Writing Prompt

“Ummm hey. Are you good? What happ-“

Her voice drowned out as the sound of the crowd around me became muffled. My vision became blurry, eyes shifting in and out of focus. I could see her mouth still moving, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing she could say to fix what she just unknowingly broke.

I know it’s not her fault. She can’t control what she thinks. But knowing this didn’t lessen the pain in my chest, the ache in my heart.

I thought she was my friend. But no true friend would think that about me. Even unconsciously.

Is this how everyone sees me? An insensitive monster that goes around hurting everyone around them? A girl with no regard for anyone’s feelings? A selfish, petty, irresponsible bitch?

Hands clamp down on my shoulders and shake me, pulling my vision back into focus and my resuming the world around me.

“Woah, you totally zoned out. What are you thinking about?”

I plaster on a fake smile and shake my head. “Nothing. Sorry, I’m just tired. Anyways, what were you saying?”

She smiles at me before linking our arms together and stepping forwards, a subtle signal to keep walking through the crowd. Words start to fly out of her mouth once more, and once more, I am not listening.

I could have confronted her. But that would ruin everything that we have. Our memories together, our dreams, our future plans. So this is for the best. I should just forget about what I heard. But I can’t. Her words were still ringing in my head. Words that I will never forget. Words that I wish I hadn’t heard.

Metro Port was its usual crowded. Heavily armed security bots flanked each gate, kiosks offered protein pastes, synthetic alcohols in fancy bottles, and exorbitantly expensive fresh fruit. Passengers, arriving and departing, raced through the beehive of the Metro Port. The buzz of thoughts made Tricky feel tipsy.

It was his meal break. Myna thought he was getting a little soft in the middle so instead of zoning out to vids Tricky walked the space port concourses. He’d worked here over eight years and still he marveled at the changes. At first he loved watching the space ship launches the ships piercing the sky. Next he turned to people watching but it felt too much like work. Thought scanning flagged passengers day in day out was exhausting. Three weeks into his wife’s stupid diet Tricky’s mind focused on food.

Each break was a new gastric adventure, Tricky would smell grilled steaks from the elite lounges. He concentrated on the antics of the pretzel makers and pizza spinners. Today’s adventure was the produce kiosk in Concourse C7. Marlo, his assistant, had raved about the orange pomegranate salad he got for his birthday.

Real melon chunks in orange and green beaconed from a bed of ice. Tricky oohed and ached over the Boston lettuce and fingerling potatoes. A splash of red caught his eye. A brilliant white porcelain tray displayed succulent tomato slices.Tricky’s hunger pushed out all the noise and throbbed like a sore tooth.

Hey mutt you’re turning away paying customers, the clerk thought. Anyone ever tell you you got a face like a slapped ass.

The insult poked at Tricky’s temple. The clerk was deeply tanned and model beautiful with straight white teeth and sparkle eys. Irritated, Tricky mentally scanned the clerk.

“May I help you, sir. You look like a citizen with discerning taste. We have some lovely orange segment sfresh from the farms of Mars,” the clerk said.

Fresh enough for you hemorrhoid. Boss makes me soak these bad boys in glycerine and sugar water, sucker, the clerk thought.

Tricky flinched at that thought. He could see the tub of fetid liquid in the clerk’s mind. A flood of health code violations poured out of the clerks thoughts into Tricky. Straightening, Tricky grimaced as he sucked in the pretty boy’s disdainful internal monologue. The clerk’s handsome face paled under the tan tint when he noticed Tricky’s TSA Telepathy ID. Most telepaths were low level inutives and emotion readers. At the TSA, the mind readers were highly trained lie detectors and a few like Tricky could jack thoughts.

Tricky smiled and the clerk shuddered.

“Hello sir, hello. Things are fine. Everything is fine here. Nothing to see here.”

Tricky cocked his head to the side as the clerk’s thoughts hiccuped with panic. The kiosk’s owner was the clerk’s uncle and a little bit shady.

“Inspector Henderson, report to security headquarters. Inspector Henderson report Code Gray.,” the public service announcement blared.

The overhead vid screens flashed an alert. Sighing and feeling tired, Tricky tapped his watch to give his staff his ETA. Code Greys, unreadable passenger or sentient android, were never easy. Tricky released the clerk’s mind. The handsome young man thrusted an apple, shiny red with orange flecks. Tricky wondered if this was part of that fruit smuggling shipment that came in last night. The fruit was fresh and untaxed.

“Apple a day keeps trouble away,” the clerk blurted out.

Polishing the fruit on his shirt, Tricky gave the clerk a knowing wink and walked off.

Tw: Fowl language and mention of violence!

People will always live with regrets, even those who swear they never will.

‘I wish I worked harder’ ‘I should’ve arrived earlier’ ‘I could have studied better’

Regret is just human nature.

The connivence store lights flicker above the cash register in an uneven tempo. It blinks like an novice winker, slow and awkwardly. The lights would buzz a loud hum, the kind of buzz that signaled the light would blow.

The walls of the store are a sickly white. Without the shelves, the dinky place could have passed for a hospital room. The only decorations to be found in the place was the horrendous poster of a old school model in back of the shop.

The poster was a fake blueish color that had clearly faded with time. Her body screamed fake as she had an unnatural tan with even more unnatural lips.

Amy thought the poster was interesting though, well she had to, otherwise she’d go insane listening to asshats all night. Tonight it was, thankfully , quiet in the store. Well at least for now.

The connivence store Amy works a night shift in is Robbie’s Everything Shop. it’s a run down place thats sprawled on the corner of a poor neighborhood. Despite of what one would except from a store, the place gets most of its customers at night.

Maybe because it looks so shitty, it attracts the worse of the worse. Well, atleast in Amy’s opinion, the people that willingly come here are grime of society. However, people around here aren’t shitty mostly because of what they do, its how they think.

Ding-Ding

“I aint lyin’ man! Hit him with a good one two and his ass crawlin for his mommy!”

‘Man I should have hit up Britney, instead of this bitch. Atleast she aint that ugly’

There it is! The shit people in question. Since she started this little gig she had been blessed with this power. The ability to read minds! A splendid power really, it makes her night shifts a little more interesting. Of course she can’t read every little fart of a thought people have, just their regrets.

The couple that walks in is sleazy, obviously so. The girl is wearing a black, too tight tube top with a baby pink mini skirt. The guy? He’s your neighborhood white boy trying to be a thug. He’s sagging in skinny jeans and wearing an over sized jersey. He walks in a stiff way like the jeans he’s squeezing in are to heavy.

‘Why did I agree to go with him’

The girl is uncomfortable, without having to have mind reading powers, anyone could tell. The way she leans away from the guy while she forces a laugh. How she sends her right and left thumbs to war as she talks. When he hugs her she bites her lips hard to fight back her disgust.

The couple, which can be debated, heads to the back of the store in a corner where Amy can’t see.

‘I should have just stayed home.’

There’s an obvious shuffle and giggle from the man, and honestly, shit is nasty. Amy takes upon herself to save herself, whoever is watching the cameras, and the girl grief by breaking it up.

“Hey! Come on man do that shit at home. This is a store not a back alley”. She speed walks quickly down the aisle with a run down broom. When Amy reaches them she’s met with, she called it, too close hug the two are having.

“Man fuck off, we aint doin nun”. The boy’s slang is so stiff, a 50 cent knock off of a black accent.

“Well if yall ain’t, then go on out the store.” Amy retorts, it’s too late in the night to deal with them.

“Well it isn’t any of your business what we get down too” the girl snips back. And wow. Amy is taken back in shock, the girl obviously didn’t like the guy, she’s heard it and seen it, what the hell is her problem.

‘I wish I didn’t say that, please help me’

The girl’s face doesn’t match the regret that just blasted Amy’s mind. Her face is twisted in anger, while she leans closer to boy.

“Well it’s not my business, but it is my job. Just leave man.” Amy tries again, her fists clench as she frowns. This girl needs to get her mind in check, it really confuses your average mind reader.

“Man forget this shit joint, lets go Jackie.” The guy is pissed, it shows in the way he snatches Jackie’s hand in a bruising grip and tugs her towards the exit.

‘Please don’t let him.’

Amy rockets to grab the girl before she could process what she heard. The girl looks shocked that Amy is helping her, and honestly she wasn’t alone in that.

“Let go of the girl, you’re obviously making her uncomfortable.” Amy mechanically retorts, she doesn’t know why she’s doing this. Amy doesn’t receive a big enough paycheck to intervene like this.

‘Can she hear me?’

Isn’t that the question of the day? Having her powers discovered was not on her bingo list.

“What’s the damn problem yo? You kick us out, now wanna keep my chick? You got a crush on her or sum?” The boy yells, his voice become high pitched in anger as he lets go of Jackie’s hand in favour of point accusingly at Amy.

“Look Adam let me solve it, just go home” The girl finally speaks up, her real thoughts this time. Amy would have applauded if it weren’t the wrong time to say that shit.

“Man hell no! you know what-“The boy pulls a gun out of his skinny jeans.

Amy knew this wasn’t going to be a peaceful night, maybe she should have called off.

Amy yanks the girl to go duck and hide as bullets begin to fly.

I know you don’t care about all the hard work I do, That’s fine, it’s what I’m used to.

I tuck my face into the worn fabric of my scarf, shuddering at the blistering mid winter air of Brooklyn, New York. The sky is dabbed with heavy clouds that litter snow onto the concrete jungle of the city. Skyscrapers are capped with piling snow, and lamplights pepper the bustling streets with their amber-like glow. To every bystander, I’m Artemis Brasov, Russian-American senior high schooler. But I am, without a doubt, the wielder of an ability so terribly unthinkable. I can’t seem to understand how I acquired it or why, but I find it an extremely unnecessary thing to be ‘gifted’ with. The thoughts of pedestrians echo through my mind, voices interlacing. Why didn’t you call me? Did you just spill coffee—? You look beautiful today.
Why do you keep lying to me? I’m so sorry for what I . . . I’d give anything to blockade the sounds from reaching me. But as always, they are relentless storms painting my mind in the heaviest hues, like the harsh strokes of a roughened paintbrush. My phone buzzes with an igniting life from my parka jacket’s pocket, doing little to tame the snowballing voices from stopping short. A text from Lujain. She urges me to go to Rebecca Ronald’s house party tonight, supplying the message with dozens of emojis. Lujain is what you can assume to be someone who’s nearly my friend. Though I think her acts of sympathy are branched from guilt over the fact that I’ve been bullied numerous times by my classmates. Hardly anyone befriends me for any reason other than pity. I take a short detour at Zimmer Cafe for a coaxing cup of coffee before resuming my journey to the library. My phone is assaulted with yet another text. Lujain will stop at nothing until I agree to attend the party. And all I can do is agree.

She walks into the room with faint circles under her eyes. Makeup doesn’t cover the lack-of-sleep marks.

He walks into the room with a strong scent. There was a party last night. He didn’t bother to shower before class.

She sits down at her desk and rubs her thin, scared arms. She shivers against the open window.

He stands from his seat and closes the window, because he too, is cold with the drugs slow in his system.

She smiles sadly, her thin lips crack from the lack of food and dry air. But it’s okay. She’s losing weight. She’s getting fit.

He returns the smile and goes to sit with the jocks. Pop some pills in class, get high and hit up bro’s a vape while the teacher drones.

She falls asleep on her desk, her thin hair covering her face. She started losing it from the stress of being her.

He comes to wake her up. Feeling sorry for her as the bell rings for class dismissal. He walks her to the bus stop after.

She looks into his eyes. And together, they share words… that neither has said; “I wish I was good enough.”

His hand passed over hers as he gave her the money. Their fingers overlapping for the briefest of moments, but igniting and fueling a years worth of yearning in him. Even though it was a slight exchange the lingering feeling of the softness of her skin caused him to falter as he pulled his hand away. He clenched the bag holding his new to him antique collectors box and for a moment, just an infinitesimal second he thought he recognized the same light in her eyes that he felt in his heart.

Max wasn’t sure why he mulled over the feeling and poured so much energy replaying the moment in his mind. But the touch, ever so slight as it was, felt intoxicating.

He knew Sandra only in passing. They talked often, their conversations may not have only been surface level; however, they never quite passed into an understanding of one another more than to hardly even be called acquaintances. It didn’t matter, Max felt drawn to her. He wasn’t sure if it was her zest for life, her irritatingly infectious sarcasm, her beauty, or the mystery of not knowing more about her, but he wanted her. All of her. He’d felt this way for months and never had the courage to admit it, although he made a point to come to her shop and purchase something, even if he didn’t need anything, just to get the chance to talk with her and waste a few minutes.

Max had never seen this light in her eyes until today, however. As he turned out of the antique shop, passing old war memorabilia piled on an isles end cap on his left and a glass case of trading cards on his right and reached for the door with black tint crawling from the corners he heard something. ‘I wish he would finally just ask me for my number or to meet outside of my shop…’ Max stopped as his hand grasped the handle of the door, already starting to pull the door a mere few inches. He screwed up his face in confusion, looking back, ‘play it cool, there’s no way she actually just said that out loud’ … and he was right, he knew from seeing her at the other end of the shop he couldn’t hear her as clearly as he just had in his head. He heard her thought as a whisper, but it was as crisp and clear as if he were wearing noise canceling headphones talking to her on the phone. She looked at him as he looked back, a slight blush in her tanned cheeks that might not be noticed by a stranger but Max could recognize the difference from a mile away.

He let go of the door, fingers sweating so much he wasn’t sure if it slipped from his grasp or he truly meant to let go, the door chimed as it shut. Inhaling deeply, Max stood a little straighter as he walked back towards Sandra’s counter.

“You know, Sandra, I’ve been buying cards here for awhile and I never really have actually used any of them. I just love to hear about your favorite one of the day. The way they make your eyes light up, how you get so excited your words run together and when you almost bounce with each step. I would love to actually learn how to play though, if you wouldn’t mind teaching me?”

“You’re kidding! You’ve spent way too much money on these cards to not even know how to play! I would love to teach you. But I’m warning you, I won’t take it easy even if you are new.” She said with a mischievous grin growing on her delicate lips.

“That’s fine with me, I love a good challenge, and would like even more if that means I get to spend some time with you outside of your store… not that it isn’t a nice store!” Max blurted out, starting to lose his bravado as he talked.

Sandra giggled, the skin around her eyes growing tighter as her smile widened and she teased, “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you are going to insult my life’s work now!”

“But of course, ma’am, I must insist on getting the owners number first before leaving. So I can leave a formal complaint, of course.” He said, eyebrows furrowing in the facade of a stern face.

“Of course, sir.” She replied, winking as she ripped a piece of paper out from a nearby notepad. She grabbed a burgundy pen from a cup covered in stickers next to the cash register. She slid the paper over the counter and Max reached out, smile burning his cheeks as their fingers touched again. They both lingered intentionally this time, Max put his thumb over the paper into her palm and clasped the rest of his fingers behind the back of her hand and she closed her fingers around his for a moment, her thumb rubbing the back of his as he slowly pulled the sheet away. Their gazes met, slow heart-pounding seconds passed before they said their goodbyes and Max walked away. He vowed to himself to never be afraid to speak his mind again, afraid of how much time he may have lost in not saying something to her sooner, but grateful for that momentary glimpse into Sandra’s thoughts.

The wind is cold. Cold and biting. It’s strong too and the branches of the trees around me bend and creak as they fight against its force. I’m sitting on a smooth marble slab with words engraved on it, words I’m trying to read but when I look up I see him walking towards me.

He’s tall and slim, just like I remember. He has dark brown olive skin and bright brown eyes that sparkle sadly. He’s dressed plainly with a brown winter coat and an old black fedora. He has a light fuzzy scarf hanging around his neck haphazardly. In his gloved hands he holds a bouquet of flowers of various colors and types.

As he approaches he begins to stumble and tears well up in his eyes. The moment he reaches me, the bouquet falls out of his hands and silent tears roll down his cheeks in quick procession. He crumbles to the floor and his hands move to cover his eyes as he weeps uncontrollably, choking over his own tears. He doesn’t say anything but it doesn’t matter because can hear him loud and clear.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry”

The words are loud and harrowing. They seem to bounce off the trees and throw themselves back at me with even more pain and sorrow.

I slide down from my marble seat to the prickly grass below me and sit right in front of him. I gently place one of my ghostly hands on his cheek and try to gently wipe away his tears like I always used to do when he was a little boy but my hand can’t seem to touch his tears.

He slowly looks up at me but I know he’s not really looking at me. He’s looking at the gravestone behind me. He’s reading the name written there. He’s reading my name.

“Mom, I love you. I will always love you.”

Once again, his lips haven’t moved yet I hear his voice in my head, loud and clear.

“I love you, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.”

The words play over and over like two separate voices, fighting over who can be louder, becoming more painful and miserable each time they’re repeated.

I close my eyes and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. It pains me to know he can’t feel it. It hurts that he’ll never know that I’m here, right now with him, and that my death is not his fault and that I love him and I will always love him.

“Excuse me. Do you have the time?”

What he really wanted to say was, “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I just have to meet you.”

I have a gift that can be a blessing and a curse. I can hear the things people wanted to say to someone but didn’t.

Given human nature, most of the time it feels like a curse. There’s the mother diagnosed with cancer who I overhear tell her daughter at coffee that she’s feeling great. Or the guilt ridden teenager who I know wants to tell the convenience store clerk to run out the door, but can’t, just moments before he pulls a gun on him and demands the till.

There are also times that it’s truly a blessing to be able to hear what someone wanted to say but didn’t. I get to hear people kindly spare each other’s feelings. There are the countless silent acts of generosity, when someone drops off a donation or buys a street paper and I can hear they want to say “let this help even a little to make your world better.”

But my appreciation for my gift grew immeasurably yesterday, when a young girl came into my restaurant yesterday with two adults who could have been her parents. They were seated at a fourtop near the front window. As I approached their table, I noticed the girl and her “father” make eye contact. The man was stern and she looked scared.

“Are you ready to order?” I asked. The adults mumbled yes. “What would you like sweetie?” I said, looking at the girl. She said “a hamburger, with ketchup and fries.” But that wasn’t what she really wanted to say. She wanted to say “Please help me, they took me and I don’t know where we are going.”

I had to work hard not to react in that moment. I kept a small smile on my face and took the adults’ orders. I walked casually from the table, past the counter, into the kitchen, pulled out my phone and called the police.

The officers arrived just as the “family” was getting up to leave. I saw one officer look at the girl, look at the picture on the paper in his hand, nod and put a hand on his gun. The other commanded the two adults, now racing for the back door, to stop.

Next thing I knew guns were firing, ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ went down, and the little girl ran sobbing into my arms.

I don’t know what happened to the little girl after that, but now I know the true power of my gift and I plan to use it!

“I can’t really explain it, Emily it’s just that - I’ve been really struggling”. Ryan sits on her bed slinking into the corner, physically withdrawing further. “It’s okay, try to help me understand” she says back, reaching to place her warm hand on his shoulder. Emily hadn’t used her powers on him before, and she never felt the need to in this relationship. But she could tell Ryan was deeply conflicted, and normally so eloquent, he was at a loss for words.

The moment her fingertips came into contact, Emily winced. It was as if a loud static channel volume had been cranked up to maximum. How could anybody’s voice make it through that noise. She closed her eyes, as she crawled closer to Ryan and took him in her arms. The crackling ever so subtly lowered, and she could begin to hear him - his true voice. It was faint, and muffled, but she heard it.

“I don’t want us to break up - I don’t want us to break up” was all she could hear, and she felt Ryan’s heart beating rapidly still.

“I know we have been dating a while, and there may be rough patches, but I want to be with you during it all.” She calmly spoke, attempting to quell his inner doubts. But nothing could prepare her for what was about to happen. “I do too, babe” Ryan half-heartedly smiled, but another voice chimed in the background “If she was ‘the one’, that would have been easy to say, but it wasn’t. Maybe I don’t love her after all”.

Emily’s heart plummeted and she shuddered. “Is - is something wrong?” Ryan asked, visibly confused at the response to his affectionate words. Emily’s eyes began to water, and she felt her own heart rate increasing. “I just realized the time, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you. I have my exam tomorrow and I need to prepare still, so maybe it’s best we talk about this later?”

“Oh yeah I’m sorry I totally forgot, you told me about this one earlier. I’ll let you get to it” he slid off the lifted bed and shuffled toward the door. Putting on his shoes, he looked over at Emily with her arms crossed and smiled. “Want to do lunch after you crush that test?”

“Maybe”