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Jenny Povey"Okay, guys. This is a NEW run within the 'SteelWolfe' imprint, and introduces a new character. It is my first venture into the field of comic writing, and is really an 'experiment' on my part. All comments/criticism will be welcomed, but no flames please. All text and characters are Copyright 1996 Jenna Povey." (Jenny Povey, Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative, July 7, 1996) "This work is © 1996 Jennifer R. Povey. All characters herein are the property of Jennifer Povey. The SteelWolfe setting and back story is the property of SteelWolfe Comics. This may be redistributed in its entirety providing this copyright notice is not altered or omitted, and providing no charge is made for this material." (Jenny Povey Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative, January 23, 1997) Luta, Blue Aura, soft pastel on illustration board (28" x 29.75"), 2002. © 2005 Lutalu design (http://www.lutalu.com/art/blueaura.html, March 18, 2004) Gryphon # 1By Jenny Povey"No, Michael, I have had enough!" Anna yelled, face flushed with anger. "Get out of my place, and out of my life!" He blinked, and backpedalled out the door which she had the great satisfaction of slamming in his face. "Oh, and don't ever come crawling back to me again. Go chase after your film stars, Michael, they're fake enough for you!" she shouted at the closed door, and then, firmly, locked it. She stalked across the apartment. It was a mess, a mess with the debris of alcohol and lovemaking. And she didn't even care any more. "Damn it," she said into empty space. "What am I doing?" A question for which no answer could be expected. She went over to the balcony, and stared out into the night, at a city as messed up, she thought ruefully, as what was left of her life. The next day. She woke up with a headache. A headache she dismissed as the result of the beer she had drunk the previous night, so she took an aspirin and headed out, not bothering to tidy up the mess in the apartment. The streets seemed equally grimy, darkened with something more than just dirt. Above her, the carved statue of an angel seemed to weep. Weep for the city. She turned the old Toyota, parking it down a street that was little more than an alleyway, fiddling for her key, she entered the old brick building. A small brass plaque on the door read: Anna West The office was small, but actually less dingy than one might have expected. She slumped into her chair with a sigh, and then glared at the answer machine, which was insistently flashing a red light at her. With a resigned sigh, she reached over and hit 'play'. "Anna, it's Linda. Guess what, Steven asked me to marry him!" Irritably, she muttere 'sisters' under her breath, and hit the machine again. A man's voice. "Ms West. I have some information that might help with the Turbeck case. Meet me in the park at 12 noon." She frowned. Nothing more than that, no identification, nothing. She flicked through the papers. Turbeck...Turbeck...oh, the missing kid. Missing teenager, in fact. Anna rather suspected an elopement, but to try and tell the parents that... She flicked on the ancient PC, and checked her appointments, then pulled her coat around her, and left, leaving a 'be back later' sign on the outside of the door. She paid no attention to a grey cat sitting just outside, its tail curled around its paws in typical cat manner. It started to rain, a dreary, slow drizzle, the sky grey and dull. The Toyota pulled up in another narrow road, and she sat there, watching the wipers go to, fro, to, fro. Where was he? A car pulled up about fifty yards in front, she watched it intently, or as intently she could considering she /still/ had a splitting headache. He stepped out of the car, and for a moment, his outlines seemed to blur. Damned migraine! It was the last thing she needed right now. Yes, it was him. Terrance Whittaker. Mr Cheats-on-his-wife-and-thinks-he-can-get-away- with-it. Now, all she needed was the woman. Catch him on film with the woman, and it would give /Mrs/ Whittaker enough to start divorce proceedings and finally get out of a relationship that no longer did anything for her. However, he seemed more interested in looking for pennies in the gutter than meeting anyone, making her wonder if there /was/ a woman at all. In the wing mirror, she saw a rather large guy approaching. Short, blonde hair and far too much muscle for comfort. She ignored him, but wound the window up and hit the central locking. She could vaguely hear him yelling at her to get out of the car, so she hit the accelerator. The Toyota streaked away... She came round with barely any memory of what had occurred. "Miss West?" a voice was saying. She groaned. "W-where am I?" "The hospital. You had a car crash." Her vision focused. A white coat. A doctor...or at least a male nurse. She tried to sit up. "No...lie still. You banged your head. Mild concussion." She lay still. A car crash. She doubted it. The muscle-man had been about to...to do what? Attack her? Question her? Abduct her? Rape her? Kill her? The possibilities floated through her head, each more terrible than the last. Maybe she had been run off the road. Or maybe she had just had a blow-out or something. An accident. Her vision was still blurred, but she put it down to the concussion. And went back to sleep. When she woke up again, her vision was still blurred...blurred around the nurse who had come to check on her. Everything else seemed clear. She blinked twice, but was unable to get rid of the rather fuzzy blue halo.
"The doctor says you're free to go, Ms West." Free to go? She was still seeing things, dammit! But when she tried to argue, the doctor firmly guided her out, claiming her bed was needed. It probably was. And she would even be /charged/ for their incompetence! She stalked out, wishing her vision would clear. But it didn't. Not that day, not the next day. Everyone she met still had a coloured fuzz around them, like an after-image. She began to wonder if there was something more to it than a lingering effect of her concussion. Having seen what was left of the Toyota, she knew just how lucky she had been... But something...something was badly wrong. She seemed to be more sensitive to cold than she had been.
Migraine Art: Corona phenomenon. © 2004 Migraine Action Association and Boehringer Ingelheim Limited
After about a week, Anna realised something was 'wrong'. Her 'symptoms' showed no sign of abating. She looked at herself in the mirror. I even look different, she thought. Thin, almost gaunt, her face stared back at her. Better? Or worse? She couldn't decide. She had deliberately kept her case-load light, now she began to regret that. She needed the distraction. Or, maybe, she needed to see a doctor. That seemed a much more sensible course of action. She stared at her reflection again. See a doctor, she told herself. Why did she suddenly feel that was a bad idea? Could a doctor answer the question of why her vision only blurred when she was looking at /people/? The doorbell chimed. Drat it. Which client had decided to chase her up at her apartment this time? She went to open the door...and as soon as it opened, she was blinded. As if somebody had shone a light in her eyes. After a moment, her vision cleared...as much as it did these days, and standing in a shimmering white haze...was Tanya DeFoe. DRAT it! Not /her/! The last thing she needed was for that particular hokey-pookey psychic's 'assistance' with her problems. It was all hokey pokey, of course... Tanya's smile drained from her face. "Hey, hon, you ok?" Tanya called everyone 'hon'. "I'm fin..." Anna began. "No, I'm not fine. Oh, drat it. Come in." The black woman nodded, and entered. "I heard about the crash...sorry I couldn't have been here sooner, but I was at the Midwest Convention for Clairvoyance and Telepathy." Anna groaned. "Hey! This is serious stuff." "So you keep saying." "Anyway." Tanya appropriated a chair. "You say you aren't fine." Anna rolled her eyes, sighed and sat down. "No. I'm not. I was about to call the doctor." Tanya leaned forward, looking at her. "I dont't think you should do that." "Why not? Let me guess, you've seen a dreadful fate for me in your crystal ball if I do?" "That is part of it." "I give up! You, are insane." Tanya just looked at her calmly. "This time, Anna, I am serious. Deadly serious." "So, why shouldn't I go to the doctor." "Because there isn't anything wrong with you." "I can't see straight and there isn't anything wrong with me?" Before she knew it, Anna found herself pouring out the entire story. Tanya paused. "Have you ever heard of the phenomenon of seeing auras?"
Anna shook her head. "Strange. You just described it perfectly." "What the hell are you saying?" "That the knock on the head you had activated some latent psychic ability or abilities." "You're crazy. I'm going to see a doctor." "Who'll find absolutely nothing wrong with you and stick you in the nearest looney-bin." "Maybe that's where I belong! It's certainly where you do." Anna stalked out, leaving Tanya sitting in her apartment with a resigned look on her face. Anna did not go to the doctors, however. Instead, she walked the streets...unable to help thinking about what Tanya had said. Okay, woman, there are three possibilities. One, a physical injury is affecting my sight. Two, I'm crazy. Three, Tanya's right.
One seemed extremely unlikely, because her sight was /not/ being affected when she looked at buildings. Three also seemed unlikely...which left her with two. Not a pleasant prospect. Then two other prospects occurred to her...that she was still in a coma and this was all a weird dream...or she was dead. Right now, the 'dream' possibility seemed the most pleasant. Okay, if this is a dream, then how do I wake up? She did try pinching herself, and it felt like it wasn't a dream, but... She did not notice that she was being watched. But she did, eventually, realise she was being followed...she did not recognise him as the same man from her accident, but she knew he was following her. "Who are you?" she challenged, turning around. Then she saw he had a knife. She panicked, and ran. The sculpted angel, seemed to look down upon her headlong, panicked, flight. She darted into a back alley, hoping to lose her pursuer. Only to discover that it was a dead-end. There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run to. Yet, it is often out of panic and desperation that one's greatest strength comes. She spotted an escape route. A fire escape. She began to pound up it, but he still followed her. Up, and up. Into the clouds, or so it seemed, but at the top, she realised she had run herself into a worse situation. On the roof, she stood there, trying to find the strength to do...to do something. He came at her with a knife, and panic was the first thing. Then, something else took over. She wasn't going to go down without a fight! "Go away!" she yelled, lifting her hand as if to push him away. And flames erupted between them. And she fell... Her instinctive backward movement had taken her over the edge of the roof. And yet she did not fall. In fact, she found herself ten feet below the roof. Standing on thin air. Now she knew she was dreaming...or dead. Her reason allowed only that explanation. Fire did not come out of nowhere, and people do not float in mid-air. But if it was a dream...she thought of rising up. Of gliding above the city. And it happened. If this was a dream, it was fun. The fear of a few moments before had already faded. What am I? she thought. Then, she thought that she was going to go home...and maybe try to find out. © 2004 Jenna Povey (http://groups.google.de/ groups?selm=4rn50b%24r3d%40mapperley.innotts.co.uk&output=gplain, July 5, 2004)
ReferencesGowers WR. A manual of diseases of the nervous system. Vol. 2. "Diseases of the brain and cranial nerves. General and functional diseases of the nervous system." Churchill, London 1888. Author: Klaus Podoll
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