Deadly Secrets. Short Story.

There were many things about her that were special. Many things that were worth noting. However only one of them was truly important. And that was that she could see into your soul. With a glance she knew everything she needed to about you. Were you a good person? Bad? Suicidal, happy or anything else in the emotional spectrum, she knew. She knew if you were going to literally kill that cheating sonofabitch. She knew if you were planning to cheat. She knew if you were lying and why. Some have said she was merely highly intuitive, or observant. Others have called her a witch.

But she learned pretty early. These things must never be shared.

That man there is going to kill himself tonight, after downing glass after glass of vodka for encouragement.


That woman has found out she’s pregnant and can’t wait to share the news.

Stay silent.

That policeman right there is planning to beat that man to death.

Stay out of it.

Anytime she interfered, she got noticed. At least, until her parents stepped in, no doubt she would have been dead long ago were they not who they were. Occasionally she slipped and said or did something she shouldn’t have. The inability to act drove her to coldness. There was no way she could live with what she knew if she still cared. She shut down her emotions out of necessity. She locked everyone and everything out. There was no way for her to feel anything at all.

She watched her father kill her mother, knowing that it was going to happen. But, she did nothing. This, she felt, was justice. They had pressured her to keep everything a secret. To never tell a soul no matter what. They punished her otherwise.

This was her revenge. She saw her father and knew what he was going to do. It wasn’t until after they were dead that she regretted her decision. Not that they had died, but that they were no longer around to protect her. After they had died, she was quickly arrested and taken into the storage facilities.

People said that she was cold because of what she saw, when she witnessed the terrible things her father did before finally, mercifully, killing her mother and himself. Three hours of torture, with her forced to watch. There was some speculation that she made her father do it, though this was later proven to be false.

Though she was arrested, she was not executed. She wasn’t considered a danger, she was an asset.

There were others who weren’t as lucky as her. Ones who were not studied as long as she was. Others who were summarily executed. Everyone know what would happen if you were found to be able to do impossible things.

You would think that, seeing their child’s extraordinary abilities, they would counsel the child to hide them and keep their mouths shut. But their parents were frightened too. There were cases where the parents would call in the authorities themselves and deny ever having the child.

The world is a harsh place. Cruel to some, sadistic to others.

The burnings happened daily and were mandatory watching. If you were not in attendance, then you had to watch at home. There were treatments available, ways to stop the abilities from working. That’s how they were able to execute them. Rather than offering it as a treatment so those people could live a normal life, they were turned into symbols. Symbols of evil that needed to be eradicated at all costs. They were symbols of everything wrong in society. Of all that could and has gone wrong.

The abilities were wide ranging, each equally feared, regardless of power or propensity.

The numbers of the executed continued to rise, any protests were crushed quickly, protesters burned together with those damned from birth. Rumours spread of an underground resistance, composed of those with abilities, carefully orchestrated rumours spread to encourage fear of them. No one asked how they would organise or recognise one another. It was taken as fact that they would see something of themselves in the others and would be drawn to one another. Some were falsely accused, and, after being arrested, were slated for execution anyway. The government couldn’t be seen to let them go. Even if they did, that persons life would be irrevocably destroyed.

Though some were destroyed, each one was carefully evaluated first. Their execution depended on varying factors, including the ability, the power of the ability and their willingness to help. Each was carefully examined before the decision was made. Those deemed useful were kept, those who were not or too dangerous were destroyed without hesitation.

She was lucky. She had been slated to death, for the mere reason of being a remnant of her parents existence. They had enemies, like most politicians, and their enemies saw it as a perfect fuck you to their lives and works.

She had been on her way to sentencing, when she warned them of the man about to kill a judge for sentencing both his wife and child to death. Before it was only suspected what she could do, however she could not be tempted into revealing herself like some of the others could. Torture and strong emotions were not triggers.

Once it was realised how useful she would be she was kept alive. She was deemed safe to society and allowed live alone, though monitored. They used her emotional blockade to their advantage; she could be tempted with things she wanted or needed. She had no reverence of human life. She was able to quickly and efficiently determine who had abilities and how they could be used.

The more she used her abilities, the stronger they grew. She was able to act as a divining rod for those who were abnormal. By walking through a crowd she could see who had abilities and what those abilities were. She kept the growth of her powers to herself.

Content to use them as a bargaining tool if needed.

She began to wonder. She knew she could easily bring down the government, stop the punishment if she wanted. But she waited. Her desire for power grew slowly, but it was there. She planned in her silence. She would make the rumours true. She would build an army, one totally devoted to her, and assume control of the government.

She planned, slowly but picking those she would contact and how they would build themselves into an unstoppable power. Days before she planned to initiate her plan, the assassination occurred.

She was screening the crowd and missed it completely. Later it was determined that the bullets were fired from a long range gun, one that fell outside her radar.

One moment he was standing beside her, the next, he was on the ground, his head split in two, his brains splattered on the wall behind them, the ground, her face. She stood perfectly still while others around her panicked an ran. She couldn’t move through the tide of emotions. She stayed where she was, covered in gore until someone tackled her.

As she fell, a bullet grazed her cheek, embedding itself in the concrete. She lay on the ground, frozen. Still paralysed by the fear of thousands. The crushing weight was making it difficult for her to breath. Then she was free. She never saw who tackled her, who saved her life. In the seconds before the panic caused her to pass out, she realised that she would always be a target if she followed the plan. Later, she would realise she valued her life more than power. But as she lay in the growing pool of blood, she felt a tear roll down her cheek. She had liked Derrick, he was kind, kinder than most though he tried to hide it. His blood, still warm, coated her hair, she retreated further into her shell. she welcomed the encroaching darkness, an escape from the screaming, the blood, the gore that began to slowly slide down her face.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
This entry was posted in Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Short Stories, Suspense and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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