The Author

Heide Orleth '22

When I woke up today, everything was normal. Well, as normal as I can get. That was until I saw her, and the reckoning came.

The day started as usual: perfectly average in every way. Save for the constant stream of chatter that swelled through my mind when near another person. My cat was acting normal, with a glowing "15" hovering above his head. He was a soft, weak little thing somehow destined to live for another fifteen years. My counter was never wrong.

The neighbors were also normal, all grumbling about work or school. If only the walls were a bit thicker, then I would be able to have a peaceful meal without others’ monotonous thoughts taking up mental space that could be filled with stories instead. My journal was already primed in my left hand as I twirled a pen between my fingers. I am the Author, after all.

I ate a simple bowl of oatmeal, like I do every day, and went down the staircase of my apartment complex, down to the bustling city street below. I stopped before the door, already cringing at the prospect of being near other people on their way to their chaotic working lives. Counting backwards from three, I gripped the door handle and pushed it outwards, lovingly greeted by springtime sunshine, even as the air temperature stayed frigid.

The cool breeze cut through my coat, sending a sharp shiver down my spine. It provided a wonderful brief distraction before the dam broke. I couldn’t help but squeeze my eyes shut as the flood of dozens of unwanted thoughts crashed through my mind and strained against my temples.

I've never done well with crowds. A myriad of emotions and crazed ideas rushed through people's heads at any time of day. Do you know how strange the average person can be? They stroll down the street with vacant stares, with wild daydreams lurking right behind their eyes. And who has more chaotic thoughts than hormone-ridden, overworked students? It made high school a waking nightmare before I managed to twist my parents’ arms and convince them to homeschool me.

The numbers too... They can drive a person mad. Seeing how many years, days, even hours left to a person's life is often terrifying. Unaware commuters with mere minutes left of life. Children no older than six with glowing "2"s over their heads. It pains me to walk on, ignore them like I do with the young adults that have sixty or more. I could have warned them, given them time to prepare. But they're better off ignorant. Trying to stop the inevitable will only make the truth worse.

Miraculously, today seemed happy. All the people on their way to school and work had life spans ranging from the sixties through the nineties. Their thoughts were small and insignificant compared to the nightmare I was about to fall into, though I didn’t know it yet. But for a moment, everyone was as content as a crowd could be on a chilly Tuesday morning.

I stood on the stoop for a moment, taking measured breaths until everyone faded into background noise. The day was so pleasant that I shrugged off my previous plan to lurk in the corner of my favorite café in favor of visiting the nearby park, just two blocks east.

It was an oasis, an emerald jewel nestled in the glass and concrete forest. The advent of the work day kept it free of human interference, a welcome change from my norm.

Ambling along the gravel paths, I stopped at the bank of a nearby pond. The water shifted with the gentle breezes, giving the surface a strange mirrored look. Another second passed with me gazing out onto the water, but the appearance of a new reflection next to mine yanked me back into the real world. I looked around, but there wasn’t a person in sight. I tried to shake off the unease swelling like a pit in my stomach. With a huff, I sat down on a nearby bench, its wood cool against my back, warped by weather and time. I let the sun caress my skin, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

I opened the notebook I was carrying, pages chock full of seemingly random scribbles and doodles. The words were details of the lives I encountered, ones that were interesting enough to twist into some coherent storyline. No one knows that all my stories are based on the thoughts and lives of strangers that caught my attention. Critics praise me for my original, relatable, and captivating storylines. They know nothing.

A small family walked past me: a single mom and her twins. After a moment of concentration, I could hear her just as clearly as if she was speaking directly to me. They were taking a brisk walk before the mother had to return to work just to keep the trio afloat. I listened patiently to her struggles, writing in neat cursive a plot based off this stranger walking by. They'll never know that they are a source of inspiration for a future bestseller. They will only feel a sense of relatability and a wisp of déjà vu.

I was just starting to relax when things fell apart. A girl—looking no older than fourteen—locked eyes with me from across the pond. She had definitely not been there seconds earlier. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, with matted, greasy black hair framing her sunken cheeks. She wore a tattered sack dress and was barefoot, her pale bony feet exposed to the elements. But what scared me the most was the infinity symbol shimmering above her head. The air seemed to leave my lungs, and I tentatively reached out to see what she wanted. Apparently, she had the same idea.

An unfamiliar feeling sent a tremor through my every nerve. It felt like a needle was entering my head from the nape of my neck, sinking into the storm behind my eyes. It burned every step of the way. Is this what it felt like when I read other people? Exactly how bad of a person am I? Part of me wondered if I would survive long enough to find the answer.

A raspy whisper echoed through my frozen mind, bouncing off all the thoughts stuck in place as I stood there, paralyzed with fear.

“We know what you have done, who you have hurt.”

Recognition shot through me like a bolt of lightning, and I did my very best to keep from fully panicking. My resolve threatened to break at the sound of her voice, the tone oh-so-familiar even after all this time. She knows what I did for my abilities, who I… My worries were cut short by the girl materializing in front of me, mere inches from my face. I could feel her hot, sticky breath on my cheek before I stumbled away.

“We know the deal you made, now it is time to pay it back. You traded me, now I will finally exact my revenge. Be prepared to burn for all eternity, Author. You have no escape.”