PSEUDONAME Running head: PSEUDONAME

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PSEUDONAME English 315 Creative Writing II Missouri State University Brendan BAKER Schmidt

PSEUDONAME PSEUDONAME The End

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The smash shakes the ground, rippling out shock-waves that travel for miles. The concrete building sways, looking as if it's about to topple over. A mixture of metal rods, beams and glass fall street-side crushing the pavement forcing it to buckle and fall into the sewers below. The smell of the city's sewage overcomes the scene. Rotting rat carcasses and human byproduct overwhelm my mind. My stomach takes control as I fall to my knees grasping my abdomen. Like a brick being forced through my throat, my lunch finds my mouth for the second time. I try and hold back the vomit, forcing myself to relax and not think of my current surroundings. I close my mouth by wrapping my lips under my teeth, pressing down to force them shut. I place my hands over my ears to block out the war behind me. Forcing my mind to stop, slowing down my thoughts and concentrating on the moment. I have put forth so much effort over the past few months to warp my mind in a type of cerebral saran-warp to protect those around me. I could sense the looming power lurk inside my empty stomach. Another crash bolsters through my hands ricocheting through my ear beating on my mind like a drum. I open my eyes and turn to the cause of the crash. Still on my knees I place my hands on the ground and push, twisting my body in a 180 fashion. Over my head flies a blue BMW, head-first crashing against a glass building down the crumbling street. It's hood slices into the towering giant leaving a shattering rainfall in its wake. Quickly redirecting its vector in a sharp motion alongside of the building it now topples downward towards the street tumbling away like a football. Suddenly the BMW stops, and rises from the street. Mac raises the beamer from the ground placing its heavy burden over his head. His back and arms bend backwards readying for the throw. He snaps his muscles forward and the car launches into the air. I hear the crash of the car but take myself to my feet. I dare not take my sight off Mac, I think to myself, he might be able to help me. I take off running towards the Super, dodging catapulted cars and razor sharp glass. “Titan!” I yell at Mac. “Andrew!” I reach him out of breath, panting as sweat drops from the face. “Titan... She's... She's..” I stutter over my words. “I know Andrew, I know. Are you hurt?” Huffing, I give him a look of confusion. “Are you hurt?” “No.. I'm Fine. But Naut is dead and I can't find the others. I think... I think they might all be de...” “STOP!” He yells, “We need to keep our cal... Fuck!” Titan grabs me tight pulling me towards his chest popping several of my vertebra, and leaps. An oil trunk crashes and incinerates everything around where I just was standing. I see the ground distance itself from us as Mac uses his super-strength to catapult us in the air. The explosion launches us so high the sounds of battle and smell of feces vanish. We enter a cloud dense with water. I can feel the moisture collect on my face, refreshing my senses. We exit the cloud as quickly as we entered it, above us lies the dark blue heavens of the open sky. Feelings of serenity and tranquility course through my body. “We're too high!” Mac yells. The sounds of the passing wind muffle his words but I still hear him clearly. “When we come down we'll hit the ground with too great of a speed.” Ever so slowly did our acceleration diminish as we began to reach the peak of our flight. Our bodies for a mere

PSEUDONAME moment are completely weightless and with that instance my mind reflects. The Middle

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“Andrew, nice to finally get the chance to meet you. Please take a seat.” “Do I get the couch or the chair?” “Either of which you prefer. Most choose the couch, but I must say the chair is far more relaxing.” “The couch, please.” I step towards the couch dazily, confused about my intentions. Why was I here? I approach the couch taking the pillows occupying the seat and move them over to the opposite side. The couch was comfortable enough, not too hard not too soft, quite relaxing if I may say so. “Your mother has spoken a great deal about you to me, and to be honest Im quite excited about getting to know you.” Her voice was soothing and also sounding as something was to be desired. What personal gain could she get by trying to tinker with my mind? “I want to start by you telling me why you think you're here. If you don't mind.” “I'm here...” I was at a loss for words. My mother had talked me into coming here after I got out of the hospital, but I never really asked myself why. She is worried for my well being, I know this, but nothing really connected. “I'm here, because my mother referred me to you. She's been seeing you for several months now and it's helped her deal with things better, I guess. She wants me to be able to as well. But as for why I'm really here? I don't know.” “Many people come to see me for reasons they don't even know. But to speak with me about your issues won't solve them. When it comes to figuring out the solution to a problem, it's on your hands. I can merely help guide you towards a better way with dealing with your personal expression. At all of our ages we never can seem to gain a grip on our emotions, and many people, including myself, need to talk with someone who's knowledgeable with emotions. They can help us understand what we really feel but what we choose to do with that interpretation is up to, well, the person. No one person can force you to choose one way or another, and anyone who tries is merely manipulating you into thinking so.” “I can agree with all of that.” “Well good. I would like to start by you telling me some details about yourself.” “I'm 16, soon to be 17. I attend..” I pause for a moment and restart that sentence, “I did attend Columbia University High School for the Gifted. But due to some health problems I was hospitalized for several weeks and cannot finish the semester. I don't go out, I don't have any friends, and I don't like change. ” “Why were you hospitalized for several weeks?” “I was in a coma for 3 weeks.” “Oh, dear. Why?” “The doctors don't really know. Several other of my peers were there too, but none stayed as long as me. No one was comatose for more than 2 days, other than me.” “That's terrible.” “I'm fine now.” “What happened?”

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“I really cannot say, I don't remember.” She's so inquisitive, I don't see why this has anything to do with anything. She continues on for 45 minutes asking questions about school, friends, my mother. However, she always brought the topic back to the hospital.“What really does this have to do with anything?” “Oh, well, I'm just trying to understand some things about your past. Trauma leaves a very large burden on us, more so in the unconscious mind. Your mother told me...” (DING) Her sentence was cut short by the ring of the doorbell downstairs. “It looks like my next client is here.” I glance at the clock on the table next to the chair, 4:50pm. my session was only supposed to last until 4:30. “Alright, we'll pickup on this topic next week. But I want you to do something for me in the meantime.” A voice calls out form downstairs interrupting her. “Jane! You here?” A man yells out. “I'll be right down!” She turns to me and continues to say, “I want you to keep a journal of all the things that are on your mind. You won't have to show me this journal, but I I want to try to bring some things into the foreground. Alright? Will you do this for me?” Without any thought I replied. “Yes.” “Good, now off you go. I will see you the same time next week.” I stand up and walk out the house ignoring anything about my surroundings, including the man who had stopped Jane from telling me what my mother told her. That bugs me, people talking about me behind my back. Just doesn't seem fair. I prefer if someone has something to say about me they say it to my face. I continue home thinking about what had gone on in the house. When I committed myself to keeping a journal of my “thoughts” I hadn't really been listening. I wanted to know what my mother had told her. So with that thought in my head I pulled out a study Black Warrior pencil and a fresh, clean notebook. I sit down in-front of the boob-tube and begin my writings while watching the evening news. I didn't get far, a few blurby sentences, before the news anchor caught my attention. “Early this morning everyone's favorite super, Titan, saved a school bus of children from the wicked villain known as Vermin. The vicious Vermin hi-jacked the school bus on its morning route, taking the children hostage. Before police could even arrive on the scene Titan had tagged-and-bagged the vile Vermin. From everyone here at Channel 5, we thank you Titan.” I quickly take my pencil and being writing whatever thoughts come to my mind.

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January 8th, 2008
Why do superheroes save us? (Titan -– saved school bus) January 10th, 2008 Over the last few days I've done some thinking over that question, keeping me up at night. Supers willingly risk their lives to rescue humans, right. But why? Personal gain aside from an ego trip is public glory. But what motivates them? (Naut – saved suicide jumper.) January 11th, 2008 Personal glory could have something to do with it but what about satisfaction? When humans eat food, they get satisfied, the same goes for almost every receptive task, an adrenaline rush maybe? (Elastic – saved a speeding train) Jan 12, 08 Mom's making fish........ again. January 14 2008 Motivation pushes all of us to do something, but what in root cause powers motivation? I look at the news on TV and aside from Supers saving mankind I see people getting shot, house burning down and women getting raped. This sick world we live in makes me thank the gods for the Supers. (Ironically no super activity today)

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The Middle (continued) “So what have you written?” “Whatever was on my mind when I had time.” I sink into the couch as Jane begins the session of questions. “Can I see them?” I hand her notebook. She takes a minute or two to analyze the contents of the document giving an expressionless look for the majority of the time. A slight smile comes over her mouth as her eyes shift up to meet mine. “Very interesting. Motivation is a key element in understanding the world around us, but more importantly, the people in that world. We often have a hard time understanding the various perspectives each individual may perceive.” “Putting yourself in someone else's shoes.” “Precisely. But do you think we can ever really enter someone else's shoes?” I ponder for a few moments, trying to picture myself in loafing around in another's shoes. I think of my mother and the hardships she's encountered in her life; the death of her parents, the loss of a husband, and the recent trauma in my life. It doesn't make me sad, not anymore, nothing does. “No. I don't think we can ever truly feel what someone else feels. We would need their experiences, their faults and perfections, their past and essentially their future.” “Feel what they feel..”She said it in the way as if she was referring to a larger point, “How so?” “Without the experiences that make a person who they are, we can never truly understand what they've been through. And even then people all have a different way of interpreting the world around them, whose to say one's sadness is the same as another's? “Wouldn't you assume that sadness transcends personal reality and acts more as a collective, existing more in the unconscious mind?” “How so?” “It was Carl Jung who stated his theory of a 'collective unconscious' in which everyone's personality was formulated from the series of events through self actualization. Meaning the

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events we experience in our lives shapes our outcome and who we are. Ultimately this collective stands in an absolute form. So in simple terms everyone gets the same set of criteria to decide upon, but no one consciously makes these choices, it's done in our subconscious thought process.” What Jane just said intrigues me. My mind starts to rush with knowledge of analytical psychology and I connect the dots. “So, theoretically if someone could tap into that subconscious reality they would be connected to everyone's sub-inherent thought?” “In a matter of words, yes, I supposed they could.” (DING) “Is our time over already?” “I believe so for today. Will you continue to write in your journal for me?” “I guess.” “Good. I will see you next week.” I stood up and walk out of the door. For the first time I notice the off-white color of the the walls and the plush green carpet. I head downstairs, only to find an empty room. Where's the man? I head to the front door and reach for the handle. It suddenly turns and the door comes swinging open, striking my forehead. The force of the opening door is tremendous, pushing me back nearly four feet. “Oh, my, Im so very sorry! Are you ok?” Its the same man from the previous week. “Yea, I'm...” I say as I attempt the rub out the pain. Jane comes swiftly down the steps after hearing the noise. “Is everything okay?” “Yeah, I just decided to assault your other client, Jane. Sorry about that.” “Are you okay Andrew?” Jane asks me. “Yes, just dandy.” I say sarcastically. “Oh, well good. Um... Andrew this is Mac, your assaulter. Mac this is Andrew.” The End (continued) For the moment I feel like Neil Armstrong taking that first jump onto lunar soil. That slow fall to the surface, while your lunch hovers inside your stomach, weightless. It isn't long before our decent surpasses our ascent velocity. Like a metal to an electromagnet, Mac and I plummet back to where we once came from. As we reenter the rain-clouds, our hair all astray from the increasing wind, the memory of my grandfather comes to the foreground. On rainy days he would tell us jokes for entertainment and for some odd reason my favorite was always, “You know Andrew, it's not the fall that kills you, it's that sudden stop.” Without fail that statement always forces me to chuckle, and this time was no different. As we b-line for the ground I crack a laugh, our bodies still tightly wrapped together by Titan's arms. We exit the clouds with me still laughing. “What's so funny?” “Huh? Oh, just a joke my grandpa used to tell us.” I say while I laugh. “You're plummeting to your demise and you're laughing, must be a good joke.” “No, not really, thats the funny thing.” The cityscape appears below us in all its metallic glory. I feel like Im a missile rocketing towards a predetermined target, and on impact my vision will turn into white-noise. “Hold on tight!” Titan yells. I clinch every muscle in my body. My eyes are wide-shut to

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the point where it hurts. The sounds of crashing glass and boom explosions range back into my head. The smells of the city, again, consume my mind. I open my eyes slightly as we fall into a cove between buildings far from where we once were, I think this is Sixth Street. Windows rushing by us, I watch our reflection. I glance towards the ground and like a drop of blood seeping into the empty spaces of a white shirt, a red stretchy surface extends to all four corners of the pavements below. “Elastic!” Is the only thing Mac is able to say before we enter the rubber-band like Super. We quickly decelerate still traveling towards the ground. And like something from a cartoon we slowly and genteelly come to a stop. Right as one would think we were to rebound like off a trampoline Elastic unravels, dropping us to the ground to resume his normal form. I was alive. “Elastic, where are the others?” “Mate, I dont know how to tell you this, but I think they're all dead...” “Naut is dead.” I say “Joan, Plato, Felix, Stella, Marvin, Quicksilver, Puck...” And with every name Titan asks, Elastic just shakes his head, a dead look in his eye. I can feel his pain and sorrow, this distance, the turmoil. These were his friends, brothers and sisters at arms, defAndrews of justice and law, his family. Mac, like me, shows no emotion. He knows he must carry on, otherwise he will join the rest. There is a battle to be fought. A crash sounds as stone pieces burst from a nearby building, its contents spilling out filling the street with remnants of history and culture. I look to Titan, his eyes are stern and focused, he knows what he must do. “Stay here, Andrew. Elastic, ready?” He shakes his head in affirmation. “Good.” Mac looks at me and says, “Remember what I've told you. Do what you can, but no matter what, stay alive.” A nearby building explodes, bursting like a balloon, scattering rubble and debris everywhere. With a blink of an eye a metal beam as sharp as kitchen cutlery catapults for us at blistering speeds. Before we even have time to react it enters Elastic's body, exiting on the same plane. His blood smears across our faces as his body consumes part of the velocity and bolsters back into the building behind us sticking like a dart. “FUCK!” Screams Titan. He clinches his eyes and looks to root of the blast. From the smoky remnants arises a silhouetted frame. A female, slAndrew in body yet gifted, slightly glides above the ground. With no physical body part touching the ground. “Greetings the one they call, Titan.” A voice calls out, cast with an echo of vibrant force. Mac doesn't say anything, he just stands there. The smoke begins to clear. An all-black-matted suit with fine-line loops of orange and blue that wrap around the body covers the figure. Her skin as coarse as sand, with lips sewn shut. Her hairs flutters out as if touching an electromagnet. She has no eyelids, and where her eyes should be lies a black ominous hole, void of anything. “My name is Meredith.” “I know who you are.” Mac speaks. “And I want you to leave now, and go back to the hell you came from.” “NEVER!” Her lips are sewn shut... How is it she speak... Telepathy.” “Clever kid.” She moves towards Mac and I. “Don't move, Andrew.” Her movement was quick, as though she melded with the air, she whisks around us. She has no feet, I think to myself, she's just... air? A spiral of color twists around me like the wind, her face becomes slightly visible floating right in front of my own. I don't feel a thing.

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“So stern this one, fearless, yet so fragile. Andrew, is it? Why would a handsome boy like you be hanging around an old archaic thing like super-lad over here?” I look to Mac, he doesn't look back. He's staring straight forward as though the wench never moved. “No matter. It's not as though the world will have its guardian-angel for long.” Mac's eyes didn't move. She circles around Titan, rising to his face. “Is there anything big strong Titan is afraid of?” “Him.” He refers to me... why? What does he have to fear from me? “HIM! Why you ignorant fool, you, like your friends, will pay.” She elevates her airy body. Still no movement from Titan, why isn't he doing anything? “To your knees!” Like a dog Titan falls to his knees. I cant move... I'm frozen. Mac must be too! Telekinesis? “You cease to impress me child. Now, Andrew, watch the power of a true Super.” “Titan, get up! TITAN!” He just stares. “Mac get up, do something! Mac! Mac!” The feeling of power fills the air, Titan's chest begins to protrude. The air intensifies as Mac's chest bolsters. I continue to yell, “MAC! MAC! DO SOMETHING!” Meredith beings to scream, the screech filling my ears. It drafts a sound I've never heard, as though she was ripping soul from body. My eardrums feel like bursting. Suddenly inside my very chest I feel something... something deep in that figurative core.. I feel... anger, sadness, violent, grungy, death, life, happiness, joy, glee, pain, sorrow, sexual, pure, but most predominate, power.. Mac's eyes dart to meet mine, and with that his chest ruptures. His bones smack my face and blood showers my body. I regain some sense of reality, and my sight, wiping the blood from my eyes as I look up to Meredith. I see in midair, floating there, Titan's core, his soul–his heart.

PSEUDONAME The Middle (continued... again)

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Over the past few months, I became obsessed with Supers and their abilities. My desire to become something more than just a mere human drives my mind wild with creative ideas. So it seems in this world of mass chaos and treacherous villainy, our need for the Supers grows by with the passing minute. The police, having to deal with the escalation in crime, look to the Supers for protection and so do the people of the world. However, this comes at a great cost. The moment I met Mac, I knew his secret. He is a man who has a lot to hide, thus entrusts his secrets with a person who knows how to deal with a great deal of life's challenges. Though she does not have the experience of being able to throw cars and rescue people from burning buildings, Jane possesses the ability to comfort one's mind and bring it to a state of solitude. It was in the past a defense of mine to hide those secrets I hold most dear–the reasoning behind my hospital trip. So today, I've decided, I will tell her. “What's troubling you today Andrew?” “Oh, nothing. Just...” I pause. I don't want to do it, but at the same time I know she can help. If Mac can divulge information such as his secrets to her, so can I. “The first time I came here I told you about my being hospitalized for a long period of time. Three weeks to be more precise.” “Yes, I remember.” I position myself in a comfortable manner on the comfy chair and begin to reveal my secrets. The Beginning I sit at the large marble table reading over the my lab findings for a chemical imbalance for TH and KA. I glance at Mark, my lab partner. “Did you get the co-efficient for the problem?” “Not yet, I'm trying to figure it out right now. Did you find the balance for the two?” “Dude, this is pretty fucked up. I hate chemistry.” I run my warm fingertips over the cold marble surface feeling every scar left by generations previous. My mind can't help but wander into the unknown vast origins of universe, trying to contemplate the true existence of love. For the first time in my recent memory I feel this way about someone. Their beauty overwhelms my senses and consumes my mind. I understand the fact that it has only been 5 weeks since my coming out, but I can't help but feel this overpowering will to be with someone. My mind and body have been tangled in this web of lies and deceit for such a long time, I was beginning to feel as though love was just an unspoken lie. Created by the media as a form of self expressions towards the greater benefit of their bank accounts. Growing up in a predominantly white Christian family with high morals and pious expectations, being gay was formidable deal. It ranks with that of teen-pregnancy and drug abuse. Some even vouch saying that being gay, since it has no cure or remedy, amounts to being worse. But what do they know? For the first time in my desolate life, after ages of loneliness and solitude, my mind is free to think what it wants, and I am free to feel what I wanted. The desire to hold and be held by another man drives imagination crazy. I catch a glance from Nathan, the boy that fills my thoughts, from across the room. His eyes tell a story of gentle serenity and desperate temptation, a deadly combination. I've have been talking with him and speaking about the general idea of maybe treating him to a mentionable night on the town, but I have yet to hear a reply from his

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sweet lips. Oh, those lips, how I desire thee. I close my eyes, in an attempt to assume and feel his desire towards me. Hoping that somewhere in the great cosmos that thoughts fill, I might be able to hint towards the true nature of his feelings. Does he like me? Is he interested? All questions any newly admitting homosexual would have. My mind darts, shooting around emotions of desire, sexuality, happiness and joy. All of these emotions drive through my mind as I think of Nathan. It's almost as if we are connecting on some mental level, sharing and exchanging our emotions. I attempt to open my eyes. I feel my legs relax and weaken, as my body tumbles to the floor. I feel no pain. My mind begins to trap my body as I enter the unknown state of mental reflection. Thoughts begin to fill my head. That of worry and fear from those surrounding me course through my veins. My mind panics, running wild like a monkey trying to escape from his cage, bouncing off every wall, banging in hopes to gain freedom. My brain begins to fill with uncharted memories and feelings. Starting with those of Nathan's, then those of random people in the room. Ashley's mother's drinking problem. Derek's drug addiction. More and more flow into my head. After several seconds the memories fade but their emotions heighten. I begin to feel that of Ashley's mother and the reasoning as to why she takes to the bottle and beats her children. She finds gratification from the pain she amounts on her children and the torture she places them under. Thousands of these thoughts branching from one person to others, most I've never met. Faster and faster they fill my mind until, they begin to spill out. I can hear people around me screaming in pain, or crying to torture. Nathan's voice was more potent. He is asking for someone to kill him, because the grief is such a burden. More and more feelings overflow from my mind, absorbing themselves inside the minds of those around me. I, having no control over what was happening, begin the twitch on the ground. The emotions overwhelm my body, taking their toll on my muscles. Screaming is the only thing I can hear now. The sounds of children and adults sharing a moment of sheer agony. It wasn't just the classroom, no, I could feel that of every student and every teacher inside my entire school. All screaming from the discomfort and misery. Everyone having no idea what truly was happening, not even me. The screams start to fade as one by one students reach their tolerance for pain, and begin to pass out. Their minds place them into a deep rest, rebooting their brains, unable to comprehend the current state of events. Now on the ground my body rattles and shakes, convulsing in terror of the connection with everyone. Suddenly I stop. My mind clears itself of all matters concerning personal affection and opens to the vast and unlimited connection of the unconscious. I feel... nothing... nothing but a connection with every living human being on earth, and beyond. A connection that can only be be described as a link to subconscious. It is impossible for me to elaborate any further, only that I feel what everyone else in this world feels, and more devastatingly I can control what everyone else feels. I fear for this connection, this state of dreaming and recall my mind to the upper levels of consciousness trying to resume my modus operandi, but only resulting in failure. My mind draws a blank picture of black. The vast openness consumes my body, and I fall victim to my own thoughts. The Middle (continued... again, again) “I spent the next 4 weeks in a coma, contemplating the feelings of those I had gathered. I

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didn't know what they where, but more importantly, I didn't know whose they were.” “That's quite a tale, Andrew.” “I assure you its all tru...” “I know you're telling the truth, Andrew. From our talks I could sense there was something that was hiding. And by studying your ways of interaction with people, your lack of feeling and showing of emotion, lead me to conclude that this hospitalized time was indeed led on by a series of strenuous events. All of which somehow effected you directly in an emotional way.” “When I woke up from the coma, I didn't know my own thoughts and feelings from those I had gathered. It was mixed between all these people and their emotions, so I separated myself from my feelings. Knowing my feelings are what triggered this instance in the first place, I got as far away from them as possible.” “Keeping yourself distanced from your emotions will only lead to an even greater scene of events.” “What do you mean?” “You locked your true feelings up for such an extended period of time, when you finally allowed yourself to feel, they unleashed consuming the thoughts, somehow tapping into the unconscious that connects us all. Everyone in this world feels something, whether it be happiness or fear, they feel it. So, if everyone in this world feels, we all have to receive this information from the same place, some call this a collective unconscious. This unconsciousness connects all of us, and if somehow you were to able to communicate with this and manipulate it, you could in turn, be able to control people's motives. The true root to all nature, some might say. The Real Andrew My heart is pounding. Nothing I could ever say could truly describe how I feel at this moment. I had to face the truth; Titan was dead, and I was alone. I glance at my hands, they're covered in Mac's blood. His lifeless body lies fallen next to mine. A gaping hole resides where his chest once was. I think to myself about why Mac said he fears me. I recollect on the things Jane once told me, about the ability to tap into the subconscious mind and somehow control peoples motivations. Was it true? Was I a Super? My whole life I yearned for something more, a larger purpose for life and my meaning. But I just came to think that all that was a normal happenstance for humans, and that we all want something more. Mac's heart fell to the ground, causing a thud that catches my attention. With my focus back on the Super Meredith she spoke, “He fears you because you hold the ability no other being could think imaginable.” “What's that?” “Your gift pushes the boundaries of man, elevating them to a new level.” She begins to circle me. “All the pain you have caused to that school of children. All because you let your feelings out. You know what happened to most of them? They ended up in a psych-ward with imbalanced personality disorders. Some went crazy killings those they loved, and some just reverted back to their primal states, blocking out all higher thought process.” “I don't believe you.” “Well you should.” She pauses and switches voices. Her godly resonation turns into

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something much less sinister–a voice of a young male. “Andrew.” That voice. I know that voice... “Nathan?” The airy Super fades into smoke and carries away with the blowing wind. The illusion of a demon lady fades, her eye wide and unblinking became a memory. A silhouette arises in the shadows from the broken buildings. A boy emerges from the rubble. Nathan, the boy my heart has fallen for climbs down the crush concrete. “Hello, Andrew.” “Nathan, what are you doing?” I ask. “Paying you back for the pain you caused me. Ever since that day my mind has been overwhelmed by the looming emotions of others. All because of you, and your ability. Empathy is a very dangerous tool to use, and against others? You forced the world's feelings into the heads of all of us.” “Nathan, I had no choice... I wasn't in control of...” “It doesn't matter now, Andrew. The deed is done, and soon we won't have to worry about the destruction you can cause. Your power will no longer be abused by the likes of you or anyone else.” “Nathan, I beg you please don't do this...” With that he looks up at my and mutters the words of I'm sorry, slowly across his lips. He closes his eyes to summon his powers. My body begins to feel a pressure. I must not let him see my pain, I tell myself, I need to stay strong. The pain grows as I feel my ribs begin to separate. My voice starts to quibble and a screech finds its way out of my mouth. With every passing second the pain grows, my heart starts to race, pumping blood to my muscles which try to fend off against the growing strength. My back is bent, arching my chest outward. His screams get louder and more verbose. Pain is no longer causing the screaming, now its sheer force. My body begins to elevate off the ground, my arms and feet dangle in the rising. My head bent back, mouth open. I feel the rain enter my mouth, touching my lips and tongue, reminding my of the towering jump I had taken only minutes ago. It is with this memory, I decide to close my eyes and open my mind. It is with this breath that I will change the future of this world. 50 Years After

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May 14th, 2058 It is now, for the first time in 50 years, I decide to tell the tale in the journal of that faithful day. The day I opened my mind to the unconscious of all man. With the developing of my ability I amounted to outcomes of being able to completely manipulate that of emotions, the root to all actions. With my ability, I took it upon myself, to change the outcome of the human race. That moment facing off against “Meredith” I took away for all life, the eerie essence of what makes us “free”. And replaced it uniformity. Since my doing so our world has been cured of crimes of man against man, no longer is there war, or murder, just peace of prosperity. I rid the world of famine and replaced it with growth. The cures for AIDS, Cancer, TB, MS, amongst dozens of other has led to their irradiation. Still in this time of perfection, I lack anything of the olden days, when I was allowed to feel for another. The desire to touch another and be with someone no longer looms in the minds of others, just me. I am writing this on my deathbed and any moment I will expire. And with me, my rules will cease to exist. The world will once again feel compassionately for one anther and as a side-effect war will come. I am writing this for reasons even unknown to myself, so maybe someday when humans look back upon the time of unprecedented progress and peace they might see the error of their ways. But the question I ask, was it all in vein? Should we sacrifice everything we hold most dear for the betterment of our species? I have granted all a taste of perfection, a society without reason to live, a society that obeys without second thought, and I can say without hesitation, I am ready to die.

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