered in spotted clouds, with stars up somewhere unseen amidst the lights and noise of the city. She neared the Mall.

At this point, she began to jog lightly, in a mood to get this thing done, this experiment of hers. It would be morning soon, and she needed to be in place to make it happen. She tried not to see the homeless man covered in a dirty blanket, where he was lying on dirty cardboard, curled over a vent for warmth. She tried to make him invisible, and failed. She stopped in her tracks.

Reaching into that secret place inside her, she felt his wretchedness, his addiction, his wounds below the addiction, back through some horrible war he’d scratched his way through, only to lose a piece of his mind. He’d gotten lost down some alcohol soaked alleyway, running from the ghosts of Bagdad.

She didn’t even need to touch him, like she used to have to do when she first started. Now she just had to “tune in,” like listening with some other whole universe of brain and heart and blood that streamed through in an energetic river binding all things to all things into One Thing; she just stepped in, and flowed.

She went back in time, in history, finding the places he got lost, sensing the mistakes, the pain, the fear, the regret and guilt. He was full of the dark: his heart held no more stars and Death lingered nearby, sniffing at his dirty hair.

Rushing into the lonely ink of his soul, she reached up and up and grabbed a bit of all the brightness he had known, and wrapped it in what looked like a blue-white star; a Christmas as a child, a walk in a park, going fishing with his Grandpa on a lake, a girl he kissed, a child he made with a woman. She added to that star a brightness, and strength, and multiplied its power to where it could do some good. She mentally/soulfully, whatever it was, touched him deep in that center of the pain, and placed the star, where it glowed, and grew, and worked the magic of its healing.

He let out a soft moan, and she heard him and felt him stumbling back to the world, holding desperately to the shine. It worked quickly. He was already fighting back the pathways of “never” and “should have” and destroying the monuments he’d built from fear and guilt and hopelessness.

His body, his ruined liver and lungs and swollen heart, all the way down to the base pairs of DNA, soaked up the light. They were remedying themselves - regrowing healthy cells and dissolving weakness, toxicity, and a lifetime of abuse.

She took in a deep breath, and the corners of her mouth bent upwards, her eyes wet and chin trembling.

It was like music, the feeling of placing the star like that, and it felt like some tiny piece of discord in the universe snapped back into harmony, into the form it was meant to be. She felt a hot tear roll down her cheek, and she staggered forward a bit, but her energy would soon return.

The wars had scarred so many in this way. Putting them into positions of impossibility, where no man or woman could remain intact. Wars. The word rolled around in her brain like a bell rung in the depths of man’s invented Hell. Violence. Whether it was in the home or on the battlefield, it filled the world with a jarring, tangled, incoherent beat that fought to overwhelm the Structure, as she called it, of Harmony. But it was too much for one, even like her, to transform. She had to work in small pieces, like tuning one string at a time on an infinite instrument.

Late one night, after she finished up her barista job, and had curled up on her combination futon bed and couch, repainting the almost black polish on her short but well-kept nails, she had an idea. It took weeks to really form, to work into a plan, and now she was ready; she had to keep moving.

She scuffed off down the Mall, barely glancing at the white obelisk towering up, or the greek revival with its giant statue of Lincoln. The Vietnam Memorial hunkered in the dark, all those names crying out for her to do something, to make it stop. She kept to the shadows, to the blank invisible wall around her, and ran.

edit on 28-4-2015 by AboveBoard because: (no reason given)

posted on Apr, 28 2015 @ 09:25 PM
* *

It was a large room, and some of it seemed, well, too real, too subtly in disrepair. A snagged thread here, a chip from the wood of a chair back, there, a subtle echo of a stain from someone’s drink - it was not what she expected.

She sat very still, the wall around her, waiting, spinning a star inside her chest.

The arguments went on for a long while. She tuned in to everyone there - especially the ones that she knew would vote the resolution through. She went combing through their energy, undoing the ridged knots of perception, breaking open steel traps of circular logic. She saw the dark in each of them and she knew all they had ever done. It was chilling, as always, to gather secrets this way, but she did not do it like the NSA, in the hopes of catching a crook or terrorist: she did it to unweave the threads that lead to this moment, this vote on the floor.

“This Resolution would be dangerous to the entire area, if we enact it. We would be sending thousands of our men and women into yet another potentially endless conflict…”

Good, she thought to herself. It was working. The hours dragged by. She tuned in to hear what they said like a swimmer coming up for a breath, before diving back into the swirl of tangled energy, chasing threads of fear and hatred that slithered like eels.

“…from the Great State of Oklahoma, I vote ‘No’,”…”
“…proudly representing the Great State of Texas, I vote ‘No’ on the Resolution for War with…”
“…Arizona, will be voting ‘No’ on this ill-conceived…”
She kept at it until she felt something snap into place like a magnet being pulled onto metal.

She looked up just in time to hear the final gavel. The resolution that everyone had expected to sail through Congress, had spectacularly failed. She smiled.

She had learned a lot. She now knew her next steps, and which companies controlled whom in the bought-and-sold farce still labeled “Democracy.” She would find a way to visit every board room, invisible to all eyes, shining her invisible light, twanging the discord back into Harmony.

Someday, there would be no homeless man to trip over, ravaged by war and drugs of choice. Someday sooner than later, if she had her way.

She wished she could stop by a Hospital on her way home, before showering and dressing for her shift, making sure her cat was fed and the plants watered at home in her tiny little room-for-rent. She was too exhausted. It was one thing to manage a healing one on one, or even to work a whole floor of a Hospital, but to manage an interwoven conversation with so many entrenched patterns and stubborn heads…that, was like running a marathon.

In a few days, she thought with a ghost of a smile, she would visit the SCOTUS hearings…there was a ruling coming up that would play into her Big Picture against violence…then…well, she’d figure her next move. It might have to do with Wall Street, the Banks, the “Military Industrial Complex,” she wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, she’d keep at it. Violence would die a death of a thousand cuts.

She walked her invisible way down through the city, her feet slogging through the rain, destiny like wings at her back.

* *
“What the hell were all of you smoking in there?” the enraged man screamed into the phone. “I had a billion dollars riding on that damned war and you were supposed to deliver me and my company a victory. What happened?” He barked at the Representative from Georgia who cowered at the other end of the line.

“I don’t know, sir, I really don’t…”

“Don’t give me excuses!”

“I’m not, sir, really, but there was something strange on the video footage, sir…”

“What in the hell are you talking about! Something strange? Like what, the “No” vote passing from your lips like you were all having some kind of love fest orgy? Speak up!”

“..on the recording, sir, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there, but who sat through the whole thing, on the floor of the the House, sir.”

“Who! Spit it out!”

“We don’t know, sir, but we are working on it. The strange thing is, we can’t see a face or any details, really, there’s a strange kind of…blueish glow around them and they didn’t film right.”

“A bluish glow?”

The Congressman pulled the phone away from his ear, as if the blue streak of cursing that assaulted him through the speaker might somehow actually bruise his brain. When the idiot had calmed down, he would try to finish. He was scared, in the way that he felt fear. He could admit it. He could see his next election going down the drain, and he’d know why. The arms manufacturer would not be adding to his funding and would most likely back someone else.

Yet there was something…something different in him that he couldn’t explain. He’d been overcome with a strange feeling he’d never had before - he rarely had feelings at all, and considered them odd at best. He had a diagnosis, but no one would ever know it. Being a sociopath did not, he knew, make people vote for you.

The feeling had lessened, whatever it was. It gave him time to think, to realize with horror what he had done. Who could possibly have infiltrated the House, gotten past security and sat there for hours without being noticed?

As the cursing continued, he knew his next move. He’d call his contact over at the CIA, who had some darker dealings, and in turn he’d farm it out to one of the creepier jackals. Those boys never lost a scent. He couldn’t stand to be around them, really, as they scared the crap out of him. Evil. They exuded it, like they carried their own private Hell Mouth inside and it seeped out their skin. Even he bowed to the face of the Devil.

He shuddered visibly at the thought of engaging such creatures, but this was an emergency: kill or be killed, politically speaking. He let himself be yelled at for a while, and then made promises he knew he’d make good on with his next phone call, before hanging up.

He had no sooner hit the button to release the call than he brought up his contact to the world of shadows.

The phone rang. It went to message after a couple seconds. With a few words, he set Hell in motion. He’d be damned if he’d let that…person…the Infiltrator, remain invisible.


edit on 28-4-2015 by AboveBoard because: (no reason given)

(post by BaltimoreRioter removed for a serious terms and conditions violation)

posted on Apr, 29 2015 @ 03:02 AM
a reply to: AboveBoard

I am LOVING this!

She's like a balancing force for the shadows at the end of phone lines the world over! Great character! Woo!

posted on Apr, 29 2015 @ 07:37 AM
Something we could really use in real life, a balancing force!

posted on Apr, 30 2015 @ 08:01 AM
a reply to: AboveBoard

This is so very very VERY Cool AB! I loved it! Two Stars and a Flag for sure!
Maybe someday they will let us give more than that
for stories like this that deserve more!!!

edit on 30-4-2015 by SyxPak because: (no reason given)

posted on May, 2 2015 @ 04:38 AM
Very creative and well done !

posted on May, 7 2015 @ 05:36 AM
a reply to: AboveBoard

The thing about your stories, is that from the very first sentence you know you're in safe hands. You can just give yourself completely to the story knowing that the author will guide it perfectly, no questions will be left unanswered, no details omitted, everything that you need to understand the characters will be provided.
Did I say before that I loved your writing? I'll say it again, just in case.

Your character is brilliant, partly because of her superpowers and partly because we all have her ability albeit to a lesser degree.

I would give this a gazillion flags if I could -

posted on May, 7 2015 @ 03:48 PM
a reply to: AboveBoard

My, oh my, once again you nailed it. I can totally imagine you as this superhero. If you are, I need what you got!
Such a good job!

posted on May, 7 2015 @ 06:47 PM
a reply to: beansidhe

This is one of the highest compliments that I could be paid for my writing - thank you so much!! Made my day!

Worth way more than a gazillion flags!

- AB

posted on May, 7 2015 @ 06:50 PM
a reply to: grayeagle

Oh, grayeagle, I'm so very glad you read it! And I WISH I was her! Or at least had her powers. That's the great thing about fiction, you get to explore all the possibilities. Wish I could send whatever you need your way...

I sort of sat with the idea of what would be the absolute most invincible power a super hero could have, and the ability to take the evil in someone and heal it means you win every time (and so does your antagonist).

Thank you!!

- AB

posted on May, 13 2015 @ 05:19 PM

Kudos. Excellent writing.

posted on May, 13 2015 @ 06:31 PM
a reply to: BuzzyWigs

Hey BuzzyWigs!

Thank you so much for reading!

I appreciate the very high praise, indeed. I rather like this character, and comments like your are encouraging; she may return!


posted on May, 13 2015 @ 06:34 PM
a reply to: AboveBoard

I think she's awesome.

Reminds me of a story I wrote years ago, where the protagonist character was able to 'resurrect' road-killed animals.

posted on May, 13 2015 @ 06:51 PM
a reply to: BuzzyWigs

Cool! I would love to read that!!

Have you considered joining in our contests sometime? It would be great to have you...

- AB

posted on May, 13 2015 @ 06:57 PM
a reply to: AboveBoard

Nicely done!

posted on May, 21 2015 @ 04:24 AM
a reply to: AboveBoard

This was very compelling, thanks for sharing. It's quite an amazing premise I have never read or thought about before. This part was especially intriguing to me:

Rushing into the lonely ink of his soul, she reached up and up and grabbed a bit of all the brightness he had known, and wrapped it in what looked like a blue-white star; a Christmas as a child, a walk in a park, going fishing with his Grandpa on a lake, a girl he kissed, a child he made with a woman. She added to that star a brightness, and strength, and multiplied its power to where it could do some good. She mentally/soulfully, whatever it was, touched him deep in that center of the pain, and placed the star, where it glowed, and grew, and worked the magic of its healing.

It would be amazing to have such abilities. It also makes me think twice about people in general, especially the downtrodden or "scuzzy" types people treat with no regard whatsoever. Even the homeless types who actually are really snarky and terrible probably have a pleasant memory within them from their childhood. I need to remember that the next time I come across a crackhead who may or may not have stolen my brand new phone LOLOL

posted on May, 21 2015 @ 05:10 PM
a reply to: swanne

Thanks, swanne!

a reply to: corsair00

I so appreciate your comment. I always hope someone will get something "more" out of my stories than just entertainment (though that is a good thing too!). Thanks for telling me how it affected you.

This story represents the superhero powers I most wish I had - and while she has definite weaknesses, how better to defeat evil than to heal it/remove it from the individual who is your adversary?

Thanks so much for reading...

- AB

posted on Jul, 6 2015 @ 04:26 PM
Well done! I agree with everyone else that this is a character well worth developing further. I love your imagery - to me it seems very archetypal and reminds me of the way that things come to our awareness in dreams. Death sniffing at the homeless man's hair really caught my imagination. Keep writing!!!

posted on Jul, 7 2015 @ 08:27 AM
a reply to: gwynnhwyfar

Hey, thanks! I most appreciate you taking time to read the tale... Hope to see you again here in the 'writers corner.'

- AB

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