Who’s Birthday is it, today?

Hiya, Welcome Back! This is my third week! It’s going pretty well, I think anyway. I don’t have all that much to say today, a lot on my mind that I’m keeping within my mind for the moment so let’s jump to this week’s question. (On a side note: being July 31st, Happy Birthday, Harry Potter! Yes, I’m a geek.)

What is your Dream Job?

My dream job is that of a published author. I want to write novels that are published and sell well enough to make a living. I don’t have to be the next top best-selling author, though that’d be nice if attainable. But truly, if I can reach just one person and give them another world to sink into, just for a little while, or let them know they’re not alone with whatever they’re struggling with, then I’ve done my job, I’ve met my goal.

For this week’s writing:

I sighed as I gazed around the large party once more. This really wasn’t my scene but it was my charge’s so I put up with it to ensure Mac’s safety.

But as I turned my gaze to my left, I noticed a young brunette woman staring in my direction. It wasn’t the leather jacket or the dark eyes that sent a chill down my spine. It was the spine. It was the sly smile that crept onto her face when she looked in my direction. No one was supposed to be able to see me. It was the only way I was able to do my job as well as I did.

I attempted to ignore her gaze, if I didn’t acknowledge her, she’d come to accept I was a figment of her imagination, right?

It appeared to work as she never approached me throughout the night, though I could feel her gaze on me more than once. But as I was following Mac out, knowing I had my work cut out for me for the rest of the night as he was clearly far too inebriated to look out for himself, she reappeared. This time, she looked directly at me and opened her mouth. I quickly cut her off, stepping out the door, close behind Mac. I knew no one else would be able to see me, making her look insane if she’d attempted to speak to me there. Plus I was still hoping that once she’d slept off the alcohol, she’d see me as a hallucination. But it did no good. Instead, she inserted herself into Mac’s group of friends, easily catching a ride with them to the next stop on this party train.

Early the next morning, far too early for anyone as drunk as she’d appeared to be the night before, she reappeared next to me. This time, we were alone and she didn’t allow me to disappear or cut her off, “What are you?”

I didn’t respond and her eyes narrowed, “I know you’re there in front of me. I also know that apparently no one else can see you except me. So again, what are you?”

This time I answered in order to prevent her from making a scene, “I’m a Guardian.”

“A Guardian Angel?”

I snorted, “Hell no. I’m a Guardian. Guardian Angels are the ones with wings and most see themselves as holier than thou. I’m simply a Guardian. I guard the lives of those that are a part of another realm.”

“Another Realm? Mac, seriously?”

“It’s kind of hidden on purpose, toots.”

“Don’t call me toots, and don’t patronize me. What is this realm and why do people from it need protecting.”

“Can’t tell you any more without you being a member of the Realm. I don’t know why you can see me but clearly it’ll need to be corrected.”

Her dark brown eyes narrowed once more, “What do you mean corrected?”

I remained silent and just then, Mac entered.

She turned to him, “What’s this about you being from another Realm.”

Mac froze before putting the puzzle pieces together, his kind always absorbing the alcohol ridiculously fast and as such, his fast mind completely unhindered by it.

“Why can you see Harry?”

“That’s his name? He wouldn’t tell me anything more than that he’s a Guardian, they’re not like Guardian Angels and that they guard those from another Realm.”

“That’s cuz it’s illegal for anyone from this Realm to know about our Realm.”

“He also said the fact I can see him would be corrected.”

“Duh. Can’t have you endangering us.”

“What do you mean, endangering? It’s not like I’m going to go off half-cocked and tell anyone about all of this.”

“Sorry, Soph, can’t just take your word for it.” © Paula Crofoot

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