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Sometimes, feeling a little selfish. |
She had the pointy ears, of course, but no one ever seemed to notice unless she pointed them out. Intuitive, they granted, and she seemed to get where they were coming from: they must have been communicating well, or so they thought. Felt as if they'd known each other before: but then that was crazy, wasn't it? Not always, but then, sometimes-- headaches would simply vanish or energy levels replenish inexplicably. They did take that Tylenol, right? Might have been the juice --oh but wait-- they were out. They never saw the smile after and they never saw her huddled, curled around slowly dissipating pain. Beyond empath, walking a singular trail. Never able to help them all. Not able to pick and choose, but just having a sense of knowing when the time was right. A bad car accident almost killed her even though she wasn't involved in the crash, just close enough to want to take their pain. Doctors didn't understand bruising patterns or how x-rays could simply change. Chalked up to overtired techs and anyway; she left, and more patients waited. A gift, one might say, and yet not one that is always pleasant. Having to watch a clear light dwindle to mere spark before flashing out or be helpless when black smothers, stealing all color. No road maps when tracing down last vestiges and yet one must be able to find their way out again, and then push it all away before exhaustion reigns. An invisible nudge, unacknowledged because unknown. As it should be. Oh, but sometimes, she is so tired and if you know, you can see shadowed eyes, the lethargy. Most can't or don't or never will. Pushes onward. She's used to it. Just as she's used to being accused when she cannot do what she wishes she could: not up to her. But then, that's why she never tells. |