Records

I woke up to buzzing fluorescent lights and a sterile room. My mind was filled with worst case scenarios, mainly involving either death or disfigurement. This period, thankfully only lasted a few brief moments as my disoriented mind was attempting to search for any sign of pain.

None.

No pain, in fact I felt downright good, energetic, better then new. I was, frankly, amazed. I had a complete recollection of the events as they had transpired, I had been hit ... I should be dead or at least aching a bit. But the physics didn't add up too well, I clearly felt concrete beneath me for the moments I had been conscious, if I had been hit then I would have been flung further down Main Street not onto the sidewalk!

Still, something was bothering me. The bed was in no way comfortable but that wasn't it. Then I felt my hand or more precisely what was in my hand, the bullet. The death grip I had on it had left deep impressions into my skin but the pain didn't bother me ... no something else.

My mind wavered back at scene of me lying supine, cement for a bed, bested by a bunch of steel. My mind took a deep look at the scene before me, at each inch separately, to find what disturbed me about it. Then, like a picture I saw the bullet several inches above my open hand, and staying several inches above my open hand until my conscious mind took an itty-break break and I lapsed into a nearly comatose state.

Then it clicked, the feeling, the bullet, and likely my escape from the clenches or death or disfigurement were connected.

Before my mind could wrap around it, in came the doc...

"Well how are we doing..." he stated plainly staring at the chart in front of him and faking a southern accent "well, looks like yall' gonna be sleeping fer' a bit" ... he chuckled a bit. On cue I cleared my throat.

"Hi" I smiled, he on the other hand did the exact opposite, mouth clanged open and staring, nearly drooling.

So began the first battery of tests. My parents, who got along pretty well even for being divorced, had just been told I would likely be out for a few days. The docs thought it odd you see, I had no visible signs of trauma, nor did I have any injuries aside from a cut here and there. Aside from the lack of wounds the only thing the doctors could find wrong was that my body was downright exhausted, odd again because my muscles showed no sign of physical strain and I had been eating regularly and in good portions.

Tests showed more anomalies, the doctor cited my brain as a reason for me to stay, not the fact that it existed (of course), but that over twenty percent of the brain was operational, and in current use as well as storing information. When I convinced my parents that was alright, he stated that frontal lobe activity was over seven times that of a healthy teenager my age. I found a way around that too, and I was home by the time the sun had set.

Off to school in the morning.

School though was not at the forefront of my mind instead, the connection between the bullet and the feeling took center stage. Taking the bullet from my pocket, I placed it in the center of my hand. I took a deep breath

This was it ... It was all or nothing, now or never.

With that I concentrated on the feeling and focused on the bullet ... and waited. I focused harder and concentrated until it hurt. Picturing it from every angle, seeing each facet of its construction, each groove forged from the rifles of the gun that sought to kill me. It didn't make sense the feeling of adrenaline poring into my bloodstream and a slight pressure in several parts of my mind was there and very present, it was all the way it should have been. Still nothing happened. Exasperated my hand fell to my side, but I had not yet broke my focus on the bullet, and the feeling was only now beginning to wind down...

My hand fell, but the bullet. The bullet stayed where it was!

I looked at it for the few seconds I had, it was there, just floating. The bullet stayed motionless as if it was in the palm of my hand ... but it wasn't, it just sat there, motionless and amazing. It was suddenly the eighth wonder of the world, staring back at me. Then there was the exhaustion. It felt hard to breath, like the blood in my veins and arteries slowed to the consistency of molasses. Suddenly something the doctor had said, as a brief aside to my parents, seemed incredibly important.

"he hardly had the energy to keep both his heart beating and lungs pumping ... normally the brain would have shut down the body by the time he reached that part..."

I could die, from doing ... this ... too much...

I fell into a deep sleep.

Life went on; Normal life, that is until the night set in.

Night was my sanctuary, to be what I wanted, to sit in my room and hover a bullet in the air for a few, brief moments that seemed like a life in themselves and then fall into a seemingly unending sleep. After that incredibility rejuvenating rest it was school or work or whatever the day brought.