Who Feels It Knows Novels & Stories

“About you. He has people. Friends who watch. Someone might have said something.” Maya’s stomach tightened. “You think he knows about me?” “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” He pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair. “I hate this. I hate not knowing. I hate that he can still do this to me.” “What do you need?” “I don’t know.” “Okay.” “I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know anything right now.” Maya nodded. “That’s okay.”

“What kind of pieces?” He looked down at his hands. “I know what hunger feels like. The kind I have. I know it the way you know a language you’ve always spoken — it’s not something I learned, it’s just what I am.” He paused. “I know what it feels like to be near someone who has what I need but won’t give it. That feeling — I know it very well.” The air between us changed. Slightly, but I felt it. “Did that happen?” I said. “Before me.”

Farrow on a Tuesday in April. "What does it feel like?" she said. "It feels like—" He tried to describe it. "It feels like the difference between walking on ground you are checking with each step and walking on ground you know." He paused. "In the earlier period I was always checking. Is this safe? Is this holding? Is the evidence still there? Now I am—" He paused again. "I am walking without checking. Not because I have stopped caring whether the ground holds. Because I know it holds. The knowledge is in my body, not just my mind."

"I know." "Do you?" She steps toward me. Close. Angry. Broken. "Do you know what it feels like? To think you might be feeling something real? To think the not knowing might be possibility? And then to have everything you built taken while you were feeling it? To wonder if the feeling was just distraction? Just acting? Just prettier cage?" "Yes." The word surprises us both. "Explain."

The ground beneath me fractures slightly. Responding. Adapting. Testing. “CORE PROXIMITY INCREASING.” The whisper comes from everywhere at once. Not mechanical. Not human. Something in between. “You feel it?” the figure asks. “Yes.” “What do you feel?” I close my eyes briefly. Not to escape. To focus. “It’s watching.” “Yes.” “It knows I’m here.” “Yes.” “It wants me here.” Silence. Then— “Yes.” My eyes snap open. “That’s not a trap,” I say.

Jayda said. "I don't know exactly what it is," Margaret said, and she said it with the specific honesty of someone who understood the difference between what she knew and what she felt and was being precise about which one she was offering. "I want to be clear about that. I don't have information in the way that information usually arrives. I have — a feeling. And the feeling comes from something I heard." "What did you hear?" Jayda said. Margaret looked at her hands for a moment, at the bag on her lap, and then looked at Jayda with the directness she always brought to things she had decided deserved it.

But my face was now facing his palm due to some reason. “There are group of enemies nearby” “Yes I can sense it” What are they talking about? Why can't I feel it? “I didn't feel anything either—” Yes Kheina we are in the same boat. I can't understand why they can sense it— “— than some faint steps walking”

Especially because I don't know anyone. " I don't know Kayla...I just have this very horrible feeling that they are coming after you right now as we speak" she said, grabbing me by my shoulders as she spoke. Her eyes were desperately begging me to act on her words but she made no sense to me! There was absolutely no way that I would leave everything I have here just because of a nameless and faceless enemy. " How do you even know this? Is just a bad feeling right?" " No Kayla! This isn't just some bad feeling - this is the worst! I know this because I can feel this person and I know for a fact that he wants you because of what you're meant to do."

he says. "Know what?" "Whether you're the one the prophecy speaks of." "And if I am?" He pauses. Just slightly. "Then the packs will decide what to do," he says. I look at my hands in my lap. I can feel it. I've always been able to feel it, the thing that lives underneath my skin that isn't exactly a feeling and isn't exactly a thought. It's more like weather. Like something that has its own pressure system and its own patterns and its own seasons, and I've learned to read it the way sailors learn to read clouds.

I just don’t know what this feeling is. Damn it. Just what the hell is this?