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Blog 4

Focus. Focus. Focus. They can’t hit you. You are powerful. They can’t hit you. YOU ARE POWERFUL. The mantra ran through Jericho’s head in an endless loop as he slowly, deliberately continued walking down the street enclosed in a cocoon of telekinetic fortification that was being battered brutally by the shell after shell careening this direction and that upon contact.

          How this other-worldly scene must have looked to an innocent bystander. How could the average mind even comprehend or process what was occurring? Here was this man, looking like any other man, walking down the middle of the street in a blaze of gunfire, seemingly unfazed and unfettered by any of it. Bullets were flying at him from every angle, yet each and every one was turned away as if by magic. Surely this wasn’t possible. Nevertheless, there it was, right in front of them, as clear as day. It wasn’t only possible; it was happening right now.

The area looked like a war zone. The deflected bullets had tattered buildings and cars alike, ripping everything to shreds. Shattered glass lay everywhere. There wasn’t a first or second-floor window left untouched, and one parked car had been set ablaze. 

Along with the guard that had tackled Jericho to the street, four additional bodies lay crumpled on the ground, one a member of the hit squad and the others innocent victims of the crossfire. One was a child of no more than five, her diminutive hand still clutching a favored doll.

          Just as the police sirens were loud enough to hear over the gunfire, Marcus came roaring down the street in the Mustang, scattering hit squad members everywhere. Jericho’s concentration was so deep in his effort to maintain his force field he did not notice the cessation of gunfire nor even the throaty trademark rumble of his cherished, cherry-red baby.

          “Get in, ya daft idiot,” Marcus bellowed, throwing open the passenger side door.

          Shaken from his reverie, Jericho blinked his eyes, the telekinetic shield dropped, and he stared at the horrible carnage around him.

          “Oh my God, Marcus. Did I do this,” Jericho implored, tears forming in his eyes and beginning to trickle down his stricken face.

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