Is Anyone Out There?

A/N I was supposed to post these chapters Monday and Tuesday. I apologize for the delay. This is what I consider to the funniest chapter out of the rest.

I am grateful to those who read and review.

I'm pretty sure that my fatigue isn't just shock at this point, because I've spent days with nothing to do but lie around in my bed most of the time, and I'm still fatigued.

Intuition can manifest itself in a number of ways, and for me this is mostly in the form of blurting out random bits of knowledge, and feeling people's energies. Feeling energies means feeling about where someone is, how they are feeling, and even their overall health. Being able to sense and work with their energies is the foundation of energy work like Reiki.

Intuition, just like any other sense, can be affected by fatigue, stress, competing senses, etc. This, and the fact that stone and concrete has a tendency to absorb energies makes it very difficult for me to sense anything since I have dwelled here.

Sometimes, when I put my hands and ear on the cool metal of the door, I think I can feel the signatures of some of the officers walking around. I certainly couldn't tell you their precise location or their emotions. Still, I made it a hobby to see if I could predict when my meals were arriving. I've had mixed success.

Another major problem is, when I concentrate too hard, I start to feel the energies of the other prisoners, and I don't like what I'm sensing. Some are angry, many are afraid. Most everyone here is in some kind of stress or distress.

This negativity can't be good for my health. I hope it doesn't speed my aging, I'm too young for anti-wrinkle cream. Well, maybe that's a little dramatic. I guess if there's a point I'm trying to make, it's that I'm sick of being in prison.

I haven't had much of anyone to talk to, besides my lawyer and for a brief period my Mom, for about a week. Or waits, it's been more like six days… or maybe four. I'm hopeless without a planner. Oh yeah, I guess I talked to Meghan on the phone too.

It'd be nice if I had my computer, then I could clutter all my friend's walls on facebook with my various ramblings. Or even e-mail. I guess I could do snail mail, but I'm not in here for that long. Texting might be nice, but they have my phone. Smoke signals are impossible without at least the window, though I suppose I could burn my bed sheets as fuel. As for morose code, I don't have the equipment, and no one is going to hear me tapping on these ultra-thick walls and door. Pheromones… as if anything besides a bee would be able to make out what I was trying to tell them by smelling me. Still, it might be cool to be able to communicate with a larger portion of the prison my spreading my pheromones through the ventilation shaft.

Telepathy would be really nice right now. Then I could talk to my friends, or just have someone to talk to in general. I could just read someone's mind whenever I wanted to see where my god-damned paperwork was. I guess this would be a good way to get black mail, too. Even if I had black mail, though, I probably wouldn't use it, except maybe to get someone to let me outside for a few minutes. Or maybe I'd just skip the black mail thing, and us my mind powers to convince the police force that I was a janitor or something. I'd go back, I swear, I just want a few minutes of fresh air!

Humans aren't telepaths, no matter how much I wish I could be. Reading the energies someone gives off doesn't remotely compare. Wait, what if a telepath was here, and listening to me right now? Hello? Heeellooooo…? Anyone out there? I'm friendly, I think. I'm pretty sure I'm friendly, but maybe my mind isn't so friendly to a telepath. If that's the case, stay out of my head! I don't want anyone getting hurt.

That head master was a telepath. I wonder if he could hear me. What was his name? -vier, O'vier,… you know, if you're out there, you could give me a hand. What did it start with? Zuh…, that's right, it was a Z! Wait, no it wasn't, it was one of those weird spellings, Greek, I think. I think it was an X. Yeah, it must have been an "X." Well, since I can't remember the rest of your name, I'll just have to call you "Mr. X." Or wait, you would have been really educated. Not only are you a teacher, your whole attitude, including your energies, screamed "I am educated!" when I met you. Hmm… I guess I'll go with "Dr. X," then. Close as I'm going to get, anyway.

Okay, Dr. X, wherever you are, can you hear me? I'm stuck Butler county jail in Ohio. I don't have powers, I'm not a mutant, but some nut job decided I was one and put me in here anyway. I'm a student at MU. I go to school, I make good grades, and I don't skip class except when I skipped English composition during my Freshman year. This place is driving me crazing, the fact we are doing this to anyone is wrong on so many levels, and I'm sorry!

I notice my nose is stuffed, up, and just now notice the tears streaming down my cheeks. This is crazy, I'm trying to talk to someone who is far away, doesn't know me, and probably is busy trying to live his life. Actually, he might not even be alive. From all that violence, and that "mutant uprising" and terrorism that helped spark this hysteria, he might not even be alive, and neither might be Natalie. Or Robin, or anyone else I knew. Who knows?

I could extend my search and call out to any telepathic mutant, but I guess that would be unfair of me. After all, if I were a telepath, I wouldn't want to hear the mental rants and shout outs of a half-crazed prisoner either.

I'm just so sick of prison. The first thing I'm going to do when I get out is find a cheeseburger… after I get a shower that lasts more than five minutes.