Cloak & Dagger

I've had this cloak of invisibility for a long time now. There's something about the energy field generated that disrupts your memory though – because I can't remember how long or even how I got it.

I can tell you this – it works best in the open. Indoors, under fluorescent lights, people sense your presence. They actively move out of your way. Outdoors though, you're a ghost.

I mostly sit in the park. I like to study people. Relationships bloom and wither with the seasons. Children take their first, faltering steps in autumn and come running back in spring.

The cloak somehow removes you from the world. The disconnection hurts. I'd tried to find its power source, with no success. I feared it might be in me.

Others possess the same technology. They come here too – a salutary reminder of the dangers of being cloaked too long. Their health is poor. They'll sit for hours in the same spot, wheezing and talking their gibberish.

The cloaked see one another easily. We're inside the field, you see; but what good does it do if you can't connect?

I tried to ask them: 'Who is running this experiment? When does it end?' But they're mostly lost in their paper-bagged bottles and scrounged cigarettes.

My research continued. I've come to realise that there are two groups of people immune to the cloak: the overtly aggressive and the deeply religious.

Only last week a group of drugged up teens attacked another wearer in broad daylight. They'd injured him badly and strewn the contents of his plastic bags around the park.

The religious will come right up to a wearer bearing false smiles and warm drinks. Then they talk and talk. It's all so much gibberish I sometimes wonder if they're former cloak wearers.

So when the beautiful girl came over, it really threw me.

She looked right at me with a smile so genuine that at first I'd looked over my shoulder to see who she was smiling at!

The look on my face turned her smile into a laugh. Her face lit up with it and I knew that whatever she wanted from me, she'd have.

As I began to speak, she gently shook her head. Reaching out, she placed a finger lightly on my mouth.

She leant in, her moist lips close to my ears and whispered four liquid words:

“The experiment is over.”

My brain didn't have time to make sense of them before my guts started screaming. Looking down, I saw a pool of red at my abdomen. It matched the colour of her nails. She withdrew a slender knife with her other hand and, still smiling, backed away.

That's all I remember, until you showed up with your loud sirens and flashing lights.

I've been having pains in my abdomen for weeks now. Never made the connection. But the cloak is off and the experiment must be over - because you see me perfectly, don't you?