After Mrs. Johnson left, I went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, still pondering the vision and impression that had distracted me earlier. In less than two weeks, the same soul had contacted me five times. In my mind's eye, I envisioned the vague outline of a man. He appeared neither old nor young, nor had he transitioned to the other side. He remained in this dimension, crying out; or rather, his soul was crying out to me for help. That concerned me. Rarely, did the soul of a living person call for help separate from its body. My grandmother said she had encountered the phenomena only once. For me, this was a first. People came and asked me for help while still in their bodies. Apparently, this soul had partially detached from its physicality. I couldn't imagine where to begin looking for the owner of this confused soul, but one thing remained certain, its cry was becoming stronger.
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