Oya everyone! How’re you doing?
(why would you ask a question its not like they’re going to answer you)
Today I’m going to show you a short story I wrote a couple years ago. (Maybe three? I really don’t remember) I was rather proud of it at the time, it being the only short story I’d ever written. Reading it over again . . . . eh.
The idea for this story came to me one day while riding in the car, thinking about stories as you do. I’d been thinking about superheroes and The Mysterious Benedict Society and how superheroes or people with strange abilities could use their powers for everyday things. Then I thought, ‘Hey, a mind-reader would be incredibly useful as like a detective or a judge or somethin’. They’d always know is someone was telling the truth.’
‘. . . . . wait.’
And so this story came about.
Uh . . . here it is.
Kingsford was a rather average small town. Except for the fact that government investigators constantly examined the court system.
A few hundred people, two grocery stores, a park, and the town hall. The town hall wasn’t particularly outstanding, just a big white building at the end of Ashwood Street. But inside that building, the Honorable Judge John Moore pronounced judgement on criminals and supposed criminals. Every judgment was just, no person convicted on a false charge. No criminal got away with their crime.
Detectives from the governor’s office had tried for years to uncover the secret behind Kingsford’s impeccable verdicts. But none of them had come remotely close to the real reason.
Callie flopped backwards onto her bed with a groan. Rubbing her temples, she rolled over to snatch her book from the nightstand. Thank goodness for C. S. Lewis. She flipped to the page bookmarked with a receipt from Spend Less Grocery, scanning the story to find her place.
“It was nearly three weeks after their landing that the Dawn Treader was towed out of Narrowhaven harbour.” Callie attempted to forget about the events of the day, to lose herself in her book. But the images in the courtroom slammed into her thoughts again and again.
The case had been a relatively simple one. A man had been caught on camera holding up a gas station at the edge of town. Judge Moore shouldn’t have even needed her, but he always brought her in, just in case. The problem arose from the fact that the camera had only caught the man’s back, and none of the employees had seen his face. The man claimed that someone else had held up the gas station, and tipped off the sheriff to cover his tracks.
Callie, sitting in the corner at her little desk, had been almost invisible in the silent courtroom. No one noticed when the Judge glanced at the young stenographer. If anyone did, they assumed he was prompting her to record a particular phrase or such. No one could have possibly guessed his real intention.
She had taken an unobtrusive deep breath, closed her eyes, and reached to the belligerent defense. She searched through his memories, looking for evidence of the hold-up. She found a memory of holding a gun, pulling on a ski mask, going over his plan. She saw through his eyes the terrified face of the cashier, trembling as she handed him a handful of bills and change.
She was about to stop, to write down her findings and give them to the Judge, when a stray thought caught her attention. They didn’t find out about that guy yet. They don’t know. Along with the thought came an image. A man lying still on the sidewalk, blood flowing from a wound on his temple. A section of steel pipe in the criminal’s hand, Spattered with red. Trailing on the image were emotions; guilt, fear, panic, anger, and cold calculating decisions.
Callie had hastily retreated from the man’s mind, breathing fast and hard. She shakily typed up a shorthand summary of what she had found. Feeling sick to her stomach, she slipped to Judge Moore’s side and handed him the sheet that would condemn the man.
Now, lying on her bed with a book in her hands, she still felt as sick as she had then, almost four hours ago. In her sixteen years, she had seen many ugly things in people’s minds. Working for the Judge for two years had introduced still worse things into her life. But never had she found a murder in someone’s thoughts.
She shuddered, trying to erase the pictures of blood. Trying to distract herself, she forced her memories to turn as far back as they could go. She had a very near perfect memory, but she never decided whether that was attached to her power or not.
Callie remembered the hazy winter day when the Judge had come to see her at the foster care center. She was eight then, the “weird girl” who pretended to know what people were thinking. The social workers had chalked it up to overactive imagination, or obsession with superheroes. The Judge had recognized that something special was going on.
She loved the Judge. When given the chance to help him with cases, she had leapt at the chance. Now she wasn’t so sure it had been a good decision. She twirled a section of her blond hair between her fingers. Doesn’t matter. What mattered was that she was helping the Judge serve justice.
Her phone chirped in her pocket. She pulled it out and unlocked it. A text from her friend Violet. “Can u come over? Or r u in a case?”
She smiled softly. “Sure. I’m home now. I’ll ask the Judge if i can come over.” As she put her phone away, she thought longingly about what it would be like to be normal, to not know what people thought, what they remembered.
As she left the room, she mumbled under her breath, “If I were given the choice… would I want to know?” She shook her head. She was going to Violet’s, to be as normal as she could be under the circumstances. This wasn’t the time for deep questions.
She closed the door behind her, and her receipt bookmark fluttered to the floor.
Yeahh . . . . reading that over I really really want to edit it. But you guys have to see it like it originally was.
-cringes to death-
Daeus Lamb actually helped me out with this story way back when I was on Kingdom Pen, so thank you to him. (Check out both Daeus and Kingdom Pen, you won’t regret it) Also thanks to my friend Piper for telling me to do this when I was panicking having no ideas for a post this week.
Next week I will NOT be posting anything, as I will be at a CYIA camp. But I have something really fun planned for the week after. So I’ll see you guys then! Leave a like if you enjoy this blog and want to see more short stories, subscribe if you want to be notified when I post, and tell your friends about The Everhart Author! Byeee!