Snapshots Birthday Bash

My name is Cyclop Blaine and I am a real person.
    “You are mine.”
I am a real person: heedless of a childhood spent under the supervision of an old man I only know as Master.
    “You belong to me.”
I am a real person: regardless of my teenage years bound by violence as the adoptive son of the Victory Street Gang's leader.
    “You will obey me.”
I am a real person: despite the visions I see in others' eyes. Snapshots of their futures.
    “You will cower before me.”
I am a real person: my life will be my own. I belong to no one.
    “You. Are. MINE.”

 A tidal wave of pain slammed into me as our gazes met. I stumbled back, my hands going to my head as the pain ripped through me. The real world disappeared, replaced by a future so powerful I heard the sound of gunshots cracking through the air, smelled the gunpowder, and tasted the smoke on my tongue. Everywhere I looked were snapshots of chaos. Smoke choked air. Fire consumed cars. Cops and gang members huddled behind the few cars not engulfed in flames. Bullets were frozen in midair. It was a battlefield.
I was on my bed when the snapshots faded away. Muscles ached and my head felt like someone was banging a hammer against my skull. A hand stopped me when I tried to sit up, gently pressing me back as another covered one of my eyes.
Tyler sat on the edge of my bed. His lips were pressed into a thin line. “Jaden said you were hit by a vision, said you were kicking and screaming.” A sarcastic smile filled his face. “Said that pig was freaking and tried to take you to the hospital before I arrived and brought you home.”
I tensed and sore muscles throbbed. “Feels like it.”
“What did you see?”
Despite the headache, I recalled the visions with perfect clarity. “Officer Davies stopped us and was grilling me like usual. He forced me to look at him. I saw a cop fight. The whole precinct had to have been there. They were fighting the SOS, but the location was wrong. It was on our turf.”
Tyler frowned, silent for a long moment. “Did you see anyone familiar? Family?”
“I only recognized a few of the police. What’s it mean, Pop? Are we in trouble?”
“Dunno,” Tyler murmured. Wiping the worry from his face, he focused on me, clasping my shoulder. “Lemme deal with it. You just rest.”
I settled back on my bed, my aching limbs and eyelids feeling heavy. It didn’t take long for me to drift to sleep. In my dream, Father appeared. He examined me before ordering me through an obstacle course. The time was monitored along with my heart rate. Sweat covered me, and my legs shook when I finished. A smile lifted my lips. I ran it in record time.
Father scowled at me, his blue eyes hard like diamonds. “Again. Faster.”
“Yes, Master.”
I ran the course again. And again. And again. I ran until my legs gave out and I fell. As I lay in the mud, panting and gasping, I listened to Father talking to someone. I couldn’t see the person, only hear the voice. It sounded like a teenager’s voice. It rose in pitch as the mystery teen argued with Father. Finally, he relented to the teen. As the dream came to a close, with me passing out, an unfamiliar face loomed over me. The teen smiled widely, his blue eyes shining with delight.

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Patricia Lynne never set out to become a writer. In fact, she never considered it an option during high school and college. She was more of an art and band geek. Some stories are meant to be told and now she can't stop writing. Patricia lives with her husband in Michigan, hopes one day to have what will resemble a small petting zoo and has a fondness for dying her hair the colors of the rainbow.

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  1. Okay, I have to admit, I squeed when I saw the green font. Great touch to the post. Thanks.

  2. No problem at all and I love the green font thought it would go good with the cover


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