Steve’s mother didn’t eat with him, she’d likely eaten long before Steve had woken up, but she sat with him, neither of them speaking. Steve wanted to say something about his discovery but couldn’t find the words. How do you reveal something that has the power to tear the family apart?
Steve spent the remaining summer days honing his new found ability. He’d go from his bed to his chair, his chair back to his bed and if he was feeling adventurous he’d even go from his room to the bathroom, take a leak and then instantly pop up back in his room. Small leaps were effortless to Steve, effortless in the sense that it took him a long while to get to that point. In fact, it had taken a week for him to successfully go from sat on his bedroom chair to sat on the toilet without missing and sliding right back off. He spent less and less time with his parents, instead choosing to shut himself in his room, if he needed to go elsewhere in the house he would simply transport himself there and back again without anyone noticing.
One morning, Steve’s mother had arranged for one of her friends to visit for afternoon tea, which soon became several friends occupying the living room and resigning Steve to hide himself in his room out of fear of being seen by the coven that was forming downstairs.
While in his room, Steve came to the realisation that he was thinking too small. All his premeditated trips were confined to the house, alas, now that there were strangers in there, he could no longer go from room to room in an instant. He figured that if he had gone to his grandparents’ house and some random street then surely he could just as easily do it again now that he had some grasp of his abilities.
Steve closed his eyes and pictured the forest he used to play in as a child. He inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again in a continuous cycle because if he stopped he would likely die as breathing is quintessential to life. With his eyes closed, Steve could feel the cool breeze and hear the rustling of leaves overhead. He had made it. Steve wandered the forest for a little while and then decided to head back home to check if the coven had left yet. When he appeared in his room again, he could hear muffled voices indicating that they had not yet left.
“I mean, sure he studies hard. But he’s just so lazy, I don’t think he’ll amount to much”
And then a second female voice chimed in “I blame the father”
“He is cute though” The third voice wasn’t familiar to Steve so he was intrigued to learn of its mistress. Getting downstairs would’ve been tough if it wasn’t for his new found abilities. He would have to envisage the perfect spot so as not be seen. First, he transported to the landing just outside of his room, then he went to the foot of the stairs where he could peer into the living room.
The women were all there, so it seemed, sipping on tea and nibbling on little cakes saying “I’m so bad” with each bite as if comparing themselves to mass murderers when in reality they are just nibbling on a dainty little cake, nevertheless, a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips. Steve craned his neck around the corner to get a complete picture of who’s who in the coven in the living room. There was his mother, of course, flanked by one of her old school friends and a work colleague, then there was the neighbour. Steve knew all of their voices, he’d heard them far too many times than he’d have liked, but then he noticed a new woman sat next to his neighbour. She looked Mediterranean of sorts, and had a sultry Mediterranean voice to match. The way she pronounced the letter ‘r’ was orgasmic. It certainly matched the voice labelling him ‘cute’. Steve swore that he saw the woman look right at him and wink, but that could easily have been his imagination running wild at the sight of her exposed legs. He couldn’t risk being caught though and so with a slightly abashed expression, he zipped back into his room breathing heavily as he landed on his soft bed. Steve could see the box of tissues luring him in. Would it be wrong when there’s people in the house? It was a tough call, but Steve decided to abstain from practicing his “hobby” and simply lay back and imagined all manner of things. His mind turned to the crisp beaches of the Med, the ocean lapping the shore with the scent of the sea air drifting pleasantly. Steve was getting wet and then wetter until a wave washed over his face and went up his nose, forcing him to sit bolt upright and cough up sea water.
The sun was intense as it beat down on Steve’s forehead. Summer in the Mediterranean was unpleasantly hot for his liking as the sweat came pouring in buckets all over his body. His clothing wasn’t apt for the kind of weather either, jeans are never a good choice in such situations. His clothes stuck to him as the sun continued to batter his skin. The other holiday revellers didn’t pay much attention to the sudden arrival of a fully clothed young man on the beach almost drowning as he lay on the shore. The lifeguard at the time was busy chatting up some unsuspecting victim with his dulcet tones and carved abs. As Steve staggered off the beach and onto the doubly scolding tarmac he imagined a nice snowy mountain would be just about right to cool off.
He was right, the mountain did have that effect for around thirty seconds, succeeded in removing the sweat element and was refreshing for a short time. However, a t-shirt was not adequate clothing for such environments. Steve had no idea which mountain he was on but judged that from the evergreen trees that it must be somewhere in Canada. He was so cold that he found it extremely difficult to concentrate on picturing someplace else. He’d close his eyes but then shiver so violently that his mind couldn’t focus. His teeth chattering was so loud that he didn’t hear the soft padding of an animal approaching in the snow. That was until the animal roared and Steve noticed a great bear lumbering towards him. In a panic, Steve froze, not because of the cold, though that did play a part, his field of vision narrowed on the bear as though he couldn’t see anything else. Then he popped up back home. His sweat drenched clothes were frozen solid and started to melt onto his bed. Steve needed a shower and fast.
The coven had left by this point, granting Steve access to the other rooms in the house. His mother was clearing away plates and dishes while his dad was leaving the house to “go to work” kissing each other goodbye with a single peck on the cheek. Steve raced into the shower and washed away the day’s adventures with soap and water. It was bliss. But Steve had only just broken the surface of his power.
The only limit to where Steve could go was his imagination. He spent the next day printing photos of places he’d always dreamed of visiting: China, Thailand, America, and pinned them all on his wall until it resembled a travel agent brochure. He sat back and viewed his masterpiece when he heard muffled shouting from downstairs.
Steve’s father had returned some moments prior, and now he and Steve’s mother were engaged in some sort of argument. Steve just wanted to get away from it all before he was dragged into whatever episode they were fuming about. Doors were being slammed, the shouting got louder until Steve buried his head in his hands and was instantly far away in what looked like a bamboo forest.
He decided to walk for a while among the towering bamboo shoots until he found himself at the edge of a vast lake surrounded by mountains on one side and a metropolis on the other. Despite the hustle and bustle of the city, Steve felt calmed by the still waters. He stayed a while to witness the sun glide behind the mountains, casting brilliant reflections on the water and then whisked himself back to his room. A little child dropped his ice cream.
The shouting had stopped, replaced by the sound of a nondescript show on the television downstairs, faintly masking the gentle sobs of Steve’s mother. He wanted to go down and comfort her, but where would he even begin? How would telling her the truth really help even if she knew it already? He kicked his trash bin.
“Steve?” His mother muted the television and went up the stairs and into his room.
“I didn’t hear you come home” It was obvious that she had been crying but she was doing her best to conceal her true emotions and show a brave face in front of her son. “Your dad and I want to talk to you about something tomorrow. It may be hard to understand but know that it’s not your fault and that we lov
e you very much” She tried hard to stifle a tear. “Anyway, don’t worry about it now. Go to sleep, we’ll talk again in the morning” The tears came flooding back as she closed the door behind her. Steve knew what was going on, how could he not. Divorce. His once happy family shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. Whether it was his grief manifesting into rage, he couldn’t tell, but Steve decided then and there that he wasn’t going to come back.
Steve took the images from his wall and stuffed them into a backpack along with the bare essentials he thought he’d need. Thrusting his hand into his backpack, he reached for a photo, any photo, the location didn’t matter at this point. He looked at it, thought hard about it, then he was there.
The market was alive with vibrant colours, strong scents and a cacophony of sounds. No matter where he looked, Steve was bombarded with a new assault on his senses. He looked at the image still clutched in his hand and discerned that he was in the souks of Marrakech. A man clasped him on the shoulder causing Steve to leap back in horror.
“My friend, come, come” His string of gold teeth did not seem all that inviting to Steve despite the man’s warm smile. Steve left the man who promptly found another tourist to exploit. The market was overwhelming and claustrophobic, Steve had to get out. Just outside of the market there was a grand hotel, making Steve suddenly realise that he was in need of sleep. But he had no money, certainly not the currency that he could spend, so he devised a strategy. He entered the hotel and picked up one of their leaflets, a concierge tried to approach him, but Steve simply walked right back out of the door again. Glancing through the leaflet, he saw a picture of a lavish room with a large double bed and a corner bath in the en-suite. He stared at the image and pictured it in his mind. Suddenly he was languishing in the corner bath.
Steve opened the door just enough to see inside the main room and was relieved to find it empty. Turning the lock on the room door he returned to the bathroom and ran a bath. Steve was typically a shower kind of guy, not having taken a bath since he was a child, but he felt that seeing as there was a grandiose corner bath available that he might as well use it. After two minutes in the bath, he realised he was just bathing in his own filth and decided to take a shower instead. Fully refreshed and unwinding in a bath robe, Steve switched on the hotel television and fell asleep while bathed in its warm glow.
It was not his alarm that woke him the following morning, but the sound of a cleaner frantically trying to open the door while speaking in a language that Steve couldn’t comprehend. In a panic, Steve grabbed his belongings and locked himself in the bathroom thinking that the cleaner would eventually get into the room but at least there would be another locked door to buy some time and get some clothes on. Steve had had enough of popping up in places inadequately dressed. He had just put one leg into his jeans when the cleaner burst into the room alongside a security guard.
“Hello? Is somebody in here?” The guard was attempting to open the bathroom door to no avail. Steve had put on his jeans and t-shirt and just had enough time to grab his bag when the guard used a spare key and entered the bathroom.
“Huh, nobody here” He said in Arabic. The guard and the cleaner stood for a moment, bewildered, and then went about their days. Later that evening the guard would tell his family of the strange events of that day. His mother being of the superstitious sort, believed that he had come into contact with a demon and instantly banished him from the house in case the demon would return for its prey. When the cleaner told her family, they merely laughed at how wacky it was and then they carried on eating, never to be mentioned again.
Steve had popped up in a bustling city, albeit slightly run-down. It was a place frequently mentioned in his favourite rap artist’s songs for being an urban and dangerous environment. Why anyone would want to go to a place often described as dangerous is baffling, however, Steve felt an affinity for the mean streets of this city where gun crime is rampant and drugs flood the streets. Perhaps it was his middle class suburban upbringing in a quaint British town that made Steve truly relate to the hard life depicted in the songs. After all, they’re so similar they’re almost mirror images of each other.
There were puddles on the floor, remnants of rain not long passed no doubt, Steve stepped in one, sending the splash up his shins, but he didn’t care, he couldn’t care because any sign of weakness on these mean streets was asking for trouble. Steve put on his baddest thug face, an expression he’d seen many a rapper pose in their publicity photos, mouth slightly snarling on one side, eyebrows down low with the eyelids even lower, a swagger that looked like he was walking with his shoulders with his knees slightly bent, sinking into each stride. Needless to say, he looked like a twat.
Sirens blared, they were getting closer, Steve felt a thrill and couldn’t believe his luck that the action was coming to him, he had visions of being in the perfect scenario that would enable him to write a masterful rap song that would tell of this fateful day and launch a career so successful that he’d have a film made about his life and win awards for best original song.
The sirens were so close that Steve could see the cars coming down the street. This was it, his one shot, one opportunity. Across the street, two outstanding pillars of the community burst out of a tenement building, one brandishing a pistol that gleamed under the blinking street light, the other a sub machine gun that didn’t gleam under the blinking street light because it was black. In their other hands, each had a bag presumably full of money, jewels or drugs. Steve was a little disappointed that they didn’t have large dollar signs on them, but one must be grateful for what one receives. The police car had stopped and the two cops had exited their vehicle. One of them dashed to the back of the car and the other left his car door open, decided to use that as a shield and then was promptly shot dead by one of the fine young gentlemen because car doors are not bulletproof. The other policeman was left on his own at the back of his car. One cop against a hail of bullets, would he survive? Steve was so caught in the moment that he felt like he was watching a movie at home. Back-up had arrived on the scene, suddenly it appeared that there was a small battalion of cops against the two righteous civilians. It was all over for them. Steve was thoroughly enjoying watching events unfold, until the gentlemen saw their means of escape and rushed across the road firing a flurry of bullets to cover their bold strategy.
“Don’t shoot, or the wannabe gets it” The gun was pressed hard against Steve’s temple, with a muscular arm pressed firmly against his chest. Suddenly the thrill became all too real for Steve.
“Don’t shoot the kid” The cops kept their barrels directly on the two men.
“Put your guns down! I’ll do it, I swear I‘LL DO IT”
“He’ll do it you know, this motherfudger crazy” Steve felt another pang of disappointment Motherfudger!? Did he really just say motherfudger? The thug life really wasn’t anything like it seemed in the rap songs. Besides, Steve was starting to feel a little vexed at the whole human shield situation. He couldn’t possibly pen a ground-breaking rap song about his experiences as a human shield. The awards for best original song were slipping away.
“You got until the count of 3 before I blow this guy’s head off!” That guy got it, raising the stakes and creating a sense of urgency.
“2” Wait is he talking about my head?
“1” Steve heard the hammer of the pistol pressed against his head, it was as though time slowed down and Steve could see life flash by and transform into a new location.
The two criminals made the headlines in the local news the next day, one of them had shot himself in the arm as a result of Steve miraculously vanishing. The other, having witnessed Steve’s disappearance, stopped, dropped and rolled, because he had heard somewhere that in certain situations that was the thing to do, considering he couldn’t remember exactly which situation, he deduced that if he saw a teenage boy vanish resulting in his friend shooting himself in the arm then he should probably do just that.
Whe
n Steve reappeared his vision was red and there was something with a strange texture under foot. His ears were ringing somewhat after hearing a pistol firing, but as they cleared the ringing was replaced by a female’s shrill scream. Steve’s vision was still a little blurry from the red concoction, but when he wiped it free he looked down and saw that he was standing in a pool of strange goo and that in front of him there was a woman screaming who was also covered in a red goo. Not wanting to stay there any longer, Steve hurriedly transported elsewhere and wandered if Thailand was usually like that, he’d heard it was a crazy place full of happy endings, but when he got there all he found were women covered in strange red viscera and pools of the stuff on the street. Perhaps it was a happy ending for a horror movie but certainly not the kind of place Steve would find happy. A little too much gore for his sensitive stomach.
Steve was lucky the first several times he jumped from place to place instantaneously, it was just that on that occasion he happened to zip to the exact location where somebody was already standing and having a pleasant conversation (ironically about happy endings) with her friend. Steve’s sudden appearance in that exact location, caused the friend of the screaming woman to explode in every which direction in a somewhat messy display, and the screaming woman to be henceforth known as “the screaming woman”.
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