I felt a fluttering; well I’m not sure that it is the correct word. I certainly heard it, but that does not describe the sensation. It was as if the beat of mighty wings almost brushed my cheek to the point that I could feel the force behind each and every movement. Despite the fact that I felt them I did not feel it. It was nothing tangible like a feather or a blade of grass; rather it was something ethereal, just out of corporeal reach.
The sensation stayed with me, burned like a scar on my mortal coil. Sometimes I felt it more than others, as if something was following me. I would tell myself that it was guarding me from an unknown evil if it ever got too pressing.
My brother, a filmmaker, would always say that I was difficult to film. Not because my features were in any way misshapen. I would always have a strange haze surrounding me. I heard that aborigines believe that cameras steal your soul. Maybe my protector believes something similar, whether it is true or not.
As I grew older the presence grew louder. Louder seems to be the only way you might describe it, a low humming just out of corporeal earshot. Sometimes I would find surfaces scratched, scraped or even cut just after I checked them. I chalked these up to poor observation. Maybe I should be more diligent, focused maybe.
I've always struggled with human contact, people would move away from me or never quite meet my gaze. I felt like I had insulted them, I don't know if it's my own paranoia or not. I came to accept that people may not like my skin. Maybe my guardian wants it to be that way.
I can still remember my brother's screams when I tried to touch his hands. Maybe I did it clumsily. Or maybe my guardian thought he was trying to invade my mortal coil. I don't feel bad about it; there must have been a tangible reason.
Anyway I feel safer now. My arms are somewhat restricted in this jacket. My guardian seems to have quieted itself. I like to think that he’s more relaxed inside cushioned walls.
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