The Return
I have often flipped through the countless pages of history book, to a time when people still had war, hope, and creativity. I have often flipped through the countless pages, stopping at the precise pages and wondered if batman, superman, or even the x-men could have ever existed. History is immovable, taut in the beliefs of The Way of peace and The Force that reaches that mean.
There are the commons and the Uncommons. In short, anyone that is Uncommon, or finds himself to be one of them, will remain silent of his curses. If caught using his unnatural abilities, he will be sent to The Force training camp and become one of the mindless zealots as enforcers of The Way.
Today was no different than any other day, I, a skimpy (or shrimpy, take your pick) five feet two student at Nevadan California, is contently reading my history books at the public filing access points, or what you guys called libraries. Ever since I remembered, I have always been this way; I have always been an Uncommon without parents. Actually, I think at one point I had two, but they disappeared without much explanation, and never returned. All I have is a photo of both of them, standing, smiling a never aging smile.
I saw the newspaper on hanging on the wall. Just yesterday, The Force police suppressed another attack on our school. The attack came suddenly and caught us unprepared. Apparently, one of the students has learned to distort heat to create fire and began to burn everything in his sight. He lost his vision in a record time of five and seven tenth of a second to The Force police.
A boom could be heard from a mile away. There must be another attack coming. I don’t know why, but our school has been the target of attacks. We have the brightest students, the brightest students that would grow up and bring ways to destroy the unnaturalness within man, yet they persecute us as if all of us are unnatural. I put my fingers on the historical magazine of Spider Man, closed my eyes, and imagined myself to be him. A torrent of blood flowed into my head, killing much of my blood cells in the process of collecting enough oxygen for my ability. For a minute, an hour, or whatever time my body will allow, I became Spider Man. Hanging from the ceiling of the public file access point, I looked for the source of the earthquakes. There it was, a seventh year student, in the middle of the schoolyard, channeling his earthquake.
Yet there was something wrong. The Force police did not stop him; they were nowhere to be seen. I took out the history book in fear, turned to the page of X-men, and spotted Jeans. My features changed from a male to a female as I sat nearly helplessly on the ground, too weak because of the lack of blood in my body. I closed my eyes again while the blood was still in my head, and used her psychic abilities to scan the school buildings for the familiar traces of The Force police. They were fighting someone or something, and now they are gone, eradicated from existence.
There must be two Uncommons at this school. One that drew the fire of the police, and the other that devoured them.
The earthquake, as suddenly as it came, stopped. As I crawled to the window, I saw him lying on the ground, mindless as the other Force polices. As I fought for the return of my blood, I saw a girl walk out to the courtyard. She stood by his breathing yet hollow body, and ate him alive. As gruel as it may sound, she absorbed him gracefully. It looked like those spirits, with all those flashy lights, returning to earth.
She stopped, and looked at me. My face went from purple, to blue, to white. She walked out of my vision, presumably to the stairs, coming to get me. I took flight, or, I guess you could’ve called it flight. Three steps after my first, I fell onto the ground, grasping for breath. Jeans was too powerful for me to copy and sustain. I took out a picture of me, placed my hands on it, and surrendered her image. Again, I await the return of my blood. I tried to feel my face, but my hands would not move. I was afraid, of death, I suppose. It has never occurred to me that I could die, now and here, until now. I know she killed at least four, and now she is coming, slowly and surely, to me.
“Hey, wacha doing on the ground?” A girl called to me. She is one of the blessed ones, common, out of the fear of being persecuted.
I was shocked but I could not flinch. “Nothing, just waiting for someone.”
“Want me to wait with you?” she smiled wholeheartedly.
“Nah, it’s good, it’ll be fine.”
“Hey, I was wondering, would you go to the dance with me?” Her face turned slightly pink, as she looked away from me.
“I would love to, Emmy, but, I…” I choked, as the image of my death appears slowly walking up the stairs, inconspicuous to everyone around me.
“Hey um… what do ya say?”
She bonked my head lightly as I stood before my own body, helplessly trying to regain enough strength to run away.
“I…. I think I’m about to die…”
She chuckled, unaware of the danger standing behind her. As she smiled her effervescent smile, she faded into the ether as dashes of light surrounded her.
She was my best friend; she was no more…
I looked upon the face of my adversary. For the first time, I saw compassion, love, and sympathy. Her eyes were special; they were shimmered in a familiar glow that is not just gentle but also sincere. She walked up to me and snatched my photo of my parents, and snapped it in halves. I was supposed to be mad, yet I feel nothing. I wondered to myself: is this the feeling to be near death? That everything, even if it were the worst thing that could happen, would no longer be provoking? I looked down on the shredded pieces of my memories of my parents, and stared into their eyes.
Then I knew.
She was no longer the past. She has come back for me.
