Paranormals
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- Parts 14
I, Casey Aguirre, am average. Except for the fact that I can run about five times faster than a normal human being. And that I can heal a broken bone in 45 minutes to 24 hours, depending on the size and how much I move it. But the most non-normal thing about me is that I can see and communicate with ghosts...and that I can recognize vampires and werewolves just by looking at them. For my family, this is normal. We are paranormals, tasked with being a barrier between the human and supernatural worlds. Basically, we kick some supernatural ass to keep our arrogant, powerful, very not normal friends in check. Not that we're actually friends. They usually have big issues when we show up to stop their plans for world domination. And we hate them as much as they hate us. And I was cool with that. I liked who I was. Until I met Nate. And realized I had to choose between my family, and him.
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.
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