Will of Blades – Part 4

I am not entirely certain if I will be able to do a story post this morning.  I slept badly, and didn’t get nearly enough of the bad sleep I deemed necessary in order for me to function for the first day of the new job.  As it stands, I’m going to be forced to clean the house in rapid, slap-dash fashion while doing my best to get ready and keep my work clothes from becoming stained.

I’m beginning to see what separates the pros from the could-be’s: Planning.  Foresight is an irreplaceable commodity.  The knowledge of not only how to write, but the ability to understand when to write. It’s knowing how to get enough sleep and exercise to create the right conditions for good writing to occur.  Let’s face it: I’ve reached the point where the words are going to happen no matter what else is going on.  Now I’m forced to consider not only the quantity, but the quality of said words.

I’m beginning to perk up slightly, and forcing myself to dialog mental processes at 4:50 in the morning has allowed my mind a chance to drag itself from the last vestiges of sleep.  I’m going to get some ice, then pour caffeine past my lips until I am near to bursting.  Then it’s writing time.  Lets hope I’ve done enough to ensure at least a modicum of quality.

Will of Blades – Part 4

This… this was the tricky part.  I’d spent weeks working from home and pretending to be very sick while I practiced my abilities.  I’d come to find that not only could I control all things metal, but I could command those things to reshape themselves.  I had limits, however.  While I could sense metal within a large sphere (including whatever was behind or below me), for the most part I had to see what was happening in order to control it. 

Occasionally, I also heard voices.  Well, voice, singular.

The more time went by, the more this particular voice spoke to me.  It was the same quiet voice which had asked if I could do hang the spoon in mid-air again.  While it had never said much, the more I heard it, the more the advice had mirrored my own deepest, darkest desires.  It was this voice which had suggested the overly dramatic exit from my old job at the security firm. 

It was also the quiet whispers which had led me to this moment.  Wearing a thick ski-mask, a hooded sweatshirt, long baggy sweat pants, and cleverly modified platform shoes to give me about three inches of extra height.  It was the dead of night, and I was quietly sweating up a storm in all the heavy clothes.  Dragging three extra inches of shoe around was also disquieting, and had taken more than a little practice to allow a steady, if ungainly, walk. 

I stood in front of an ATM in a city a few hundred miles from my home.  The camera embedded into the ATM was surely snapping photos as fast as it possibly could, and while I had done a number to the exposed cameras at my office, this was embedded within a larger object.  Snapping the barrels off the pistols of the guards hadn’t been hard either, requiring simple brute strength to wrench them off and reshape them.

This was more delicate.  I couldn’t risk my hastily practiced rough techniques, for fear any explosion or resultant fire could damage myself or the money inside the ATM.  I walked up to the silent machine, and reached out both hands to touch it.  The only sounds where my own breathing, my own heartbeat, and the idling of the stolen vehicle I had parked to shield me from view. 

My world narrowed, as I removed everything from it that wasn’t the small metal monolith under my fingers.  I sent myself down, knowing the machine, following the traceries and designs I had learned from the blueprints.  Minutes slowly ticked by, sweat soaking the ski mask, as I quested for the several locks required to undo the machines face.  I was digging blindly through a stack of needles while wearing metal gauntlets, the only way I could tell the right one would be by touch. 

My muscles began to wobble, my concentration to waver.  There was so much metal here, mixed with other components.  Trying to be this delicate was taxing me more than I ever thought possible, but then… a small light in my mind.  My focus and will bounded towards it, hounds of prey on the scent.  I let out a gasp as I envisioned tiny fingers with my mind, the same fingers which molded the metal at my old office.  It was so small, and I needed the metal to keep it’s shape. 

My vision narrowed, and I was sure I would pass out any second.  Then I heard a soft clicking, and the entire front of the ATM began to swing towards me.

I had done it…

To be continued….

Hoodfully,
Justin