She ran down the road, past the hospital, past the store
where Joan would buy that terrible bread they both hated. The wind whipped past her. She felt out of control, but still pushed in
one direction. A steady, demanding stream
of chaos dominated her mind. She saw the
cameras posted at the stoplights and shifted slightly to bend the light around
her. For the next few intersections, she
developed a pattern of race and bend, race and bend, until she missed one by
just a little and set off the flash.
Three months later the good doctor would be shocked to find he had run a
red light while he was in a particularly difficult session with a patient.
That mistake aside, it was easy to avoid being
detected. Easy to be a shimmer in the
peripheral vision of an old man waiting for a bus or a reflection in the window
of a shop selling cakes. The cakes
looked good. She should stop there on
the way back.
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