Imagine being able to control fire; you’d think your life would be something out of a movie, right?
Except movies have a way of being too flashy, and in that movie, you wouldn’t be a failed product of a scientist’s ego that wanted to prove human beings are able to do extraordinary things with a small injection of a top secret formula. Imagine fire coming out from the tip of your fingers, like a row of lighters. You can feel something warm inside of you just itching to burst out. The flames start to grow, surrounding you, almost enveloping you but you won’t feel a thing because it’s already a part of you.
Hahaha, maybe I went overboard, because I can’t do all of these.
I’m a failed product, remember?
Sweat trickled down his forehead down to his cheek as he bore the scorching weather. His backpack was heavy with textbooks from school. He kept his eyes on the ground as everyone’s eyes went towards the bracelet which branded him as different from them.
He was always warmer than everyone else. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It meant that he’d end up sweating more than the average person and smelling pretty bad.
The light turned green and everyone focused on crossing the road, including him. It had been so long now that he was already used to people keeping a distance from him.
Suddenly, a splash of water hit his back. It was welcomed, actually, but he didn’t expect the continuous splashes that hit him afterwards.
“Start running!” People around them were alarmed, but he was a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He started to run; he had no choice because his personal rain cloud was attacking him. They never slowed down, not until they finally reached the tuition center and he realized that he was drenched.
He tried to glare at Anthony. “They’re going to be angry when they find out you broke the rules again.”
The same bracelet around his wrist blinked furious red but both of them knew that no one would come for him because a talented hydrokinetic was harmless.
So harmless that he knew Anthony’s ‘audience’ had stopped to watch at how he cleverly produced a small whirlpool of water on his palm and shot liquid bullets at him.
Anthony managed to give them what most Defuncts could not: a show.
“You have a waterproof bag now,” his best friend tugged on his bag, slightly miffed. “Well played.”
“That wasn’t the first time,” Imran sighed, not wanting a repeat of having his books wet. “I need to change.”
“They’re going to think you’re covered in sweat, except this time you don’t stink,” he snickered.
“Thanks to me.” He would never understand why Anthony was always smug for the stupidest reasons, but he let himself be dragged off to class anyway.
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