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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

MythOfHappiness - Short Story Collection - 3. Gemini

“I’ve never tried to do this on purpose before. I’m sorry if it doesn’t work.”

“It’s alright. There’s no pressure, it’s just a practice test. Not important at all.” His tone and general demeanor console me somewhat and I feel marginally more relaxed.

On the table in front of me are a series of objects - pictures, old toys, some jewelry, and (somewhat disturbingly) an assortment of various colored locks of hair. I look back up at the man in the suit and he smiles reassuringly. I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to do this. Usually whenever it happens it just does what it does and there’s not really anything I can do about it. I’ve never actually tried to make it happen before. I guess I should just start touching stuff and hope something happens. I reach out at random and grab a little stuffed doll. It’s one of the old, super creepy ones with the eyes that open by themselves. Nothing happens so I drop it back to the table and pick something else up, a class ring of some kind. The letters CSHS are engraved on one side and on the other is the year 1986. I feel a slight twinge in the back of my skull when I first pick it up, but nothing more than that.

I return the ring and my hand slides onto an ancient polaroid of a little girl in a yellow sundress holding a bouquet. Except the dress isn’t yellow, it’s orange and the girl’s twelve years old and her older sister just got married to a man with a bristly beard that her Amma says is the color of cornsilk and when they kiss it looks like her sister is marrying a golden retriever and that thought makes her laugh and then Momma shushes her from one side and her Amma shushes her from the other and now Momma’s crying and Amma’s fanning herself with that big fan of hers and then it’s time for pictures and somebody hands her some flowers but she’s too busy thinking about that big table full of food in the reception hall to see who it was and she hears “Say Cheese!” so she does and the flash blinds me for a second and I’m back in the grey room with the mirror all along one wall.

“Are you ok?” The man scrunches his eyebrows together in concern

“Huh? I… yeah. I’m fine. I got one.” I answer.

He looks excited. Maybe a little too excited for a military guy. It’s weird seeing one of those quintessential men-in-black types look excited. “Really? What did you see?”

“Um… the girl’s dress was orange, not yellow. The picture is faded. She was at her older sister's wedding and she calls her Grandma Amma. That’s… about it. It was kinda weird doing it on purpose. It didn’t feel the same.” I look at the picture again and then set it down.

“And that’s all you saw? Just a wedding?” He looks almost disappointed.

I nod. “That’s all of it. Why, were you expecting something else?”

“Well… no. No, you did good. Do you know what the girl’s name is?”

I think about it for a moment, but can’t remember anyone saying the name of the little girl at the wedding. “I don’t think so.” Maybe... I reach out and touch the picture again, concentrating hard on the girl’s face. I smell a whiff of what I think is Amma’s perfume, but that’s all. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. You did good. We can try again tomorrow. Unless anything else here stands out to you?”

I look at the scattered objects and feel nothing. On a whim I reach out and pick up a pink pen with a fuzzy thing stuck to the top, very much the sort of thing someone my sisters age might use. Immediately I feel a flash, this one massively stronger and more irresistible than the last.

I’m in a classroom, this is clear. There are maybe eighteen or nineteen other kids, each seated in a desk just like mine. I’m writing something on a page, but I’m having trouble remembering whether C makes the kuh sound or the sss sound. I raise my hand and wait patiently for the teacher to finish helping Ricky Bonavue but it takes forever. “Teacher, I need help.” I say, as a friendly reminder that there are other people who need help.

“My name isn’t teacher, Gemini, and I am helping someone else right now. Wait your turn.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Kirkpatrick.” I say and put my hand back down, feeling chastised.

And then there’s a shift. Now I’m somewhere different, worse. It’s dark here. I’ve been here for so long. When are they going to let me out again? Then the door opens at the top of the stairs and it’s him again. Maybe this means I can go up? Maybe it means I can go home. They said if I was good I could go home. Maybe it means food. I’m so hungry. He takes me by the arm and pulls me to my feet, pulling me over to the bed. I guess it doesn’t mean any of those things.

I come back with a shout, throwing the pen across the room and almost hitting the agent in the face with my wild swing.

“Whoa, kid! Are you ok?” He asks, grabbing my arm before I can swing at him again.

I breathe, calming myself down. It wasn’t real. At least, not to me. I turn to him. “We have a problem. That girl-” I point at the discarded pen on the floor at the other side of the room “-needs our help. Now. She’s in trouble.”

“What did you see?” The excitement is back in his eyes now and I am uncomfortable to say I can feel it in myself as well.

“There’s a room, probably a basement. I don’t know where. Someone has her there and they are doing very bad things to her. Please hurry.”

“Where’s this room? Can you take us to it?” He has pulled a small notepad from his pocket and is taking down everything I say.

“She doesn’t know. I mean I don’t know. It’s somewhere near a Lincoln Elementary School, but I don’t know which Lincoln Elementary. There’s a Mrs. Kirkpatrick who works there, she may be able to help. The girl’s name is Gemini.”

He takes all this down and then nods. Ok, I’ll send somebody to look at this. If we can help this girl then everything we have been doing here has been worth it. He puts a hand on my shoulder in a way that I am sure is supposed to feel comforting, but in reality just feels awkward and uncomfortable for both of us. Then he leaves the room. I’m alone now. I hope they can help that girl. I get up and try the doorknob but unsurprisingly it is locked. Like he said, if I can just help this one person then maybe it will be worth it. Maybe.

Copyright © 2017 MythOfHappiness; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Great short story, but it really should be chapter one, because it's just getting started. Who is he? Where is he? More importantly, why is he locked up? Do they save Gemini? How long would it take to find a Mrs Fitzpatrick in a Lincoln Elementary School? Is it even today, the event he witnessed? Maybe if happened years ago? So many unanswered questions....

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On 5/10/2018 at 2:44 AM, William King said:

Great short story, but it really should be chapter one, because it's just getting started. Who is he? Where is he? More importantly, why is he locked up? Do they save Gemini? How long would it take to find a Mrs Fitzpatrick in a Lincoln Elementary School? Is it even today, the event he witnessed? Maybe if happened years ago? So many unanswered questions....

I agree, but the author is good with vignettes. Maybe these vignettes are meant to inspire other writers to expand them.

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