Ads flashed on the giant screens, mesmerizing even in broad daylight. The bright blue sky did nothing to ease Carl’s tension. It was the same as his dream, all of it. The flag blowing in the wind, the coke ad, even the people walking down the street. Soon a dog walker would trip over the rottweiler’s leash. Carl closed his eyes, struggling to stay calm, but the images continued, like the nightmare he’d had for months. It always ended with a girl in a red dress falling to her death from the tower. Tormented, he finally left his Kansas farm and drove all the way to New York. He had to stop it. He had to save her.
The bottle of Coors on the screen began to pour itself into a glass. If he didn’t reach the top of the tower soon, it would be too late. He raced into the building, passed the security guard dozing at the door. Alarms began to blare as Carl charged up the stairwell. He reached the roof, lungs bursting, legs protesting. The girl in the red dress stood perched on the edge of the roof, hair blowing over her face, leaning toward her death. Carl lunged catching her ankle as she fell. He couldn’t let her die, not again.
“Let go of me you idiot. You’re spoiling the stunt.”
Carl looked down, noticing the inflated crash pad on the ground and the camera crews set up around the square. Damned defective psychic powers.
alkaplan 