Rainbow Salad
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Rainbow Salad


The Little Aura Empath

It’s enough to give anyone a headache!

A watercolour image of a young boy looking surprised, set on a colourful, squiggly background
Image by Prawny on Pixabay

I was born on August the 5th, which makes me a Leo if you’re interested in that kind of stuff. I sort of am because I’ve seen a lot of whacky things that people can’t understand and when I tell them about it, they roll their eyes and screw their mouths sideways. That’s kinda bad enough, but I hate it when adults pat me on the head at the same time, especially if I have a headache while they’re doing it!

I think I’m getting a bit off-track here, sort of.

So, I’m twelve now but when my mum was having me she had one of her “famous” migraine headaches. Yep, right when I was popping out. I know all about havin’ a baby because I’ve seen a cat doin’ it — let’s just say I’m happy I’m a bloke!

When I was very small, I thought migraine was a fancy word Mum used to make her headaches sound serious and important, but that was ’til I started gettin’ them myself.

Mine was different though. Mum used to talk about head-splittin’ pain but she didn’t mention swirlin’ patterns across her eyeballs which cut out most of her vision. She made me tell the doctor about it and he said they were aura migraine.

Haha, Mum! Silly cow thought sayin’ migraine was a dramatic way to get attention — I think she was jealous of my aura variety.

After about half an hour, the annoyin’ squiggles clear from my eyes and that’s when I get the beltin’ head-splittin’ pain — or I don’t. There’s no way of knowin’ what’s gonna happen after the light display. If there’s no pain, I go on with my day. If there’s pain, it’s cactus to anythin’ I might wanna do — just gotta take pills, lie in a quiet, dark room and wait. Usually have to sleep through the night to make it better.

But it’s what happens durin‘ the swirling eye fireworks that makes me different from other people!

Sure, I know you probably get aura migraines, too, and you think I’m a whack job for goin’ on about it BUT do you have what my mother refers to as my “experiences” when you have the eye squiggles? If you do, I wanna hear from you coz no one I know gets what I’m talkin’ about. They just call me a weirdo, liar, BS artist.

Like this, “There goes that weirdo, lyin’ bullshit artist! Says he has visions when he has a headache. Moron! I’d like to beat some sense into his lyin’ face.” [Yells so his mates can hear], “Whaddya reckon, dipshit, want me to rearrange your ugly, lyin’ dial?”

Well, now that we’re talkin’ about my face, I wouldn’t mind it bein’ rearranged, but not by a thug with a lump of four-by-two — Someone who’s been to uni, like a doctor that does that plastic surgery stuff. Don’ know why it’s called plastic surgery. Maybe they sew plastic under your skin to smooth out wrinkles — beats me, but I’m gonna find out one day!

I’m a bit scrawny, probably coz I don’t get outside a whole lot. I hate bright light, obviously, duh, which means the freckles on my face stand out against my pale skin. Looks like a cockroach took a dump all over my face. I have orangey hair which sticks up like a porcupine all over my head, ’specially when it grows out of a number two, and my ears stick out at right angles to my head. Dad calls me “Wingnut”! I reckon that’s not cool, to call your kid names. It might make me have body issues. That’s what grandma says. She’s probably right coz she’s really old — fifty or sixty sumthin!

Anyways, I reckon you want me to get on with tellin’ you about my aura experiences, to quote my mum.

When I get a squiggly eye migraine, I go somewhere quiet and wait for the show to begin. If I can, I lie down, close my eyes and focus on the back of my eyelids.

After a few seconds, the story starts!

It begins just like a show on TV. The picture is a bit fuzzy at first and then it clears to full-colour widescreen haha. I s’pose there’s nuthin’ funny about it coz the movie stars are usually somebody I know. It plays out like a scene, somethin’ that is goin’ on in their lives that they aren’t happy about.

For instance, there’s a little kid called Joey, a coupla classes below me at school. He’s a bit of a runt and sometimes I see other kids pickin’ on him. I don’t do nuthin’ about it coz if I tried to stick up for him, I’d see the back side of a lump of timber if you know what I mean.

Who’s it gonna help if Joey and I both get a plasterin’? Nobody! Right?

Anyway, one aura migraine day, I was watchin’ Joey get beat up in his own home by his bastard old man. I always thought Joey’s bruises were from school bullies, but it looked like he was coppin’ it at home, too.

The day after my headache, the kid turned up at school all purple and blue like a dirty big plum. When the teacher asked, Joey said some older kids from another neighbourhood did it, but I knew the truth.

Let’s face it, the kid couldn’t very well tell on his own old man, he’d just get another bashin’. I guess Joey didn’t realise he’d be better off in some kinda home for kids. At least I think he would. I’ve heard some pretty scary stuff about some of those places but at least you get fed and don’t get beat up every time you turn around.

The good thing about knowin’ the truth, when nobody knows you know it, you can plan stuff, quietly, in your own good time. Does that sound confusin’?

Well, that’s what I did — planned stuff in my own good time!

We had a spring school dance planned for us junior kids. Everyone sort of had to go, even unpopular kids like me and Joey.

I had it planned to stay away.

I told my mum I had a squiggle headache and wanted to be left alone in my room — lucky me, she had a real doozy herself and was already lyin’ on her bed. Dad said he would go to the pub and leave us both in peace and quiet. Couldna been better timed!

I had an alibi and an excuse all wrapped up in one big lyin’ headache.

That night, just on dark, I hid in the bushes outside of Joey’s house. Wasn’t long at all ‘till he pushed his rattletrap bike out the gate and got on it to ride to the dance. He looked kinda weird in long trousers and a dirty white shirt. He was wearin’ a bow tie that musta belonged to his prick of an old man. It was too big for a kid. Made him look like he had wings sproutin’ out of his collar. Man, if he didn’t get beat up for that after the dance, I might’ve had to stay around and do it meself! Haha.

When Joey was out of sight, I snuck across the road and into his yard. There was only one light on in the house so I went to carefully peak through the window.

His old man was half asleep in front of the box, with a glass of booze clutched in one hand.

I may be scrawny, but I can pitch a good ball!

The Molotov cocktail went straight through the window and knocked over a brandy bottle next to his coffee table.

Couldna planned it better! The bugger was too slow and too pissed to get off his bum in time to save himself. I found that out later — didn’t stay around long enough to see what’d happened.

Joey got placed in a home coz he didn’t have a mum, and he never came to school with bruises and stuff again. After a while, he made friends and seemed a lot happier.

So, now you know what I do. I’m kinda like a superhero, I reckon.

I get the eye squiggles, learn about people I know, and sort things out for ’em. Suppose I’ll get caught one day but I heard somewhere that the end justifies the means. I think that means it’s okay to knock someone off if they’re shitheads. That’s how I take it, anyway!

I’ve justified the means a few times lately!

Used to be I’d just figure out ways to help that didn’t involve murder and stuff.

I used to run errands for the old lady across the street coz I saw she was lonely and needed someone to do stuff. Later, she had a fall that nobody knew about until I saw it and told my mum — she called the cops, “Just in case”.

Then there was tellin’ the older brother of a girl called Cheryl, that some bigger girls were pinchin’ her lunch money every day.

Simple stuff like that.

Probably done a hundred favours as a result of my aura movies. Only a coupla murders though. The murders feel like the way to go coz they seem to help the victim for much longer — have to admit, they make me feel really good about meself.

I get sort of weird and hungry-like leading up to one of those adventures. Once the bad guy is out of the way, I feel like I just ate a Sunday roast. That feelin’ lasts for days!

Speakin’ of Sunday roasts — Mum started getting so many headaches that she forgot to cook. Probably didn’t forget so much as couldn’t get up to do anythin’. Dad got so much fast food for us that I got real sick of eatin’ crap!

The problem was, Mum’s headaches were her own fault!

She spent a lot of time lookin’ in the mirror and complainin’ so much about “loosin’ her looks” that Dad finally gave in and told her to get that plastic surgery I was bangin’ on about earlier.

Mum couldn’t organise the operation soon enough!

She looked pretty after everythin’ healed. Trouble was, the quack accidentally did something that buggered the nerves in her face and she seemed to get one permanent migraine. I tell yah, she became a major pain in everybody’s butt! Didn’t do nuthin but bitch, complain and vomit — if she wasn’t sprawled on her bed, she was chuckin’ up in the toilet. Dad said Mum was up and down like a bride’s nightie, all night long. I haven’t quite figured out what that means but I have an idea.

So this brings me to the end of my ramblin’s.

I had another squiggle headache. It was Mum’s fault. No, really, it was. Her moaning was enough to give anyone a bloody pain.

I was lyin’ on my bed in the room next to my mother, half listening to her moans and half concentratin’ on my eyeball pictures. I could see her wrigglin’ about, white as a ghost. At first, I couldn’t understand what she was sayin’ but then her words got clearer.

“Help me, son! If you can see this in your crazy experiences, please help me out of this pain. I don’t want to live like this — there’s no escaping the torment; it’s not fair on you or your father!”

My headache was followed by a rip-roaring banger of a pain in my brain. It was as if my mother was sending me her agony just so I could understand what she was feelin’.

It took me two days to get over it!

When my headache was better, I snuck into her room and put the grizzlin’ cow right out of her misery with a butcher’s knife from the kitchen. After all, she wasn’t usin’ it to carve a roast anymore!

While I was at it, I had a peek under that over-tight skin on her face.

This latest act of kindness was the best feelin’ of all coz I got to help my mother out of pain and I found out that there was no sheet of plastic behind her face skin. That’s a question been buggin’ me for ages!

Trouble is, I’m in hidin’ now. It’s easy enough livin’ on the streets and keepin’ what they call a low profile. There’re ways of earnin’ money you don’t wanna know about. Let’s just say I learned them from the stories about what happens to some boys in foster homes.

Yep, it took me two days to get over the feelin’ of being full again — you know, from killin’ someone.

I’m wonderin’ if my Dad is feelin’ too sad to deal with life without my mother.

Hah, think I feel an aura migraine comin’ on!

The following August stories make me feel kind of guilty for throwing a bit of horror into the mix. Sigh. That’s me, the misfit kid!

Sadie Seroxcat gets high on watermelon and prompts us to try it — go figure

Will Hull limericks about Caesar and stuff:

Margie Willis writes beautiful poetry about the prompt month:



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Raine Lore

Raine Lore

Independent author on Amazon, reader, graphic artist and photographer. Dabbling in illustration and animation.