Be prepared for onslaught of pictures of my pups, Thor and Rosie.
This is another First Time post, this time focusing on a First Argument. I might be stretching this one a little bit, because I sincerely doubt this is the first argument any of these characters have ever had, but it’s the first in this story, and this is related to the First Meeting post which you can read here.
After a thoughtful moment Grandpa asked the question I had been dreading. “What did you see?”
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I told them everything I had seen. The blood, the slashed and mangled body, and the fact that it was a young women. That part hadn’t registered with me at first, but replaying that horrible scene in my head I saw she had been beautiful. Before he got to her. Brown hair, as best I could tell through the blood. And her face had been untouched. Clean, actually.
At my descriptions, Gran’s lips pursed in anger. I’m not sure if it was anger at what had been done to the poor girl or anger at my having seen it. Probably a bit of both.
“Could you tell if it was a memory or a something the person was just thinking about?” That was my dad, always straight to the point.
“No way to tell unless it was a conscious thought. And it wasn’t.”
“Do you know who you got the vision off?”
“I…no. There were so many people getting of the ferry the same time we were. I was bumped from behind and ran into a couple of people in front of me because of that. But I couldn’t tell you what any of them looked like. It was just an ordinary crowd.”
Will pushed the plate of cookies towards me, knowing how much I loved them. I’m sure he was hoping to help cheer me up, but I couldn’t eat. The sights I had seen kept swirling in my head like a tornado of blood and gore.
“What do we do with this information?” Grandpa asked.
“What information?” Dad countered. “The information that my psychic teenage daughter saw what could have simply been a sick psycho’s fantasy when she brushed up against some unknown person in a large crowd? Maybe it was a scene from a movie that stuck with someone. Maybe it was…”
But before Dad could keep going, I interrupted. “It was real. I don’t know if it was past, present, or future, but it was real.”
Gran put her hand over mine. “How do you know that?”
“The rage and the…the…pleasure behind it. It was a feeling of pride, I think. Pride in the scene and the act. I think that’s how the vision got through my defenses. It was the strength of the emotions that allowed it to push through, maybe even helped it.”
“I repeat,” Grandpa said, “what do we do with this information?
Everyone looked at me, but it was Dad who spoke. “We do nothing with it. We don’t know that it means anything or even have any concrete details we can pass to anyone.”
“Dad,” I said quietly, meeting his stare with one of my own, “you know that’s not possible. You know that’s not what mom would have done. I have to go to the police.”
“Absolutely not,” Dad said. “There is no way I’m letting my teenage daughter tell the police she may have seen a crime scene in someone’s head because she’s psychic. At best, they’ll blow her off. At worst, they’ll try to lock her up thinking she’s mentally ill.”
“Now, we should talk about this,” Gran said. “Maybe she can tell them something useful.”
“And what exactly would that be?” I had never heard my dad speak to Gran in that tone of voice and apparently she hadn’t either.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, Robert Matthews,” she said. “I am still your mother, I don’t care how old you are.”
“Yes, you are. And I’m Francie’s dad, so I get to decide what’s best for her.”
“What about what Francie thinks?” Will asked, his quiet voice drawing attention from everyone. “She’s the one who saw it, she’s the one who has those pictures stuck her in head now. Shouldn’t she be the one to decide the next steps, if there are any?”
I smiled at him gratefully before meeting my dad’s gaze again. “You know I have to say something. What did mom always tell me? With great power comes great responsibility.”
“That’s from Spiderman,” he said with a sad smile.
“I know that. But the sentiment is the same and she meant it. Mom always said because I had this extra sense that allowed me to see what others couldn’t, I had to help if I saw an opportunity. What if that poor woman I saw on the table is still alive right now and I could help save her? How can I walk away from that?”
Dad leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up straight. “You don’t know what it’s like, Francie, to try to tell someone you have knowledge that you absolutely shouldn’t have. I saw your mother try time and again to tell people things they didn’t want to hear, it didn’t end well. Many times either they didn’t believe and she wasn’t able to change anything or they listened to her and became suspicious of how she knew what she knew. I don’t want that for you.”
“I know,” I said. “I know you want to protect me dad, but when it comes to this, you just can’t. This is my ability, my call.” Dad stared at me for a second with sad eyes before standing up and walking out of the room.
All I’ll say about this Wordless Wednesday post is that these are all places I’ve thought about running away to…
This week’s random Wednesday topic is a peek behind the scenes of my current project. I haven’t been super productive lately, or productive at all, but I’m going to give you a sneak peek of the project I WANT to be working on.
This story came about from a photo flash fiction prompt last year. If you’re interested and want to read the story that started it all, click here. I think this is going to end up being the prologue, or maybe some sort of flashback. I definitely want it in the story somewhere.
The main location of the story is a bed and breakfast in New England, I see a house in my mind kind of like this:
I also have a pictures in my head for a few key characters. The main character is Abigail, a widow who moves out East to start over. For her, I picture someone very girl-next-door, wholesome, sweet.
For her deceased husband (who I realize isn’t actually in the book but still plays a large part), I didn’t have a specific person in mind. Not someone famous anyway, but a certain look for sure. This character is based on someone I knew in high school, but we’ll need to add some curly hair.
For the dashing doctor, Kyle, non other than the beautiful Chris Pine. Let’s all just take a minute to appreciate those eyes.
And finally, for Abigail’s new friend Maya, who brings a wonderful group of people into Abby’s life:
This is basically just the most beautiful town ever, obviously.
I’m not sure what else I can say about the story at this point. I guess it would be categorized as a contemporary romance, my first foray into that area. Up until now I’ve focused mainly on YA. I’m probably a third of way through the first draft and I’d really like to finish it by the end of the year. That’s my goal.
See what the other bloggers are working on, and say hello to our newest blogger, Torrance!
This week’s topic is an angry letter to anyone or anything we want. I thought for a long time about the subject of this letter, and last night while I was trying to fall asleep, it came to me. Gizmo.
Gizmo is my neighbor’s dog. I can’t get a picture of Gizmo without looking super creepy and stalkery, so we’ll just substitute in this one:
The Gizmo that lives next door is not that cute. He (or she) is some sort of tiny mutt that’s black and white (dirty, dingy white), with a Mohawk. But not even a cute Mohawk. It’s a dumb Mohawk. The neighbors (otherwise known has Creepy Old Dude and his Wife) tie Gizmo to the front door to let it out, which ends up being next to our drive way. So when we park and get out of the car, we are treated to a lots of high-pitched, angry barking. Or, when we go out on our front porch. Or take our dog out at night for a last bathroom break. Or, as happened last night that prompted this post, our dog and Gizmo saw each other through our living window which started a barking/beagle howling battle at 10:30 at night. Awesome.
I’ve never been a dog person per se, I’m more of one now that I have a dog. I’ve gotten to like many more of them in general.
I severely dislike Gizmo.
I guess this wasn’t so much of a angry letter. Here, I’ll end on a short one.
Dear Stupid Gizmo,
Don’t choke on a bone or anything.*
*I would like to point out that I would never wish or condone harm on an animal, but that is the most annoying little bastard of a dog.
I’ve been missing in action for a little while, but I’m trying to get back on the bandwagon, starting with this week’s Wednesday post…What I Wanted to be When I Grew Up.
I was a little all over the place when I was a kid.
I wanted to be a marine biologist for a long time. Not to work at a place like SeaWorld. But to work with dolphins or whales in the ocean. That was, of course, before I stopped swimming in natural bodies of water. But that’s another story.
Then there was my FBI phase. That lasted quite a while. And I’m not sure where it came from, maybe The X-Files. I think it fizzled out about the time I told my mom about it and she laughed at me.
I think maybe I wanted to be a writer, but that was a little too abstract for me as a kid. Although I’m not sure why.
I did go through a serious phase where I wanted to be a photographer for National Geographic. I think that one might still be going on. But I’m not that good at photography.
I can tell you I damn sure never wanted to be an accountant. But if I could be as cool as this guy…
Yet somehow, that’s where I ended up. For now at least.