Psychic Assault

Derrick gasps, air sucking raggedly into his chest as the pain of a thousand icepicks lances through his skull from all directions.

…he fell through the ice and drowned…

The pain is intolerable, and Derrick fears he’ll go mad, yet almost longs for the relief such madness would surely provide.

…I don’t know why he won’t see me…
…class is kicking my ass…
…think I’m going to be sick…
…at him. What’s wrong with him?

On and on the voices pound through his skull until he can bear no more. And then, like a cool breeze, another voice intervenes.

Do not resist. That will only make it harder.

It is such a welcome relief, Derrick claws his way toward the voice and, in clinging to it, finds himself once again. He’s sprawled on the sidewalk, sweat-sodden and nose bleeding, students veering wide around him. He scans the crowd and locks onto the dark, intense eyes of a woman nearby, achingly beautiful, leaning against a lamppost.

Come with me, her voice sounds in his head. I can help you.

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