Parallel: The Secret Life of Jordan McKay Read Online Free
Author: Abra Ebner
feeling lost. Why was I here? Why was I living this dream? I pinched my arm, but nothing happened. What if this was real? What if I had somehow traveled into my future, as I had longed to do for so long? I always wanted to know that there was life beyond what I knew at home, beyond the hell that was my childhood. Perhaps I had manifested it hard enough that now here I was, living it.
I shut my eyes, concentrating now on the past and the life I had known. The room began to feel cold and things around me to shook like an earthquake. I opened my eyes and looked at the woman, but she did not wake. It was then that the same feeling overcame me and my blood began to boil in my veins. I opened my mouth to scream, but before I could utter a word, I was back on the park bench with nothing but a popsicle stick in my hand and an orange stain on my khakis where it had melted.
Formulated from the journals
of Patient #32185
July 6th, 1988
3:47 p.m.
I dropped the popsicle stick to the ground, my legs dangling from the bench. I put my hands to my forehead that was now ripping open with pain, much as it had on the bus. My stomach lurched then, my body doubling over as I rolled off the bench and to the ground. A cold sweat coated my body, and I begged for my life to end, to stop the pain. I lay frozen for a moment, concentrating on my breathing, until the aching began to subside and I was able to take a deep breath and open my eyes.
To my relief, no one had noticed that I was here and it was hard to know what had happened in the time since I left. I looked at my pants and I could feel my cheeks flush as the orange syrup became sticky between my fingers. I propped myself up off the ground with one shaky arm, dirt clinging to the stain on my pants as I rested for a moment.
It was then that the pain was replaced by fear, fear of what my father would do when he saw me. I wiped the sweat from my brow and got to my feet where I ran to the nearest drinking fountain. I clasped my hands together and gathered a handful of water, splashing it on my pants and praying the stain would leave. After scrubbing as well as I could, I let my pants dry in the sun, looking at my pale young skin and remembering the way it had looked just moments ago.
I thought about the woman, searching my brain and finding her existence felt real, not like a dream that would quickly fade. My fingers still tingled with the memory of the way her hand had felt, her soft skin. It was real.
My head was still pounding but I found that all the knowledge I had gained on the bus had stayed with me. I looked toward a nearby sign, finding that reading it became easy, each word a recognizable symbol rather than the complicated mess it had been at kindergarten. I crunched my brows together, realizing the power of the talent that was now within my grasp. I was confused as to why or how this had happened to me, scared that it wouldn’t go away, but then again, did I want it to?
I kept breathing, not knowing what else to do. Everything felt like it was happening so fast that my mind raced with the possibilities, finding that perhaps at a time like this, finding reason was a waste of energy. If I were dreaming, as I hoped I was, then why could I see and feel everything with such vivid detail? I looked at the scar on my hand, seeing that it was now fresher than it had been on the bus, youthful and new like before.
An idea came to mind then and a childish smile spread across my face, my large ears flexing toward my hair. I needed to test this, to see what it was I could do, to see if it was something I could control. My body still ached from before, but I didn’t care, the feeling of adrenaline was too strong to ignore. I lay back in the grass and closed my eyes, allowing the world around me to dissipate as I began to think.
I concentrated on the day I got the scar and the neighbor dog that had bit me. They had put the dog down because of it, claiming he had never
I shut my eyes, concentrating now on the past and the life I had known. The room began to feel cold and things around me to shook like an earthquake. I opened my eyes and looked at the woman, but she did not wake. It was then that the same feeling overcame me and my blood began to boil in my veins. I opened my mouth to scream, but before I could utter a word, I was back on the park bench with nothing but a popsicle stick in my hand and an orange stain on my khakis where it had melted.
Formulated from the journals
of Patient #32185
July 6th, 1988
3:47 p.m.
I dropped the popsicle stick to the ground, my legs dangling from the bench. I put my hands to my forehead that was now ripping open with pain, much as it had on the bus. My stomach lurched then, my body doubling over as I rolled off the bench and to the ground. A cold sweat coated my body, and I begged for my life to end, to stop the pain. I lay frozen for a moment, concentrating on my breathing, until the aching began to subside and I was able to take a deep breath and open my eyes.
To my relief, no one had noticed that I was here and it was hard to know what had happened in the time since I left. I looked at my pants and I could feel my cheeks flush as the orange syrup became sticky between my fingers. I propped myself up off the ground with one shaky arm, dirt clinging to the stain on my pants as I rested for a moment.
It was then that the pain was replaced by fear, fear of what my father would do when he saw me. I wiped the sweat from my brow and got to my feet where I ran to the nearest drinking fountain. I clasped my hands together and gathered a handful of water, splashing it on my pants and praying the stain would leave. After scrubbing as well as I could, I let my pants dry in the sun, looking at my pale young skin and remembering the way it had looked just moments ago.
I thought about the woman, searching my brain and finding her existence felt real, not like a dream that would quickly fade. My fingers still tingled with the memory of the way her hand had felt, her soft skin. It was real.
My head was still pounding but I found that all the knowledge I had gained on the bus had stayed with me. I looked toward a nearby sign, finding that reading it became easy, each word a recognizable symbol rather than the complicated mess it had been at kindergarten. I crunched my brows together, realizing the power of the talent that was now within my grasp. I was confused as to why or how this had happened to me, scared that it wouldn’t go away, but then again, did I want it to?
I kept breathing, not knowing what else to do. Everything felt like it was happening so fast that my mind raced with the possibilities, finding that perhaps at a time like this, finding reason was a waste of energy. If I were dreaming, as I hoped I was, then why could I see and feel everything with such vivid detail? I looked at the scar on my hand, seeing that it was now fresher than it had been on the bus, youthful and new like before.
An idea came to mind then and a childish smile spread across my face, my large ears flexing toward my hair. I needed to test this, to see what it was I could do, to see if it was something I could control. My body still ached from before, but I didn’t care, the feeling of adrenaline was too strong to ignore. I lay back in the grass and closed my eyes, allowing the world around me to dissipate as I began to think.
I concentrated on the day I got the scar and the neighbor dog that had bit me. They had put the dog down because of it, claiming he had never
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