Two months later:
Nyssa:
The breeze whipped Nyssa’s frizzy locks around her face. She was sitting at the tip of a New York skyscraper watching the world move beneath her. She loved being high up. The world was empty of sensation, save for the cool, crisp feel of the air and the sunlight threading through her hair. She was far away from the hum of human existence and the constant pressure of useless musings.
She glanced at her watch. It was well past time to leave. Nyssa had to get back to work. She hopped off the building ledge and retrieved her bike. Heaving it over the edge of the building, Nyssa let her bike dangle for a moment before dropping it. It fell through the air for a metre or so before disappearing.
Nyssa slung her bag over one shoulder, hopped back up onto the ledge and peered downwards. She hesitated for a moment, not because of the height, but because this shortcut was particularly tricky. It only went in one direction and you had to enter at exactly the right angle or you could end up in the middle of a Canadian lake.
She shuffled off the edge and freefalled for a few seconds. Before she could get the breath to scream, she landed heavily on the ground, thumping to her knees. The grass tickled her palms where she’d stopped herself face planting in the dirt.
Nyssa glanced around, checking to see if anyone had spotted her falling out of the sky. This part of the park was usually deserted, but normal humans had, on occasion, spotted her passing through thin air.
She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her messenger bag and checked where her next delivery was. She consulted her wrist where she a scribbled reminders of the best routes to take through the ley lines.
She only had three more deliveries to make before she could call it a day.
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“Nyssa, are you alrigh’, lass?” Nyssa blinked. She found herself looking into a pair of worried brown eyes.
“I’m sorry, Glen,” she said to the office worker behind the desk. “What were you saying?”
Glen was one of Nyssa’s repeat customers. She’d been working in Scotland as a bike messenger for almost two months now, keeping a low profile. Glen was human, as was her boss and her roommates. She’d had almost no contact with the People since the incident at her mother’s house.
“-and I was wonderin’ if you were maybe in’erested in goin’ to coffee with-Nyssa?” Glen cut himself off and shook her shoulder gently. Nyssa shook her head, trying to clear it.
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“I’m sorry, Glen.” She tried to smile and the sloppily dressed man. Glen was sweet, but he wasn’t very confident or well put together. Nyssa had never seen him in shoes that actually matched his suit. “I’m actually not feeling too great. Could you sign for this package? I think I may head home early.”
“O’course, lass.” He quickly signed, frowning at Nyssa’s pale features. “You have nae been yourself all week.”
Nyssa barely paused to thank him, shooting him a shaky smile. She stumbled out into the cold, reaching for her bike desperately. Glen was right, she had been feeling off all week. Nyssa found herself drifting off in the middle of conversations and barely talking, which was very unlike her. She also hadn’t so much as doodled despite the almost constant sensation of itchy fingers. Every time she sat down to draw or paint, she would just stare at the blank canvas, completely uninspired.
A wave of dizziness hit her, but she mounted her bike anyway and pushed off. She wobbled for a moment but miraculously remained upright.
She needed to get home.
She needed to paint.
She stumbled off her bike when she rounded the next corner, stopping to throw up in some unfortunate person’s petunias. It made her feel a bit better. The dizziness subsided enough so that she could focus on the directions she scribbled on her wrist. She set off again.
Eventually, she made it back to the small home she shared with two other roommates. Discarding her bike in the street, Nyssa pushed open the gate to her small cottage. She stumbled on the way through, slicing her hand on the rusty latch. Instead of making her nausea worse, the sight of blood seemed to sharpen her thoughts. The world focused as if she twisted the lens of a camera. She walked calmly through the garden. As she approached the porch, the door opened of its own accord, creaking softly. She didn’t bother closing it.
Nyssa walked sedately through the small cottage, making her way to her tiny room. There, she pulled a sheet of paper off her easel and spread it over the floor. When the smell of wet paint hit her, the frantic need to paint overwhelmed her again. She dipped her fingers into the pots, smearing paint and her own blood over the paper with her hands.
She pushed the dark paint across the paper with her thumbs, reveling in the feeling of the fibers soaking up the red of the paint and her blood. She etched out flames with her fingernails, carving great swaths of destruction through the center of the paper. Among the flames danced faces, most were unfamiliar to her but one stood out.
Del.
Pain twisted his features into something ugly and pitiful. He clawed at the flames licking at his clothes and singeing his flesh.
Overshadowing this scene of carnage, Nyssa painted a house with thick, bold lines. It’s tall walls, once proud and strong, were crumbling. Each room was unraveling, twisting and ripping at the seams. It was not being devoured by flames, it was tearing itself apart.
Nyssa fell backward, pulling away from the widening puddle of paint soaking into the paper and the carpet.
She was tired like she always was after a big vision. Lately, she’d been getting more and more of them. She didn’t even bother washing the paint off her hands and arms. She just curled up in a ball against the wall and fell asleep.
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I've updated a few times this week but the next bit will be quite short so it kind of evens itself out. Hope you enjoy!