--Garrick, Chakra, & Susan

There were holes in the plaid of his boxers revealing his freckled flesh—the color of a penguin’s belly gliding on snow. He tugged up bleached blue jeans in a nervous laughter going about his bear-like stride. Surely his face couldn’t be much worse, could it?

He wasn’t easily missed with his raspberry red hair like a single rose in a meadow of daisies. But past her hollering and the ballerina dance on her tiptoes, he seemed to vanish in this crowded parade.

The colors of dancer’s make-up surpassing even models’ on the runway, and the costumes like a masquerade ball, he had indeed managed to slip past her. He merged left and right like a New York taxi in a mad dash through rush hour. Every now and then—instead of cursing like New York taxis do—he’d apologized sympathetically when he pushed into a shoulder, kicked someone’s ankle, and even somehow managed to smack foreheads with a complete stranger.

Then her voice came echoing without warning and his feet froze in their present location as if she were a witch casting a numbing spell upon him. “Sweet mother of Jehovah witness, Garrick, are you a child after an ice cream truck?”

He was no child because he was well beyond his years mentally but appearing to be in his twenties. Normally he'd laugh at her comments but the girl he had accidently smacked heads with was the same one from his accruing visions. This forced the smile to fade off his face replacing the joy with confusion, possibilities, and questioning how her face could mirror his own. Did she have the visions too?

--Image supplied by Corbis Phtography, Titled: "Young Man Watching Flying Origami Bird", Photographer: Tony Latham--