BLUE LIGHTNING

     Perfect blue, the color of the sky, seeped in through splotched vision. Wispy white clouds swam across, leisurely. Everything wobbled. In the corner of my eyes, old trees waved in the breeze, their branches were fists egging on the fight below them. Or maybe they shook them in disapproval. How puny! How pathetic! And Quirkless! They yelled. How soft they seemed in comparison to the pudgy fist readying itself to connect with my face again. Grass tangled itself into my dark hair with each resistant thrash of my head.

     "How does it feel to be the hero now?! Isn't it fun?"

     No matter how hard I tried, I found myself in the middle of chaos. Sometimes it was the universe against me. Most of the time it was my own doing. I remember the girl I was fighting, her fluffed tail switching with delight at each hit she landed. She was a long-time bully. There was no recollection of why we were fighting, it was a petty childhood fight that no longer mattered. And yet, it was a moment that lived on forever in my mind.

     The only thing more vivid than the present was the feeling of each hit. The deep forceful pain after she pulled back to strike again, the immediate sting. The instinct to fight my way away from her grasp was in full throttle, but she had me pinned with her knees on my legs and her arms flailing wherever she could land a hit. Her meaty fists beat down on my face and chest like a hammer wearing down the impurities of a sword. My bruised, tan arms could only take so much, shielding my face. Even then it wasn't her punches I was scared of. It was her Quirk— young and uncontrolled. And Cher. How would I explain this back home and to Cher?

     I could feel her intense gaze already. What I lacked in parental guidance, Cher made up for in consequences and the best advice she could give.

     "Cerda!" Was all I could manage to get out between pummels. A pig, a dirty pig! If there was anything I hated in a world with so much to love, it was a bully. I didn't attempt to yell out more, focusing on the image of her nose scrunching up into a snout; her face red and round with anger. I grimaced, wanting to call out but by then I also knew that calling out for help meant adults. Adults meant I would be in trouble. My mouth started to taste like pennies.

     When I squeezed my eyes shut, partly to tough out the pain and partly to keep the flying dirt out of my eyes, warm sunlight enveloped me. It was a strong feeling for a newly-turned five year old; humming with vivid energy that tugged for attention. My frantic thoughts were interrupted by the inkling of questions. Small voiceless voices asking "What shall I be? What shall I do?"

     I felt the sway of the trees in my hair, the roots of the grass pulling nutrients from the dirt in every one of my veins, even the particles of air dancing along and within my skin. It was a sense of being whole and yet wanting more meshed together in neverending war.

     Her voice was among them, louder than any. My fingertips tingled as they touched her skin, singling out her essence. Her rage was my rage. Why was I so angry? All I had to do was think of what they— whatever they are— needed to do, what I wanted them to be. It came naturally, like a sculpture molding clay into their vision of Aphrodite. Flickering orange burst behind my eyelids, warm sunlight caressing my cheeks. I stopped holding my breath as the other girl screamed insults in fury and fear. A hiss slipped past grit teeth as I exhaled the air and pain.

     "You're a freak! A freak!" She squealed, her voice muffled by the beat of my pounding heart.

     I don't remember why we were fighting. Who I even lived with then. Vividly, I remember the sudden sense of being alive during that childish scuffle. The tug of the universe deep in my being. I'd wondered my whole, short life what it would look like when I first used my Quirk. What kind of mystical power would burst forth from my being unbound and untamed. Instead I was fighting for my life— or so it felt like, eyes shut and heartbeat in my ears. That first use of my Quirk was lost to me.

     When the clouds are sluggish wisps in the sky, I remember that day.

     I'm waiting for Kimbi just near the edge of the Central, a noisy downtown area— overcrowded with energy and bodies. If I don't pay attention it all melted together, static. My eyes scan the skyline, refreshing my memories of every alley and fire escape. A figure moves across, languid as wind and water. If Kimbi's voice wasn't beckoning, my eyes would stay glued to them. Even in a super powered society, people don't go to the rooftops unless they are being sneaky. I like to consider myself an expert on the matter, having explored these rooftops a hundred times over.

     My gaze finds Kimbi instantly; Her pink-toned hair is so pale it reflects white in the sunlight, loose curls from the two puffs atop her head whipping around her face. Kimbi's bangs, however, stay in place over her perfectly manicured brows on either side of the glimmering diamond embedded in her forehead. Ever the fashionista, her outfit consists of a pink blazer and white collared shirt underneath, neatly buttoned to just below her neck— a golden necklace dangling from her sharp collarbone. Her pleated skirt matches the blazer, a red heart embroidered into the hem.

     "Check this out!"

     In Kimbi's hand are crisp bills; her prize for receiving good grades the entire year. Before us are tall storefronts and flashy vendors all begging for us to spend them at their business. Her full lips are pulled wide, her teeth white and straight from years of braces and care. She loops her arm through mine, guiding me down the street to our destination. Her chunky shoes— whiter and brighter than snow— add to her height, but we adjust our gate naturally. We've only done it for the last six years.

     In comparison, I feel rather plain, but never in a bad way. I want to blend in— to be faceless in the crowd. I'm happy to have Kimbi's presence, she makes me feel whole in a sense. As if she were an organ I'm missing. The yin to my yang.

     While we were both labeled 'mischievous' for the silly pranks that brought us together. If a chicken ran loose in the halls or ladybugs filled the air vents, we seemed to be at the epicenter of stares and laughs from our peers. While the Okonmas didn't appreciate how often I land their only daughter in the principal's office for harmless antics, they never treat me as less. Kimbi has always had a way of making sure things never get too out of hand, only ever receiving a slap on the wrist.

     But mischievousness on my own, is an entirely different story.

     Last week, we'd run through the newly built arcade, scoring points in Ski-Ball by standing on the machine and tossing the balls in 10,000 slots. The fun only lasted until we were chased out by an employee, tired and overworked— devoid of joy. We decided on a much more tame quality time for today, settling for smoothies outside of a quaint cafe. Mango all the way for me and Strawberry-Banana for Kimbi, we barely get a word out before the cashier rings us up. She already knows what we like since we hang out here often.

     The seating outside is nice, hefty metal tables dotted the sidewalk with enough room for foot traffic to get by. We choose one that is shaded by a nearby tree.

     "Can you believe we're just a few months away from being in high school!"

     "Honestly, I'm going into a Support Course... or maybe a Quirkless high school."

     If there is anything Kimbi is, it is charismatic. There are very few things about her that aren't charming, even with her mischievousness or flamboyant outbursts, people enjoy her presence and leadership. Although, with the amount of time I spend around her, I can tell she doesn't agree behind her flashing grin. She smiles like she's getting ready to laugh, but her brows crinkle with disapproval. "Be serious..."

     "I am serious. Cher thinks it'll keep my 'fighting' to a minimum since I can't justify using my Quirk on someone Quirkless." Eyes drifting from the dripping condensation of my drink to her, then I grin.

     Kimbi laughs, rolling her eyes before she takes a sip of her smoothie. In truth, I haven't thought about what I want to do seriously. There is something that never settled right with me with the most coveted profession. On the other hand, Kimbi studies hard and maintains a good schedule with the support of her parents, organizing herself for the future. She makes it all seem breezy, knowing her goals and how to attain them. But what do you do when you don't have that same goal as everyone else? It leaves you with countless options that seem to shine far less and feel awkward to speak about. That's the predicament I find myself floating in.

     Avoiding the topic of Heroes and heroics is a given when around Kimbi. Or most people. If there is anything Pro-Heroes flash more than their super powers it's their 'charity'. They go in to meet adoring children only to give half-hearted well wishes and dead-eyed smiles, only glowing for a camera. Anything else took too much precious energy.

     "Well whatever, there's still time," she waves her hand, swatting away the conversation. It doesn't take long for something to catch her curious eyes. "Whoa... What's going on over there."

     Whipping around in my seat to peek behind our table, a crowd has gathered at an intersection. Rumbling tickles my feet and shakes our table. A woman is walking away, calmer than a summer sky, oblivious to the commotion behind her. She checks her watch, small silver waves fluttering across her cheeks. She looks at me and looks away, but a chill creeps down my spine. Weird.

     "We should probably get out of here," Kimbi says, trying to hide her demands with concern— her fingers on my skin in hopes to guide me away from the chaos. But like a moth to the flame, it attracts my attention. "I have a bad feeling."

     The atmosphere gives me a thrill.

     Anxious energy plagues the crowd, the sky growing dark with unease. I lean further back in my chair to get an impossible clear view. People stand on their tiptoes, pushing and shoving their ways through the throng. Then it strikes: the shockwave of panic as a fight breaks out.

     It won't take long for a Pro Hero to arrive, but I can move just as fast. And I'm already here. Lucky me. Thoughtlessly, I grin

     Kimbi is scolding me to get off the table, but it's in one ear out the other as I gently brush away her hand. I squint towards the epicenter of the crowd to catch a glimpse of what is happening. It's either a mutation Quirk or someone's unlikely lost experiment.

     Clad in a black skin-tight suit, a person stands with their head thrashing every which way with disorientation to peer through dust. As if they're trying to shake something off of themselves. Their stance is poised to fight, crouching low to dodge any strike thrown at them. Glowing marks ran along the sides of their suit and two red dots above each brow even though I can't quite make out the rest of their face. Several people approach with concern only to be met with a warning strike. The shouting begins.

     Most civil unrest is a petty thief, searching for their moment of fame, the moment they stick it to the man with a half-baked plan. Usually Heroes of smaller agencies or sidekicks of Pro-Heroes dealt with the smaller matters, with less grace and power but the job is always did-and-done.

     Then the fighting breaks out, agitation at miscommunications built up until they flooded free. Kimbi is ready in the heartbeat of a hero, the glittering gem on her forehead illuminating the air as it solidifies into a rounded shield. Rubble shatters with each clash. People push past in an attempt to escape. At this moment I'm thankful I can slip into the crowd and onto a fire escape without notice.

     Truth be told, I've been keeping a secret from Kimbi. Cher is aware these things occurred, but she is unaware of how frequently they occur. I've only been caught twice; once when I was real little and another when I was careless, overzealous, and arrogant.

     My heart skips a beat, my skin rippling as a tell-tale sign of Transmute.

     Each house is different; different levels of awareness, different rules, different people. My current foster parent is on the lenient side, letting me hang out with my friends within reason. And she sleeps like a rock, everyone in the house did.

     It is stifling, to be in strange homes with strange people. A light that just can't be flipped off switches in my mind. The darkness is lonely, unsettling. At first, I only wanted solace under the night sky, but I grew bored and began to explore over the years. Eventually, I landed myself in what can be considered 'criminal activity' by law. But who cares? No one notices anyway... and I don't want to be noticed. I want to feel something other than instability and isolation.

     The first night, I had been too terrified of how soundly she slept. Not a noise could wake her. That's when I realized I had gotten lucky. I was in the clear. Cher didn't know this was a near nightly ritual. The older I got, the more daring I became. I can't really pinpoint when the habit started, but each time is more thrilling than the next. Staying unseen and wandering the night, helping those who would otherwise be alone and unprotected. For people to blindly believe Heroes catch every crime is ludicrous. It will always be to me.

     Warm light envelopes me. I'm not sure how it looks to everyone else, but to me it's blinding and feels like the warmest hug. The essences, for that one moment, are silent. And as the light disappears, a pure rush of life rattles my being. Everytime I use my Quirk, I am reborn. Antennas sprout from the ends of my shaved eyebrows and soft, downy feathers cluster along my neck and chest. They tickle my ankles and wrists, but also send signals into my soul, amplifying every sound and movement of air. I wonder if it is what spiders feel when a fly finds themselves trapped in their web.

     Below, people still run and shouts still fill the air. I tuck my head back behind the edge of the building, eyes panning to the right in search of something— ANYTHING— to use. So caught up in the adrenaline and my small sidequest, I barely notice the figure flying by.

     "You're in my way," a melodically gravelly voice speaks through the wind, suppressing the urgency of their movements. In an instant I can feel zir energy drop into the pool of mine, a shiver shocks me where zir hand touches my shoulder, twirling me away as if I'm nothing more than what I look like— a bug. For a brief moment our hands brush along one another, a zap of energy leaving our fingertips. Zir movements are gracefully agile and precise, launching zirself over the edge of the building. The wind carries zir as zie catapults into the air, curly locks fluttering about— an eclipsed sun as zir halo.

     That was too careless. I sigh, fear settling in my stomach now that I've potentially been seen.

     Zir body arches, one arm aiming to throw. Every hair on my body stands and I gasp. With a flash, crackling, pulsating lighting slips into the length of zir fingers and illuminates the air around them. Godly. Like Zeus, zie hang suspended in the air, ready to strike. Instantaneously, the bolt whizzes through the sky and huge sparks splash where it strikes the ground, leaving everything in the vicinity singed and charred. I didn't even see it, or zir, disappear.

     Awestruck, I peer over the ledge that conceals me. Whoever— or whatever— had been down there is now gone, nonexistent except for the remnants of ash and the smell of rain.

author's note:

I am SO excited to continue writing this now that I have the first chapter revamped. I used to LOVE it but as I continued writing it and kept thinking of more details... I just was NOT happy with it. Thank you for taking the time to check it out (again, for some of you lol). But I swear I won't disappoint this time! Right now updates will be rather sporadic until I can get more of the chapters planned and the older ones re-written.

Character Spotlight:

Vivienne A. Flores-Mena

Quirk: Transmute

"By being in tune with the universe and a lot of focus, the user can turn any mass into whatever she thinks of. It also grants her a moth-like form"

Likes: Rollercoasters

  *Art was done by yours truly, but a good anime reference for Vivi is Ai Ohto from Wonder Egg Priority. It's come to my attention that her hair looks black on a laptop or desktop, but when I drew it in Procreate it came out more navy blue, which is the correct hair color. Check out my art instagram (xoxosunjin) for more OC art, art I've just done in general, or even if you want something drawn! Thanks:)