Mental

You can fly. When the woman points her finger at me, I hear a voice
intruding in my consciousness; perhaps hers, were she able to speak. It
buries itself inside, digging in, and telling me I can fly. The mental assault
makes me lose balance for a moment, but with only one step I regain composure. Overhead, the woman hesitates. Now I see.
You must fly. She tries again, this time stronger, more assertive. It is met
with similar resistance. And then, finally, finally, my Eyes look at her.
And there they are. One on each leg, one on her back, a little one in her
left chest. I can see the lines, separating her body into little sections. The
one in her chest is likely the best target. Hitting that’d mean instant death.
This woman could be some sort of image, some delusion, or a ghost. But in
the end it doesn’t matter. Because with my Eyes, even gods can die.
Holding my knife in a reverse grip, edge-out, I raise my right hand, narrowing my gaze at my enemy while doing so. But she attacks me again.

I can fly. I can fly. I loved the sky since I was a child. I flew yesterday too.
I can fly higher today. Freely. Peacefully. Smiling. I have to go quickly. To
where? To the sky? To freedom? Let’s escape from reality! Yearn for the sky!
Fight gravity. Be restless enough not to stay in one place. Fly unconsciously.
Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go.
Let’s go. Let’s go.
GO!
“You gotta be fucking kidding, right?”
I raise my free left hand. The mental suggestion doesn’t work. I don’t
even lose my balance anymore.

Part 1, Page 27