Deja Vu

Deja Vu scuttled down a sidestreet, flattened against a sweating wall. Out in the sunlight her target slumped on a faux marble bench, cradling his skull, laptop propped against his side. Jets of water fountained from the sidewalk behind him; bright-eyed children dodging and skipping, shoving siblings in the spray. He groaned and rubbed his temples.

The frail framed Muse grinned, pushed off from the wall again. Around her the air sparked, shifted to admit an unexpected disturbance. A shape where a space wasn't.

The author glanced up at a shadow stretching over his feet. His glasses glinted and he couldn't quite make out the wavering shape.

"Emily?" he tried.

The woman came into focus, her white shirt fading out of the glare. "Webb? Oh. My. God!" She skittered over to the bench, flip flops snicking on the mist-soaked pavement. "It's been so long! God, what've you been up to?"

Webb swept his fingers through his hair. "Oh, not too much. I," he shrugged, "I've been trying to start up that writing thing I to-"

"Really?" The woman perched beside him. "That's great! Could I read some?"

"Heh, well," Webb flushed, "I don't really have anything finished, yet. Not really. Not at all, I guess."

Emily pouted. The mist coming off the fountain flicked around her ears like sheer tresses. She rolled her eyes and Webb realized the woman had been talking at him.

"What? Sorry."

"I said do you ever get deja vu? Like you're doing something and you start thinking, like, 'Wow, that's familiar'?" She eyed him expectantly.

Webb floundered. "Um. I guess. Why?"

"Well," her eyes widened, her mouth an O, "I was just walking along Franklin Boulevard, you know, and I just had the strangest compulsion to come over here."

"That doesn't sound like deja vu," Webb said, honestly. "Doesn't that kind of thing happen after the fact?"

She frowned, huffed, "God! You've got to make this so hard, don't you?"

Then she poked him in the eyes. Glasses don't pose much of a barrier to the really committed.

Webb buckled, flopped off the bench. "What is your PROBLEM?!"

"Excuse me?"

Webb blinked painfully up, shielding his red eyes from the light. "Wha - who are you?!"

"I'm sorry," the woman, this time a shock-faced brunette, apologized. "You fell off your bench. It looked like you needed help? People don't usually fall screaming to the ground and not need some kind of attention."

Deja Vu swept back to her alley, pouting theatrically, the light Summer breeze tugging at her robes.

Across the way the brunette scooped up Webb's notebook case. Straightening, she paused.

"What?" Webb asked, concerned.

She blinked at him. "Do you ever get deja vu?"

The End

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