Steel Ethereal

Ch. 2 Sense

Jenna

My tired magenta eyes barely flicker open from sleep, eyes that have always been described as odd scan my lonely bedroom. It's always when I'm woken at this hour that I feel I'm in the utmost danger. When my breathing steadies and I see there's no danger, I clamp my mouth shut and sit up.

It was the sense in me, the distant part of me drawing me to a certain place that woke me. As if on cue, the dogs in the yard outside my window begin howling out. They know just as well that I've witnessed something tragic. I love them dearly, but I wish they wouldn't wake the neighbors twice a month when this happened.

My eyes are the needle piercing the night's shroud. I need no light as I dress as quickly as possible. Though my eyes have use beyond simply seeing, they didn't earn me many friends. Added with the special gift in my mind, the one detecting auras, I felt the gazes and focus on myself.

The dream I'm roused from isn't exactly a dream. I sleep just like anyone else would, but if I could describe it, it feels like the coasting of a ship over the waves. I'm not in control of the ship, just along for the ride. Yet I soar high above in my dream, an astral body searching for others like me.

And tonight, is no exception. An Enoch, a being like myself has been found.

Dressed and ready to move, I take several deep breaths to relax. I'm high strung and usually feel this way during the day. Thankfully it's the only complaint I receive from my boss.

I need to take five, catch my bearing before leaving the house. I sit on the couch in my living room, pulling my legs up underneath me, and begin to meditate. I imagine the boundary of my body with every breath and feel it melt away. What lies beneath that boundary blends in with the still air of my home and I feel at peace. My heart calms.

A bun to contain my sandy brown hair is all I can manage for now. It minimizes distractions and keeps my shoulder length hair from tickling my neck.

The scenery I've seen in my pseudo-dream is captured with a near photographic memory. But unlike those who would describe such memory as a gift, it traps the horrors I've witnessed. Soon I'd have to visit with a counselor for burnout from the things I see monthly.

But it shows me that there's a survivor. Someone to rescue.

As I brush through the front door of my home, I realize I haven't made my bed. My stomach growls demandingly and I feel the slight irk of irritation that I must leave without performing the rituals before work. Cleaning after myself and making sure I'm ready for the day. But this isn't just any other day. I wouldn't even be out the house for an hour.

I brush my annoyance aside and focus on the location. The trail that led me to the poor boy asleep in the mud. I'll need pristine detail to ensure that I'm not out longer than I need be.

Still, I'm held up a bit as a sniffling, whining masses of fur come to greet me at the front door. Rescues, the whole lot. I brush as many on the top of their heads with the tips of my fingers and feel wet noses and tongues on my palms. I feel guilty for not greeting them each individually and make a mental note to buy them treats later.

I hush them gently and they oblige. One after the other, they snort or pant as they sit in place and allow me to leave.

A smile crosses my face as I pass the wooden gate. This was the third gate this year since my furry companions all decided to team up and chew on the bottom to escape. It wasn't uncommon for my neighbors to see a roving pack of dogs eager to get out for a bit with me chasing them down, leashes in hand and an exasperated look on my face.

My feet are on autopilot as I power walk through the streets so late at night. I've put no socks between my bare feet and sneakers. Blisters could be dealt with later.