Read Online Mind of My Mind by Octavia E. Butler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Octavia E. Butler
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Before he could complete the attempt, his
universe exploded.
MARY
I couldn't have said what I was doing. I knew Karl was still with me. His mental voice
was still reaching me. I didn't mean to grab him the way I did. I didn't realize until
afterward that I had done it. And even then, it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. It
was what I had done to the others.
Others, yes. Five of them. They seemed to be far away from me, perhaps scattered
around the country. Actives like Karl, like me. People I had noticed during the last
minutes of my transition. People who had noticed me at the same time. Their thoughts
told me what they were, but I became aware of them—"saw" them—as bright points of
light, like stars. They formed a shifting pattern of light and color. I had brought them
together somehow. Now I was holding them together—and they didn't want to be held.
Their pattern went through kaleidoscopic changes in design as they tried to break free
of me. They were bright, darting fragments of fear and surprise, like insects beating
themselves against glass. Then they were long strands of fire, stretching away from me,
but somehow never stretching quite far enough to escape. They were writhing, shapeless
things, merging into each other, breaking apart, rolling together again as a tidal wave of
light, as a single clawing hand.
I was their target. They tore at me desperately with the hand they had formed. I didn't
feel it. All I could feel was their emotions. Desperation, anger, fear, hatred . . . They tore
at me harmlessly, tore at each other in their confusion. Finally they wore themselves out.
They rested grouped around me, relaxed. They were threads of fire again, each thread
touching me, linked with me. I was comfortable with them that way. I didn't understand
how or why I was holding them, but I didn't mind doing it. It felt right. I didn't want them
frightened or angry or hating me. I wanted them the way they were now, at ease,
comfortable with me.
I realized that there was something really proprietary about my feelings toward them.
As though I was supposed to have charge over them and they were supposed to accept
me. But I also realized that I had no idea how dangerous it might be for me to hold a
group of experienced active telepaths on mental leashes. Not that it would have mattered
if I had known, though, since I couldn't find a way to let them go. At least they were
peaceful now. And I was so tired. I drifted off to sleep.
It was light out when Karl woke me by sitting up in bed and pulling the blankets off
me. Late morning. Ten o'clock by the clock on my night table. It was a strange
awakening for me. My head didn't hurt. For the first time in months, I didn't have even a
slight headache. I didn't realize until I moved, though, that several other parts of my body
hurt like hell. I had strained muscles, bruises, scratches—most of them self-inflicted, I
guessed. At least, none of them were very serious; they were just going to leave me sore
for a while.
I moved, gasped, then groaned and kept still. Karl looked down at me without saying
anything. I could see a set of deep, ugly scratches down the left side of his face, and I
knew I had put them there. I reached up to touch his face, ignoring the way my arm and
shoulder muscles protested. "Hey, I'm sorry. I hope that's all I did."
"It isn't."
"Oh, boy. What else?"
"This." He did something—tugged at the mental strand of himself that still connected
him to me. That brought me fully awake. I had forgotten about my captives, my pattern.
Karl's sudden tug was startling, but it didn't hurt me, or him. And I noticed that it didn't
seem to bother the five others. Karl could tug only his own strand. The other strands
remained relaxed. I knew what Karl wanted. I spoke to him softly.
"I'd let you go if I knew how. This isn't something I did on purpose."
"You're
universe exploded.
MARY
I couldn't have said what I was doing. I knew Karl was still with me. His mental voice
was still reaching me. I didn't mean to grab him the way I did. I didn't realize until
afterward that I had done it. And even then, it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. It
was what I had done to the others.
Others, yes. Five of them. They seemed to be far away from me, perhaps scattered
around the country. Actives like Karl, like me. People I had noticed during the last
minutes of my transition. People who had noticed me at the same time. Their thoughts
told me what they were, but I became aware of them—"saw" them—as bright points of
light, like stars. They formed a shifting pattern of light and color. I had brought them
together somehow. Now I was holding them together—and they didn't want to be held.
Their pattern went through kaleidoscopic changes in design as they tried to break free
of me. They were bright, darting fragments of fear and surprise, like insects beating
themselves against glass. Then they were long strands of fire, stretching away from me,
but somehow never stretching quite far enough to escape. They were writhing, shapeless
things, merging into each other, breaking apart, rolling together again as a tidal wave of
light, as a single clawing hand.
I was their target. They tore at me desperately with the hand they had formed. I didn't
feel it. All I could feel was their emotions. Desperation, anger, fear, hatred . . . They tore
at me harmlessly, tore at each other in their confusion. Finally they wore themselves out.
They rested grouped around me, relaxed. They were threads of fire again, each thread
touching me, linked with me. I was comfortable with them that way. I didn't understand
how or why I was holding them, but I didn't mind doing it. It felt right. I didn't want them
frightened or angry or hating me. I wanted them the way they were now, at ease,
comfortable with me.
I realized that there was something really proprietary about my feelings toward them.
As though I was supposed to have charge over them and they were supposed to accept
me. But I also realized that I had no idea how dangerous it might be for me to hold a
group of experienced active telepaths on mental leashes. Not that it would have mattered
if I had known, though, since I couldn't find a way to let them go. At least they were
peaceful now. And I was so tired. I drifted off to sleep.
It was light out when Karl woke me by sitting up in bed and pulling the blankets off
me. Late morning. Ten o'clock by the clock on my night table. It was a strange
awakening for me. My head didn't hurt. For the first time in months, I didn't have even a
slight headache. I didn't realize until I moved, though, that several other parts of my body
hurt like hell. I had strained muscles, bruises, scratches—most of them self-inflicted, I
guessed. At least, none of them were very serious; they were just going to leave me sore
for a while.
I moved, gasped, then groaned and kept still. Karl looked down at me without saying
anything. I could see a set of deep, ugly scratches down the left side of his face, and I
knew I had put them there. I reached up to touch his face, ignoring the way my arm and
shoulder muscles protested. "Hey, I'm sorry. I hope that's all I did."
"It isn't."
"Oh, boy. What else?"
"This." He did something—tugged at the mental strand of himself that still connected
him to me. That brought me fully awake. I had forgotten about my captives, my pattern.
Karl's sudden tug was startling, but it didn't hurt me, or him. And I noticed that it didn't
seem to bother the five others. Karl could tug only his own strand. The other strands
remained relaxed. I knew what Karl wanted. I spoke to him softly.
"I'd let you go if I knew how. This isn't something I did on purpose."
"You're
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