Member-only story
The MagicLand Chronicles
The Futurists
Some say magic began to appear before Old Earth fell
“Hi, Tom,” I said to the stranger walking past me on a sidewalk colored by an animated carpet made from this year’s autumn leaves.
Continuing his gait, he looked at me and asked, “Do I know you?” as leaves danced and swirled around his passing steps.
“You do now,” I smiled, walking on.
I had seen a flash vision as he approached— that’s what I called them: flash visions — of someone saying “Thanks, Tom” to him. A co-worker, maybe. I couldn’t tell because the background of the vision was blurred as if it was the victim of a movie director’s focus.
In the vision, I could plainly see Tom and his thick white hair, his pocketed tanned skin, his greyish eyes, but I could barely make out the man thanking him. The other man looked young, with dark hair and roving eyes even within the scope of a simple thank you, but that was about all I could discern.
I didn’t look back at Tom as I walked past him and listened to the leaves as they were whisked away by the motion of his feet.
Later, I wished I had said more. I wanted to know more about him. I knew I never would. I knew an urban encounter like this in Lincoln Park was a…
