Note: This story is based on the "Sixth Sense" crossover roleplay series started on YouTube, in which I play as John Smith. Writing John's POV comes pretty easily for me, and I really enjoy it. I was inspired recently to write this little bit, and hopefully will continue with more of John's experiences.
In the darkness he heard a soft gasp, frighteningly familiar. A shaking hand gently touched his face. "John?" the voice whispered.
He looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. "Tzipporah …" he breathed, taking in her pained expression and her hazel eyes shining with fresh tears as her hands cautiously explored his ragged face. Captivity had drained much from both of them, but he could see her strength was not completely broken. Thank God for that. "I thought I'd never see you again," he finally said.
A weak smile brightened her face for a brief moment before she wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head into his stiff torso. "I thought I'd lost you, too," she added.
He longed to return her embrace, but his arms were bound behind him. He gingerly tilted his head to rest on hers, breathing deeply as she melted into him. His heart raced with a mixture of emotions – mainly relief and an overpowering guilt – and she could feel the pounding in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said into her ear. She pulled back, eyeing him curiously. "I'm so, so sorry … your people … it's my fault they were attacked. And I ran like … like a coward, that day."
The sun shone brightly on the gypsy camp that afternoon. A gentle breeze played with Tzipporah's braids, bringing a boyish smile to John's face as they swayed like Grandmother Willow's wispy branches. They had climbed the hill just beyond the settlement, taking in the majestic view as they watched the small herd of sheep that traveled with the caravan, grazing peacefully in soft grass peppered with wildflowers.
John settled himself slowly in a soft patch of grass, silently thanking each blade and the soft earth beneath them as he lay back to gaze up at the sky. Folding his arms behind his head, he inhaled the crisp air with great pleasure, letting out a contented sigh. A small gust of wind blew at his bangs insistently. "It is time," his old friend the Wind urged him. "You need to leave this place, John Smith, before they find you."
John shut his eyes and clenched his jaw. For once in his life, he didn't want to listen. For the first time since the loss of his mother, he felt he had a home. He belonged with these people. "Blow off," John responded bitterly, under his breath. "I don't want to leave."
The Wind looped angrily around him, blasting John with a powerful gust as it left. "I am warning you, no good will come of this."
John began to ponder this as he saw Tzipporah lean over him, looking quizzically down at him. Tilting her head, she asked, "Did you say something? About leaving?"
Shocked that she'd heard him, he sat up, and she sat down beside him. "It's nothing. I was just thinking that I don't want to leave," he repeated, aimlessly tracing a winding path with his fingers in the grass. "Not that I don't want to go with the caravan if it leaves, but normally I would have left on my own by now," he explained. "It's been ages since I stayed anywhere long enough to make friends."
Tzipporah seemed to turn over his words in her head. "Why not?" she finally asked. "It's not like you have anything to be afraid of, John."
He sighed. "Yes I do. Half my life, I've lived in fear of my past catching up with me," he said vaguely. She furrowed her brows, contemplating prying further into what he meant. Before she could ask, he chuckled and added, "That and I don't like to stay in one place for too long."
Tzipporah smiled. "Of course. You're a wanderer. That's why my father immediately liked you – you're a gypsy at heart." She scanned his fair skin and golden hair, laughing to herself as her eyes eventually fell on his blue ones. "You couldn't look any more like a gadje, though," she teased him. "Maybe we should see about getting your ear pierced?"
He laughed halfheartedly, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. He avoided the subject, not that he wasn't open to it; he just didn't think he was quite ready for that initiation. "I usually go where the Wind takes me," he said, inwardly noting how literally that expression applied to him. The irony was of course wasted, since she was unaware of his gift. "I've never really belonged anywhere, until now." For a moment, as he gazed wistfully into the clear sky, he wondered if someday he wouldn't have to hide his abilities … if he could ever trust this newfound family with that secret.
Tzipporah shifted uncomfortably, seemingly pondering something. "John?" she started, tracing the lines on her own palm. He looked back at her expectantly. "John, there's something … I've been meaning to tell you." Puzzled by this sudden change in her tone, from one of complete confidence to hesitance and confusion, he was taken aback. "I've thought about it for some time, but now that I'm sure you really are one of us, it's time you knew …" She paused, seeming to consider her approach. "Let me read your palm," she suddenly demanded.
"What?" He blinked in consternation.
"Just let me."
"Tzi, you think I don't know by now that the old stereotype isn't true?"
"That doesn't mean I can't do it."
Baffled, he relented, leaning forward and offering his hand. "I don't see where this is going, but …"
"Hmm … your life-line is jagged here," she pointed to a crease near his thumb. "A tough childhood?"
"I guess you could say that … Tzipporah I know gypsies don't really have psychic powers," he began to retract his hand.
"But I …" she snatched his hand back, actually grasping it now. Suddenly, an absent and fearful expression came over her face, as if she had seen a ghost. She no longer looked at his palm, but at the empty space between them, in a dazed awe.
"What's wrong?" he pleaded. "Tzipporah?" After a moment, her presence returned with a gasping breath. "Are you all right?"
"I'm … I'm fine, it's just I …" she seemed disturbed by something, but quickly regained her composure. "I realized this is a stupid way to tell you." He could tell she was lying, but he let it go. "I'll tell you later, okay?"
He nodded, scratching the back of his neck as she looked away from him, wearing an expression he couldn't read. The world seemed silent, until the sudden bleating of the sheep blared a cacophony of warnings. "Danger!" "Bad men!" "Run!" "Horses!" "Thunder!" John heard.
They both sprang to alertness and turned. They ran to the crest of the hill, and looked down to see a galloping cavalry unit descending on the village. "No …" he mouthed. A familiar silhouette charged ahead on a bay horse, raising pistol to the sky and firing sinister warning shots. By the time John managed to recover from the shock of seeing the Colonel again, Tzipporah had taken off running towards the tents. "No!" he started after her, gunshots ringing in his ears. Screams carried through the air, and he froze in terror. He could no longer see her; she had receded too far into the distance.
Voices of nature surrounded him, calling out in all directions. "RUN!" "DANGER!" "HIDE!" "SAVE YOURSELF!" He watched in horror as tents and wagons came toppling down, and heard the dying cries of several gypsy men. "Stop! Let me go!" a woman screamed. The raiders were merciless, grinning as they destroyed the community John had come to love … and for what?
He felt the Wind at his back. "RUN, JOHN!" it commanded with an urgent push towards the woods. "IT IS YOU THEY ARE AFTER!"
More screams echoed around him. "But Tzipporah …"
"SHE CAN TAKE CARE OF HERSELF! RUN!"
He panted, eyes darting between the edge of the forest and the now flaming wagons. He couldn't just leave them behind … after they'd accepted him and cared for him … and given him a sense of belonging he'd never felt before. "No …"
"GO! YOU CANNOT SAVE THEM!" the Wind screeched, forcing him through the tree line. He stumbled, swearing indignantly. A wild round of shots erupted in the distance, a fiery light appearing through the branches.
"RUN!" "RUN!" "RUN!" came from all directions, every living soul in the forest shouting at him, animals dashing past him. The Wind blew furiously, leaves forming a beeline for a horizon deep within the forest.
John stared wide-eyed into the path that beckoned him, feeling his heart rise painfully in his chest. He took a glance back toward the flames, only to be turned away once more by the persistent Wind. With a breath, the rigor of his hesitation gave way to a full sprint.
He ran, fighting the urge to turn back with every ounce of strength he had. He ran until his feet would carry him no further, and collapsed, sorrow and guilt tearing through him with every heaving breath, his lungs burning. Tears welled in his eyes, and he tried to bite them back to no avail. "No …" he sobbed, pounding the ground with a clenched fist, only to recoil in horror, smoothing the spot apologetically with his palm. "What kind of man am I?"
He looked to the floor, ashamed. What kind of man am I? "I've never regretted anything more in my life."
"Oh, John …" she said softly, "look at me." His saddened blue eyes met hers with a desperation she had never expected to see in him, and it tore at her heartstrings.
"Can you ever forgive me?" he pleaded, fully expecting the proud gypsy princess to be angry.
"Of course," she said, pushing back a piece of golden hair that had fallen out of place, her hand lingering on his cheek for a tender moment. "I know you didn't mean for … for that to happen." She closed her eyes to fight back the tears, clenching her fist as she pulled it from his face. "My father … my sisters … I lost everyone … even you," she sobbed as she replaced her arms around him, a tear escaping into his sleeve.
He understood now – how alone she must have felt. He gently kissed the back of her head. "It's all right, …" he whispered. "I'm here now … someday we'll be free again," he added, wishing he knew that were true.