Shadow: The Origin Of A Legend

Chapter 33

The metro-bus roars to life, gliding forward smoothly. Beside me, Scourge snores quietly, his eyebrows twitching in his sleep. I struggle to stay awake, keeping myself in an uncomfortable position, but despite that my eyelids still feel as though they weigh hundreds of pounds. Sighing, I shake my head vigorously, trying to somehow jostle my brain into a more awake state, but to no avail. I really just need some coffee or something, I think to myself with a groan, rubbing my eyes. I look around at the car, deciding to keep my mind occupied by analyzing the people and things around me. Each tram car has four doors--two on each side--that only open outward. The doors bear windows on them, presumably so that if you stand near them you can look into the station you're about to get off at. Plus, it'd be a bit of a shock if you were standing in front of a door and it suddenly opened to a wall of people--I've seen how crowded these vehicles can get.

Taking a deep breath, I focus my attention on a man sitting in the corner across from us. His head is buried in a newspaper from earlier this week; beside him sits a dark beige briefcase. He's wearing an official-looking suit, but the ankles are a bit rumpled; upon closer inspection, I see dog hairs sticking out of them, with small scratches made by tiny, well-manicured nails. So, he has at least one small dog--no, more than one, given the magnitude of mess made--that he left rather recently. Turning my gaze towards his hands, I notice his short nails and permanently-bent fingers. They bear no callouses, meaning that he works indoors; given the short yet well-kept nails and smooth fingertips combined with the damaged knuckles, I'd estimate that he works at a desk job, probably something in I.T., and he obviously works the night shift. My estimation of his profession is assured when he closes the newspaper for a moment to turn the pages--his eyes are slightly bloodshot and tinted yellowish, indicating chronic dry-eye and a possible allergy to his dogs. Perhaps the dogs are his significant other's. After all, who would own dogs that they were allergic to? Caught in the moment, I lean forward, resting my right elbow on my knees, cradling my chin with my hand. He's middle-aged, heavy set, but not exactly unhealthy. He probably tries to exercise whenever he can, but he isn't given much of a chance to. Furrowing my brow, I concentrate a little harder. His suit is a dark blue with lighter blue stripes, and he wears a plain white collared shirt under it, but his tie is dark reddish purple. Frowning, I shake my head. Those two shades don't go together--and neither go with your yellowish undertone, I think at him, despite the fact that I know he can't hear me.

To my surprise, however, he looks up suddenly, confusion and indignation bleeding from him. I quickly slam my eyes shut, feigning sleep, until I hear him shuffle his newspaper and sense him relaxing. Easing one eye open, then the other, I glance around. Did that really just happen? A sick feeling weighs like a rock in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of apprehension and excitement. I knew Lightpaws had taught me to read others' emotions, sometimes even their thoughts (though only the ones on the surface), but putting thoughts in others' heads? How crazy is that? Shaking my head, I sit back up. There's only one way to find out, though. Training my eyes on the man again, I concentrate, trying to think 'at' him again: You need a more reddish toned suit, to match that tie, or a more blue tie to go with that suit. He jerks upright again and I deliberately look over at Scourge instead, heart pounding. I can hear his surface thoughts now; he's trying to figure out whether or not he's going crazy. Withdrawing into my own mind, I exhale. Alright, that's it, I'll leave the poor guy alone now... Looking down at myself, I realize that I'm trembling. I feel unstable, the ill sensation in my stomach going from a rocklike feeling to a boiling sea. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to relax, turning to stare at the floor in front of me instead. Calm down. Calm down. Closing my eyes, I hang my head, exhausted. I'm probably just sleep-deprived. Yeah, that's it. That's why this is the second time today I've started to freak out over nothing. I'm just low on energy.