“Heroine”, he whispers into my ear.
Amidst a bustling crowd at O’Hare’s Terminal 3, I shudder and turn to face Fear. As suddenly I see him I grab his hand which is holding a syringe full of liquid. Fear moves away but I have it by the hand and I yank back while lifting the elbow of my free arm. Fear’s eye-socket and nose crunch, or maybe snap, behind my elbow. Fear loses its footing and falls.
An ocular cavity is in need of searching by the TSA.
“Help”, I yell. Although, I don’t know why. I certainly don’t need it. A man with a syringe full of something does, but I don’t really care about that.
“Stop!”, cries a uniformed pudge-cicle from a few feet away.
“Stop what?”
“Let go of the man and put your hands above your head!”, he yells as he waddles hastily towards me.
”I’ll let go, but I’m not putting my hands above my head. I’ll go wherever you need me to.” He’s not even looking Fear in the face. He’s only looking at me. I’m getting nervous and possibly angry.
“Hands behind your head”, he says again. This time very quickly and not quite as loud. Seeing that I do not want to oblige, he gets agitated.
”I’m not doing it!”, I yell even more loudly. Now I start skipping a little and in a circle to avoid his clammy grasp, which is now also holding handcuffs. “Somebody help! This guy’s not a cop!”
For an unknown reason, he pulls a gun. I recoil and instantly grab his wrists. I can feel it bubbling inside me. A rage I have never felt. An incredible hulk of a rage. I point his gun hand towards the sky and roar at him from an entire pride of lions laying just beneath my chest. My foot lifts up and I kick as hard as I can.
The cop, or fake cop, is now a screaming line-drive which has put a hole in the scoreboard; otherwise known as the bank of departure monitors. He’s seemingly lifeless, I have a hand in my hand which is also holding a gun, and a one-eyed, instant-freak is bleeding behind me.
I run … I jump … I can fly.
If one could become or could do whatever it is they believed they could, could one believe they knew everything and if they could, what would everything be? Does knowledge defy death?
If you believed yourself to be immortal, would time cease to exist? Would you suddenly exist in the past? Would you then have already existed there anyways?
I can’t sleep … again.
