Miyu's Wish by Casey Bryce Read Free Book Online

and now, years later, it’s beginning to resurface. Oftentimes this happens through a recent event, or trigger, that suddenly occurs.” He sounded like a college professor.
    “I see,” I said, mulling over his words. “So, I’m experiencing these…feelings…because something has recently happened to make me remember something else I chose to forget in the past?”
    Clarence stroked his chin and shrugged. “Yeah, sounds about right. Sure.”
    I looked around; no one seemed to be eavesdropping. I leaned in close and whispered: “But what if I’m receiving, say, visions of someone else, and I think this person might be sending me a message. Maybe a warning?”
    He gave another shrug. “Oh, that’s easy to explain.”
    “It is?” I said, hopping slightly in my seat.
    “Indeed. You’re either psychic or crazy. But probably crazy.”
    He smiled, trying to show he was just joking, but I glowered at him and then pushed away in my chair.
    “Hey, I was just trying to be humorous,” he said, sounding irritatingly logical. “How else could I react to that? Come on, let’s take a look at these paramecia. They’re really pretty neat.”
    “No thanks,” was all I said, laying my head down on the table again but facing the other way. I wasn’t really angry—it had just seemed like, for a moment, he was the one I could confide in.
    We didn’t talk much for the rest of class, and I ignored him on the way out as I rejoined Marlene. But as I chatted with my friend, I realized I could never explain my problem to her either. Students bustled all about me, and yet I was completely alone.

    As the week progressed, I found myself enjoying Art more and more. We had begun learning to paint, and the process of expressing my feelings through stroke and color proved very cathartic.
    “Very…abstract,” my teacher, Mrs. Scribbs, said doubtfully as she beheld my first masterpiece. Perhaps to the untrained eye it did seem like a mess—a dark maelstrom of intertwining, swirling strokes without beginning or end.
    “It’s the turmoil I sometimes feel…within myself,” I explained, not really sure how else to describe it. All I knew was that it had made me feel better.
    “Well, it’s also a C,” she said dryly. “I suggest you stick to fruit for your next one.”
    I frowned as she walked away.
    “I like it,” said Lizzie, the bookworm from the first day of school. She was currently sitting on the floor by my easel, reading another book. “It contains a raw, primal quality that captivates the eye.”
    “Um, thanks Liz,” I said glumly.
    “But you sometimes really feel like this?” Mary Beth interjected, stepping away from her own piece and peering at my work. “I always imagined you as being pure sunshine and rainbows.”
    “Why would you think that?” I asked, lifting the painting from the easel and placing it on an adjacent table. “I can get depressed like anyone else.”
    She stared at me in her usual, intense way. “Because what problems could you have? You’re cute, likable, and able to charm anyone without even knowing you’re doing it.”
    “That’s not true,” I said, glancing warily around the classroom. I caught the eyes of several guys and girls, and they immediately turned away. My cheeks burned red.
    “She’s right,” Lizzie said, her nose still in her book. “Even your bra fiasco has already been forgiven. Not everyone would be so fortunate.”
    This made me lurch backward into Mary, who pushed me forward again.
    “Liz, lower your voice!” I hissed, grateful no one had heard her. “And I do have problems. I’m short and clumsy and timid…”
    “And paradoxically,” Mary Beth said, returning to her own weird painting of a sleeping fish, “is why everyone likes you.”
    I considered this. “So why do
you
like me?”
    She gave me a thoughtful glance, tapping the end of her brush against her chin. “Because you’re genuine. You’re the real deal.”
    “And,” Lizzie added, looking