2nd Sight: Just A Feelin'

By Ben Sharpton

Scott Moore suffers from bizarre hallucinations. Except they aren’t hallucinations at all. What he sees are actual events that those around him have or will experience. But in this story, he doesn’t understand it, yet. He thinks of his attacks as some sort of brain defect, striking like a seizure when he least expects it.

Scott and Grace, his wife, are attempting to live with his disorder, despite the unexpected attacks, the haunting images, the helpless feeling of being completely out of control.

If only Scott could get help…

This story precedes the one told in 2nd Sight: Capturing Insight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Sharpton
• Release date: Jul 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536515640

Ben Sharpton

     “Tell stories.” It's one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever received. Stories inspire people to grow and expand their horizons. They entertain. They challenge. They comfort. Simply put, they make life much better.      I’ve been telling stories all my life. When I worked with youth years ago, I told stories that helped them understand, learn and develop. Later, as a corporate training manager I used stories to demonstrate examples, to encourage better business practices and to stimulate learning. As an online college professor I found stories to be instrumental in challenging people to think and comprehend.      Today I continue to tell stories. You’ll find them in my nonfiction curriculum books and all of my award-winning novels. My hope is you’ll enjoy my stories and share them with your friends.      Then, tell your own stories. It’s a great piece of advice.

Book preview

Scott Moore suffers from bizarre hallucinations. Except they aren’t hallucinations at all. What he sees are actual events that those around him have or will experience. But in this story, he doesn’t understand it, yet. He thinks of his attacks as some sort of brain defect, striking like a seizure when he least expects it.

Scott and Grace, his wife, are attempting to live with his disorder, despite the unexpected attacks, the haunting images, the helpless feeling of being completely out of control.

If only Scott could get help...

This story precedes the one told in 2nd Sight: Capturing Insight.

I’m gonna die.

Scott knew it would happen, felt it beginning to happen, sensed his next move would be his last.

He didn’t shop at this particular convenience store that often, but he was out of eggs and butter and some other stuff, and this place on was on the way home. Now, the carton lay upside down on the vinyl floor and all but one of the eggs were broken—oozing a glob of egg whites and yolks. Scott hoped he was going to be like the one egg that had not yet cracked. But at the moment, that looked doubtful. Then, his vision looked doubtful, too, slipping in and out of focus. Shouting, loud and demanding, echoed from the front of the store where a broad-shouldered, slender-hipped man, face cloaked in a black ski mask, demanded money from the timid employee behind the counter. The thief was agitated—bouncing from one foot to the other and shaking his gun in the worker's face. The images started to fade.

He began to feel light-headed and, of all things, calm. This was not a time to relax––not when the guy at the counter was waving a gun and demanding money.

Then the hallucination faded away altogether, and the harsh lights were consumed by blackness. At first he wondered if he’d been shot by some errant bullet, surely meant for someone else, but ricocheting into his heart. Is that what death is like? Sudden blackness? Emptiness?

His ears popped once or twice and his eyes slowly adjusted. He heard music banging through his skull like a nail gun...on speed. A candle, no, two candles sitting next to each other, illuminated a concrete wall across the room. The music was crisp—crisp and loud, beating out a persistent rhythm, four beats at a time.

In a moment he felt himself dropping back down, feeling that nauseous, frightening sensation. Halogen lights seemed to flicker overhead. But then, in a snap, he was back in the darkness, in a basement in someone’s house, listening to rock music through headphones, now calm, relaxed, peaceful.

Someone approached, held out a feminine hand, palm up, containing a small, flat pill, dotted with brown specs. More E? she asked.

I’m good, he said, but his voice