'Welcome to the Club Kid'

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                                                                   Welcome to the Club Kid

                                                                   (A Weaver Series Short)

                                                                       By Vaun Murphrey


                        Kevin hadn't made it for dinner.  That alone wouldn't normally cause alarm bells to go off in my head. He'd been looking unwell though, and any weakness in street kids made them fair game for predators.  I tugged off my apron and waved goodbye to Heidi, the soup kitchen’s volunteer cook. 

            Yellowed bags under her watery blue eyes made her look all of her sixty-five years. Long wrinkles burrowed deep into her upper lip and I tried to ignore the cheap tobacco stench on her breath. Her swollen arthritic fingers gripped my forearm as I turned to leave.  

          "It's dangerous at night around here, girl. Don't waste your time with that boy, Melody. There’re too many to cry over. He's probably off high somewhere with some bangers."

            The old woman shook my arm for emphasis then released it. Heidi meant well but she was an Outsider and she didn't have a clue. I was worried about Kevin because I suspected he was a Weaver.  

             As was I.  

            ‘Weaver’ didn’t mean I had a loom with strands of wool to make blankets. Oh no, it meant my particular subset of humanity could travel to an alternate plane we called the Web with our minds.

            I was born with the Trinity – mind, body and soul - woven together in full. The body was the host for the mind and the soul bridged the gap to another world inhabited by others of my kind from all over the universe. Not only that, but I had access to all of my ancestors memories too.

          As for how dangerous it was on the dark downtown streets of Lubbock, Texas...well at almost seven feet tall with skin so dark I melted into the night-I could handle myself in a tussle. My twin Malcolm and I had trained in martial arts since we were five. I could hold my own and then some.

         I paused for thought while I put on my jacket - hands palm to palm and head bowed. Most Outsiders I encountered tended to think I was devout.

         Heidi harrumphed, “Put in a good word with the man upstairs for me.”

         Eyes askance I kidded, “You need it too.”

         She paused in her sweeping to lean on the broom handle and cackle, “True enough, true enough.”

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