An intense pain erupted in my head. I closed my eyes tightly trying to block out the pain. Thousands of voice started whispering in my ears. Hot searing pain. I've never put a hot iron to my head; never found a need to do so, but had I, I'm sure that is what it would feel like.
"Shut up!" My voice exploded with in me.
"Mr. Stowe!" My history teacher, Mr. Conley called.
As I opened my eyes, I realized three things
1) I was standing up next to my desk
2) I had an angry teacher burning holes in me
3) I had the attention of the entire history class
I slowly sat back down.
"Mr. Stowe," he repeated, "would you like to leave?" That was his usual statement for anyone who acted out during a class, so it didn't startle me. It was the phrase following it that shook me. After "would you like to leave?" I could have sworn I heard "I know I would".
This lead to two possibilities
1) I was hearing things
2) Mr. Conley was a ventriloquist
I answered with the usual, "No, sir," and he continued.
"What an idiot!" "Keep it up! I don't want to take anymore notes." "God, Dmitrius, stop being annoying!" The voices of my classmates echoed within my head, but as I looked at their respective faces, I saw no evidence of their having ever spoken. Was I hearing their thoughts? That must have been it. At 11:59a.m. I, Dmitrius Stowe, was given the gift of reading minds. Think of all the good I could do with this power. I could cure world hunger, make world peace. Or I could forget that all and use it to find out was my fellow students were thinking.
I cast a quick glace up at the clock. Forty seconds until lunch. I then surveyed the class in search of my first assistant. My eyes fell upon Allysia Curuthers. It would be interesting to hear the thoughts of the funniest girl in existence.
"With every single drop of blood, no scream escapes my lips. My cries are spilled on the ground in puddles of red. My silent cries resound within me. The comfort I need, the lies I tell, the nothing I accept. My only friend, a polished blade that not only reflects my visage, but my soul, tipped with blood, but filled with hatred, secrets, sorrow, remorse. Cut...cut...cut."
I didn't want to hear anymore. Allysia wasn't the fun-loving girl you see on the outside. Even if she had been different, I would have never expected her to be.
I turned to Cris Lamina interested in what goes on in the head of a completely dazed fool who seemed with all his talent to be eluded by simple conversation. As I listened for his thoughts, which expected to sound somewhat like "Uhh.yeah.sure.whatever.okay.uhh.yeah" and so on and so forth. But I didn't hear anything. Instead a picture began etching itself out in my mind. It was amazing! The intricate detail, the shading, the energy in every stroke. It was just amazing. It was a distinct picture of anything. It was life through an artists eyes: a picture, a feeling, a different sense altogether. I just sat there in utter stupidity at how complexly and intricately Cris's mind worked, which was a great deal more than my own, a great deal different from my own.
I turned away from the artistic excellence for a more down-to-earth, materialistic, conceited if you will, person, Chloe Atkins. It seemed like she was reliving a past moment in her mind.
"Wh-Who's this," Chloe stammered as she stood before some boy I didn't recognize. He had his arm around another girl. Tears started filling her eyes.
I could feel pain in my chest. It felt like loss, betrayal, and helplessness all as one.
"Chloe! I can explain! It's just that.she's my.cousin"
"What!" Obviously not even his "cousin" was aware of their relation.
Slowly and steadily the loss was replaced by anger, the betrayal by malice, and the helplessness with a surge of adrenaline.
Chloe's fist clenched, rose from its position at her side, and flew straight and true for its intended target.
The bell rang. The three friends on the face of the clock for that one second were reunited in happiness and relief. And I congratulated them on their combined efforts and victory. But the only voice I heard now were those issued verbally. My ability had been lifted from me just as quickly as it had been bestowed, but it had served its purpose.
"Allysia!" I called across the room. It was a miracle she heard me over the orchestra of voice, bags, and feet. I survived an obstacle course of people, their possessions, and desks. As soon as I got next to her I softly whispered in her ear, "Can we talk at lunch?" She nodded.
I turned to my desk, but stopped before I took a step, and turned to her. "And remember, "I said, "I'm always here for you.