A Beautiful Smile

I walked down the street and the traffic lights seemed to change at my very wish.

When I blinked they turned red, stopping the flow of traffic.

"Take that! Slow your asses down," I shouted when I was the god of traffic.

It was reassuring when I reached the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. Something inside told me it would stop there-- the crushing feeling around me would cease if I could just make it to the bridge.

I felt the police with their laser lights drill past the protective covering of my brain and try reading my thoughts. I was too powerful for the small radar guns the cops carried on their uniforms– the ones they were using to pick out those with the light hidden within.

But the larger devices installed in patrol cars were far too overwhelming, even for one with a mind as powerful as mine.

I walked up the bridge pretending that those ahead of me were my horses-- pulling my heavy weight forward. I was controlling them like slaves and traffic.

I let go of my magic lasso tossed invisibly around the tourist heading up the wooden walkway of the spanning roadway of stone and thick metal wires.

Cars continued to drive on the bridge below my feet and it seemed that they did not care that I was the one controlling transit.

The pain did end on that bridge.

When I tried leaving the soothing comfort of the wooden walkway, the pain returned. I walked the entire length of Manhattan and Brooklyn several times, night and day.

It seemed to me that I would reach the light soon, after all, I had already come to the conclusion that I was dead.

There had to be more than this noisy city with all its traffic.

Where is Shawn? Did he make it to heaven and I’m the one in hell? Couldn’t be...I was more saintly than he.

The bastard tricked me, I thought.