Sixth-Sense is developed like any new skill.

Morrdor shares her gift.
Morrdor shares her gift. | Source

A true tale of psychic development.

This is recorded from one persons experience and has been moderated for readership.

The Birth of the Sixth-Sense.

This child wandered over the hillside quite unaware of others, in fact, avoiding others was the initial walk. She left the memories of their cruelty where it deserved to be, which was behind her with every step.The child walked up the steep hill upon an avalanche of cascading white stone chips. The two cliffs which bordered her walk were sinister, but kept out the harsh sea wind and its howling noise from constantly shrieking into her ears. She passed the strange small white building. The building was too small to be a house and looked more like a look out post or old sentry box. The rectangular box was made of white stone with one small window on the right, which was no bigger than the child’s outstretched hand. She met a small boy with no name and they played mutely for a moment in the door-less stone shelter. After an hour they became moody with each other. Each did not want to submit, to the demands of the undeveloped vocabulary. She continued up the hill alone and he climbed away into the right cliff battling its slippery layers of white flat stones and loose chippings. He was convinced that some treasure laid buried below. She was angered at the boy, why did every game centre around getting married? She did not want to be owned by one particular boy, but it seemed, if one did not submit to being married, the game would discontinue? She would not agree to being married, so she left disgruntled.

Her eyes looked towards the road’s bright white surface and something round and bright caught her eye. It was a silver coin displaying a fat face with curling hair and lips protruding in an outward manner. The coin was thin and worn and in a lot worse condition than any old pudding sixpence she had seen. The strange markings, which were all eligible immediately directed her to an invisible path and a great uncontrollable urge pushed her to follow and read its translucent tale. She looked along the path and watched the story and its characters unfold, all of which belonged and flowed from the coin. It was not a nice story, but one from a long time ago and all the customs and actions viewed seemed savage and barbaric. She did not want to see what was at the end of this map like story suddenly implanted in her brain. She knew to walk upon the path would be dangerous and creepy and she knew its images promoted fear. She grew extremely angry at the sight of the strange coin and bent it in half with rage and tossed it into the air behind her. Always the night encroaching the day one way or another. The boy suddenly appeared behind her. “Where is it?” She looked at the boy for a moment and pointed him in the direction of the thrown item.“Why did you destroy it?” The boy smirked.

She could not explain, that upon picking up the item, it had begun to talk, or a voice had arrived with the item. As she looked behind her a second time, the boy too had gone. She did not know why these people arrived and disappeared like magic. It seemed, that there were two types of people. Those that beat and chased you and those that talked within your head, disappearing and arriving at will. The people that disappeared at will normally arrived as her own life became unbearable, or her own death looked immanent. The invisible would scream inside her head, or parts of their bodies would suddenly appear, as they tried to help her avoid the teams of chasing bullies and their dangerous games. Some of these beings would on exit, or entry to this realm, wish to share their own sad experiences. Some had a buried item to show her. She promised herself to try not to destroy the items shown to her in the future, but the temptation was far too great. As once told the reason for a person's untimely death their last response would become her emotions and she would feel their great harrowing anger, which now flowed through her veins, so very quickly, it became her own.

Most of the places that yielded safety to her were dangerously unreachable to others, so unless the need to pound her flesh was worth risking their own, most did not follow her scary leaps and rope-less climbs. Nevertheless, running and hiding and being beaten was something, which filled her preschool years daily. Island life was unlike any other. Waking up in a different place each time was normal, as their war games would move her unconscious body from A to B. Being under a pile of stones semi naked normally meant she had been captured, so it was paramount she did her uppermost to avoid the ruthless gangs and escape.

But it was where she went while unconscious and who she talked to, which is more important. This was the strangest thing ever that not even she understood. The strange blue white being in the sky who would hold her and rock her sometimes. The knowledge of being so high up and far from the ground yet safe. She sometimes felt the sensation of being held, but knew all about her was only cloud. The being sometimes arrived in the nick of time to aid her escapes. Sometimes, it whispered words in her ears and joined in her lonely games. A being who sometimes would make her scream by its sudden appearance. Sometimes, there would be a whole story unfolding in her unconscious mind and the characters would seem so real, but they would advise her to wake from her sleeping state, or forfeit life by staying permanently with them. As she would wake still in a sleepy state, she would be guided to find small hidden graves. The hooting and howling of black or pale blue shadows would make her quake with fear then laugh, or cry at their pitiful demise. Their last paths were always so similar to what they had just helped her avoid in her own waking life. Her challenging life would make these beings appear momentarily only to show her their own last few sad minutes in time. The clips from a different time were never nice and did not come with happy endings, but personalities did come through. There were always murders, but sometimes secrets were passed to her. Even if she put the pieces together, many years later in her life, so many years would pass that the information would maybe be useless. Although this child's beatings stopped, as school started an out of this world connection had been firmly established. She loved teachers whose fantastic logic ruled against the chasing teams and demolished their cruel itinerary hourly. Her strange other world persisted and surfaced when it wished, but it was never with exciting or happy news. She would by chance work as a fortune card reader in the future. She would even help to solve disappearances all from her guilty arm chair, but she knew, if the missing came her way, they were no longer with the living and who would want to share that knowledge? This is a few days in the younger years of how a psychic is created. It is a brief and somewhat smoothed over, but honest portrayal.

So, would she one day think of this as a gift, or hide away like most gifted with a sixth sense? Even now as she sat typing, they call for her to walk upon their maps of the old days and dig up their treasures of bones and gold. So many people have experienced tragic situations and pain breeds character I am told.

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