So Tiny Tyronica
Number two in the Tyronica series. If you want to read number one -- suggested -- called Part of Being What I Am, please go to .
Okay, here it is, the much anticipated second! How is it? Good? Hopefully!!!!!!!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Part .01
All through the trip from France, I heard not a single soul's thoughts but my own. I was no longer the hated Alison Marie. I had always detested that name, for the mere fact that it was not me.
Who was I?
I was a girl. A thirteen year old built much the same as a ten or eleven year old. Having the classic Arian features of blonde hair and blue eyes, I was to be considered a pretty child. My hair was long, for I had not cut it in three years, and it hung defiantly straight down my back, no amount of gels ever holding a curl in.
I had a birthmark -- a barcode. Twelve digits woven forever into my genetic code. It was my tracking system. My forever known part.
I could hear thoughts, view memories, see through other's eyes, courtesy of these who gave me the barcode. A veritable Manticore from Manticore, I had learned long ago how to construct a wall to block out people's thoughts from my head; how to open a small door so that I was able to go into theirs.
I also had been able to move objects. That part of me was interesting, but seldom used, or a least consciously. I was able to lift small objects -- such as children -- out of my pathway, but with much fatigue. It simply was not worth it to move anything over five or six ounces, because I would drain energy, oddly enough -- and everything worth lifting is usually a lot heavier. True, the more I worked on it, the lesser became my need for sleep, but I wasn't interested in working on it.
Of course, I had been able to morph. I had stopped, though, because of the death of my brothers and sisters. I needed to practice morphing with a lifeline, or I would most certainly lose site of whatever the mission and stay trapped forever in the shape. So I had stopped.
Now Zack had told me my brothers and sisters were alive, so I might be able to begin my morphing career up again. I would begin by morphing into a cat -- the animal that came easiest to me. I suppose it to be all the feline DNA in me.
Zack and I didn't speak after we boarded the plane from France, after I left the fake ghost of a life I had there. Zack and I didn't need to talk. There were, though, things I wanted to know.
"Who did you find?"
"Martin," came Zack's grunted reply. I could tell he wasn't in the mood to talk, so I kept on.
"Come on, Zack," I begged. The fasten your seatbelts sign came on. I fastened mine, without thinking, using telekinetics. I realized it and grabbed my belt when a steward came by to remind Zack to fasten his seatbelt. Smugly, I reached over and fastened him in.
After the plane, Zack and I walked to a bus stop. I wasn't impressed with the mode of transportation that Zack had selected.
"Remind me again why we couldn't have rented a car?" I asked in a long-suffering voice. Zack shrugged. I had forgotten how much he did that. Come to think of it, back and Mom and Dad's I used to do it a lot, too. Was it some sort of disease that was going around in the States? Zack talked even less on the bus than on the plane.
We rode the bus from somewhere in New York to somewhere in Nevada. We could have gotten there faster on foot, if we'd jogged Manticore style. Then we switched transportations and went by train. I sat and let my thoughts wash over me.
[gray thoughts]
I'm still ten, I'm at Mom and Dad's, play army with Zack. We're having fun. I'm running all over, almost tripping over Lorna several time. Zack catches me when I run past his hiding spot and he tosses me up in the air. I manage to land away from him and I run to a place to hide.
"You're a good soldier," he tells me when he finds me. I know its a real compliment and I smile, but Mom frowns.
"Ty's a little girl, Zack," she reminds him. Zack looks down at me -- well, duh, he already knew that! -- while mom continues speaking. "She's not a soldier."
"Mom," I tell her, "I'm a soldier." Mom's face turns a little odd. "Don't worry," I add, "I'm a good one." I can hear, with the soft thoughts that I am able to, how angry Mom is at Zack. Maybe Zack can hear it too. He picks me up and swings me around.
"You're my Tiny Ty," he calls out as I squeal. "You're my Tiny Tyronica!"
[/gray thoughts]
Zack talked more on the train. Maybe it was because we had an entire compartment to ourselves -- courtesy of yours truly, the super mind tweaker -- maybe it was because I kept zipping and unzipping his shoes with my telekinetic abilities. I don't know. At least he talked some.
After he finished speaking, I let him relax. I sat down comfortably and started sorting the information. I always sorted information before I digested its meaning. Any other way would be like me putting onmy socks and then my shoes. Which, thankfully, I had never done.
When I got the information sorted in the way that I wanted it to be sorted, I carefully began to take the meaning of it in.
Martin. Zack had found Martin. He had found him in California, in a town by Sacramento called Elk Grove. Apparently, Martin was in a group home. I got that much from the bus ride into Elk Grove. It was a few hours work, but it wasn't that bad.
When we got to the building -- a quick walk, no problem -- it was clear that Martin was in a much better group home than I had ever dreamed of, when I had been bouncing from home to home in those first three months. Then again, I had gotten a family soon after, I had stayed only a few times in the group homes. Martin was still in them, three years after we escaped.
"How did you know it was him?" I asked quietly, as Zack and I slowly walked the steps that lead to an impressive doorway.
"Saw his barcode. So, I went up to him and asked if he'd seen you recently. Poor kid nearly wet himself," Zack's voice was unsympathetic. Opening the door, he added, "I told him I'd be back with you, so he'd better not leave. He says he knows where the other are."
My breath caught in my throat as we walked up to the receptionist. So Martin knew where the others were. How glad I was of that. I barely noticed the receptionist's greeting, but I did notice he was short. He was maybe as tall as Mom, and that's pretty short for a guy. I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me; short people always make me feel better about myself.
"Yes," began Zack, in response to the receptionist's question on how he may help us. I shrugged -- HA! -- because I needed a little rest after that walk. I popped some vitamins and then sat down, smiling as serenely as I could. I held up ten fingers, indicating I needed ten minutes. Zack gave me a look that told me I was going to get it later on, then told the receptionist he was thinking of putting me into foster care. I sat down on the bench and closed my eyes. Time for a little Insta-sleep.
[gray thoughts]
I'm in bed, on my stomach, whispering to Martin, at Manticore. His eyes, brown, are wide as I tell him of what I'd listened to that day, the stories that seemed so wonderful.
" . . . And they give the person things, wrapped in a sort of paper, so that it's a surprise," I tell him, trying to catch the every detail of the conversation. Martin grins and is about to speak when Lezli interrupts him.
"That's a lie," she says hotly. I stand up, menacingly. Lezli looks down at the floor and quickly mumbles an apology. I sit back down, but Martin, always fearful of Lezli's temper, doesn't want to listen anymore. I slowly think that I should have struck Lezli across the mouth, for having her being impertinent.
[/gray thoughts]
I woke up, suddenly. My ten minutes must've be up. I jumped up and touched Zack's shoulder.
"Thank goodness," he said, stopping his conversation with the receptionist, "I almost went home in a trade of you and this little Korean girl here who's prettier."
I hit Zack on the arm, then went over to the receptionist. Smiling, I made him lead the way to his computer. He turned it on, then, under my control, I carefully made him search for all male boys named Martin. As was my luck, there was only one, including a picture of the Martin. I opened the file and saw, very much to my relief, my brother smiling back at my from a photo. Martin was always one to smile in the photos, even more than myself. I got the receptionist to delete all the files on Martin. I searched for words on the computer such as tattoos, barcode, genetics. I found a few, got the man to delete them. Once everything was done, I let him fall asleep, gently, quietly.
"You don't need to mediate anymore," Zack remarked casually. I motioned for him to be quiet. I then tore down my wall and let the voices and the thoughts of the surrounding masses enter my mind.
Listening, I searched until I found words and names there were familiar. My family's names, my own name. I rushed myself into the mind of that person, carefully, so that I was hopefully undetectable. I took a chance and viewed what he was seeing at the moment.
It was a garden of some sorts. There was a wall on directly behind several rose bushes, and there appeared to be a bicycle path directly in front of him. I saw no children or adults. Memorizing every detail of the picture, I forced it before Zack's eyes. He blinked, then nodded. Making some hand signals -- how well I remembered them! -- he conveyed the way to go.
So Zack had already scoped the place out. Exactly what I had been hoping for, we needn't go and search the place I saw out. I could always count on Zack to be careful. I could always count on him to be prepared.
We walked down the hall with strides that gave the idea of purpose to our gait. With unspoken understanding, I followed him silently, not saying a word. I felt suddenly as Manticore as I'd ever felt -- only more in control of myself.
When met and questioned, I quickly disposed of the inquisitive person. Simply made him or her continue walking, forget our faces, forget our presence. It was so easy.
Take a sharp turn, Zack opened the door to what was obviously a back garden. I followed after him, keen on seeing my brother.
Number two in the Tyronica series. If you want to read number one -- suggested -- called Part of Being What I Am, please go to .
Okay, here it is, the much anticipated second! How is it? Good? Hopefully!!!!!!!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Part .01
All through the trip from France, I heard not a single soul's thoughts but my own. I was no longer the hated Alison Marie. I had always detested that name, for the mere fact that it was not me.
Who was I?
I was a girl. A thirteen year old built much the same as a ten or eleven year old. Having the classic Arian features of blonde hair and blue eyes, I was to be considered a pretty child. My hair was long, for I had not cut it in three years, and it hung defiantly straight down my back, no amount of gels ever holding a curl in.
I had a birthmark -- a barcode. Twelve digits woven forever into my genetic code. It was my tracking system. My forever known part.
I could hear thoughts, view memories, see through other's eyes, courtesy of these who gave me the barcode. A veritable Manticore from Manticore, I had learned long ago how to construct a wall to block out people's thoughts from my head; how to open a small door so that I was able to go into theirs.
I also had been able to move objects. That part of me was interesting, but seldom used, or a least consciously. I was able to lift small objects -- such as children -- out of my pathway, but with much fatigue. It simply was not worth it to move anything over five or six ounces, because I would drain energy, oddly enough -- and everything worth lifting is usually a lot heavier. True, the more I worked on it, the lesser became my need for sleep, but I wasn't interested in working on it.
Of course, I had been able to morph. I had stopped, though, because of the death of my brothers and sisters. I needed to practice morphing with a lifeline, or I would most certainly lose site of whatever the mission and stay trapped forever in the shape. So I had stopped.
Now Zack had told me my brothers and sisters were alive, so I might be able to begin my morphing career up again. I would begin by morphing into a cat -- the animal that came easiest to me. I suppose it to be all the feline DNA in me.
Zack and I didn't speak after we boarded the plane from France, after I left the fake ghost of a life I had there. Zack and I didn't need to talk. There were, though, things I wanted to know.
"Who did you find?"
"Martin," came Zack's grunted reply. I could tell he wasn't in the mood to talk, so I kept on.
"Come on, Zack," I begged. The fasten your seatbelts sign came on. I fastened mine, without thinking, using telekinetics. I realized it and grabbed my belt when a steward came by to remind Zack to fasten his seatbelt. Smugly, I reached over and fastened him in.
After the plane, Zack and I walked to a bus stop. I wasn't impressed with the mode of transportation that Zack had selected.
"Remind me again why we couldn't have rented a car?" I asked in a long-suffering voice. Zack shrugged. I had forgotten how much he did that. Come to think of it, back and Mom and Dad's I used to do it a lot, too. Was it some sort of disease that was going around in the States? Zack talked even less on the bus than on the plane.
We rode the bus from somewhere in New York to somewhere in Nevada. We could have gotten there faster on foot, if we'd jogged Manticore style. Then we switched transportations and went by train. I sat and let my thoughts wash over me.
[gray thoughts]
I'm still ten, I'm at Mom and Dad's, play army with Zack. We're having fun. I'm running all over, almost tripping over Lorna several time. Zack catches me when I run past his hiding spot and he tosses me up in the air. I manage to land away from him and I run to a place to hide.
"You're a good soldier," he tells me when he finds me. I know its a real compliment and I smile, but Mom frowns.
"Ty's a little girl, Zack," she reminds him. Zack looks down at me -- well, duh, he already knew that! -- while mom continues speaking. "She's not a soldier."
"Mom," I tell her, "I'm a soldier." Mom's face turns a little odd. "Don't worry," I add, "I'm a good one." I can hear, with the soft thoughts that I am able to, how angry Mom is at Zack. Maybe Zack can hear it too. He picks me up and swings me around.
"You're my Tiny Ty," he calls out as I squeal. "You're my Tiny Tyronica!"
[/gray thoughts]
Zack talked more on the train. Maybe it was because we had an entire compartment to ourselves -- courtesy of yours truly, the super mind tweaker -- maybe it was because I kept zipping and unzipping his shoes with my telekinetic abilities. I don't know. At least he talked some.
After he finished speaking, I let him relax. I sat down comfortably and started sorting the information. I always sorted information before I digested its meaning. Any other way would be like me putting onmy socks and then my shoes. Which, thankfully, I had never done.
When I got the information sorted in the way that I wanted it to be sorted, I carefully began to take the meaning of it in.
Martin. Zack had found Martin. He had found him in California, in a town by Sacramento called Elk Grove. Apparently, Martin was in a group home. I got that much from the bus ride into Elk Grove. It was a few hours work, but it wasn't that bad.
When we got to the building -- a quick walk, no problem -- it was clear that Martin was in a much better group home than I had ever dreamed of, when I had been bouncing from home to home in those first three months. Then again, I had gotten a family soon after, I had stayed only a few times in the group homes. Martin was still in them, three years after we escaped.
"How did you know it was him?" I asked quietly, as Zack and I slowly walked the steps that lead to an impressive doorway.
"Saw his barcode. So, I went up to him and asked if he'd seen you recently. Poor kid nearly wet himself," Zack's voice was unsympathetic. Opening the door, he added, "I told him I'd be back with you, so he'd better not leave. He says he knows where the other are."
My breath caught in my throat as we walked up to the receptionist. So Martin knew where the others were. How glad I was of that. I barely noticed the receptionist's greeting, but I did notice he was short. He was maybe as tall as Mom, and that's pretty short for a guy. I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me; short people always make me feel better about myself.
"Yes," began Zack, in response to the receptionist's question on how he may help us. I shrugged -- HA! -- because I needed a little rest after that walk. I popped some vitamins and then sat down, smiling as serenely as I could. I held up ten fingers, indicating I needed ten minutes. Zack gave me a look that told me I was going to get it later on, then told the receptionist he was thinking of putting me into foster care. I sat down on the bench and closed my eyes. Time for a little Insta-sleep.
[gray thoughts]
I'm in bed, on my stomach, whispering to Martin, at Manticore. His eyes, brown, are wide as I tell him of what I'd listened to that day, the stories that seemed so wonderful.
" . . . And they give the person things, wrapped in a sort of paper, so that it's a surprise," I tell him, trying to catch the every detail of the conversation. Martin grins and is about to speak when Lezli interrupts him.
"That's a lie," she says hotly. I stand up, menacingly. Lezli looks down at the floor and quickly mumbles an apology. I sit back down, but Martin, always fearful of Lezli's temper, doesn't want to listen anymore. I slowly think that I should have struck Lezli across the mouth, for having her being impertinent.
[/gray thoughts]
I woke up, suddenly. My ten minutes must've be up. I jumped up and touched Zack's shoulder.
"Thank goodness," he said, stopping his conversation with the receptionist, "I almost went home in a trade of you and this little Korean girl here who's prettier."
I hit Zack on the arm, then went over to the receptionist. Smiling, I made him lead the way to his computer. He turned it on, then, under my control, I carefully made him search for all male boys named Martin. As was my luck, there was only one, including a picture of the Martin. I opened the file and saw, very much to my relief, my brother smiling back at my from a photo. Martin was always one to smile in the photos, even more than myself. I got the receptionist to delete all the files on Martin. I searched for words on the computer such as tattoos, barcode, genetics. I found a few, got the man to delete them. Once everything was done, I let him fall asleep, gently, quietly.
"You don't need to mediate anymore," Zack remarked casually. I motioned for him to be quiet. I then tore down my wall and let the voices and the thoughts of the surrounding masses enter my mind.
Listening, I searched until I found words and names there were familiar. My family's names, my own name. I rushed myself into the mind of that person, carefully, so that I was hopefully undetectable. I took a chance and viewed what he was seeing at the moment.
It was a garden of some sorts. There was a wall on directly behind several rose bushes, and there appeared to be a bicycle path directly in front of him. I saw no children or adults. Memorizing every detail of the picture, I forced it before Zack's eyes. He blinked, then nodded. Making some hand signals -- how well I remembered them! -- he conveyed the way to go.
So Zack had already scoped the place out. Exactly what I had been hoping for, we needn't go and search the place I saw out. I could always count on Zack to be careful. I could always count on him to be prepared.
We walked down the hall with strides that gave the idea of purpose to our gait. With unspoken understanding, I followed him silently, not saying a word. I felt suddenly as Manticore as I'd ever felt -- only more in control of myself.
When met and questioned, I quickly disposed of the inquisitive person. Simply made him or her continue walking, forget our faces, forget our presence. It was so easy.
Take a sharp turn, Zack opened the door to what was obviously a back garden. I followed after him, keen on seeing my brother.