"You're you and that's the best superpower a person can have. Nobody else has that and no one ever will!"

(Original Quote)

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Sylvia wasn't the kind of girl to cry.

That devastating heartbreak at 16, from some guy called Archie? She didn't even shed a tear but threw a lot of curses.

No prom dates? She wasn't complaining.

Even 'The Notebook' couldn't pry open her tear ducts.

Suck on that, Gosling!

But, 25th August of '15, she cried like hell because her father wasn't in the backyard fixing the birdhouse.

Sylvia's dad was dressed sharply in a tuxedo, scrubbed clean and looked very peaceful with the abundance of every type of flowers around him.

He was taking one of his afternoon naps, but that time, the alarm clock's buzz wouldn't be able to do anything, since he didn't wake up when Sylvia was sobbing.

Weeping at first, held up for a few seconds with bit, blood red lips and then let go in her mother's arm, then onto mine.

Her father was gone, sleeping in the casket with no alarm set on the clock.

Her mother thought 'vacation' and I said, 'Summer Camp' and in the end, I won because her mother was a mess too.

Sylvia isn't the type of girl to cry.

But, this afternoon, far away from August but not too far away from her nightmare's reach; she was crying.

"Sylvie?"

She's been thinking about being snuck on, since she didn't even flinch.

"Be-be right there."

"You okay?"

"I said, I'll be out!"

Turn around, Jack. She's fine.

One leg was out, then there was a sniffle and I couldn't help it.

"Sylvie?"

There wasn't any need to ask if she was okay, because she turned around from the corner window.

Reddened face, rubbed eyes and burst capillaries between the whites of her brown pupils were the identity of a sad girl.

"Sylvie, what's-what's going on?"

"I'll be out-in a second."

"Sylvie?"

Career counselor cards, an algebra book on the desk, YMCA, Harvard Careerist Handbook, Self-help a brown bottle with suspicious pills rolling around the corner.

These weren't the possession of a girl at a summer camp.

These were the signs of a person who was losing herself.

"Jack?"

"Sylvie, you're not alright."

"No."

"What's-tell me about it?"

I let her eyes be hesitant for seconds, bitten lips trembled into words.

"I've been thinking about the future. What I would do."

"Yeah?"

"And-I have been planning a lot."

"Okay."

"And-and, I don't know what I'll do!"

Sylvia wasn't the hugging type of girl.

But, she was too stressed that afternoon because her nails dug into my neck.

Clawing for comfort.

"It's alright." I whispered.

"It's not!"

"You're alright!"

"I'm not! I'm not-smart enough!"

"Syl, what do you-"

At this point, her tear glazed eyes were all I could see.

"I won't get into Harvard Med! I won't! I-I got a call."

"Sylvie-"

"I know Dad wanted me to! I promised him! But-I won't get in ever!"

"Sylvie-"

"I'm just a useless piece of crap! I wish I wasn't! I wish I was one of those superheroes in comic books! I wish I wasn't so fuckin' worthless!"

She wasn't finished.

"It's fuckin' silly, I know. But, I wish my superpower wasn't breaking promises!"

In the next few minutes, there were sobs, her head over my shoulder and nothing else.

"Sylvie-"

"No, Jack. Don't-don't try to make it better."

"I wouldn't if you weren't being so-so irrational."

"Don't say anything."

"You're comparing yourself with stupid comic books heroes? The ones with the ridiculous capes and make believe, pseudo-science powers?"

She was taken aback, because she thought I'd bring her dad's vision of herself in this.

I would, but not now.

"It's just-it's just a metaphor, Jack."

"Well, it's a real shit one, Sylvie! Comic book heroes? They aren't living in reality. They aren't tough. You are tough!"

"Don't try to make it-better."

"I'm not. You are the kind of girl who takes care of her mother, her family. You took care of me, when we grew up. You do now!"

"What's-what's the point?"

"Comic book heroes are children's toys, Sylvie. They're not powerful. Living in the real world, college, going through something like this, handling the-the messy situations at home. That's power, Sylvie. That's strength that Superman doesn't or won't ever have!"

Her half-shot chuckle sounded like success.

"You're the strongest girl I know. Comic book superheroes got nothing on you. Their superpower is shit compared to you!"

"And, what's my superpower?"

"Well-well, it's called being human. That's the greatest thing of all. Being strong, falling down and getting up. Seeing the bad and still smiling at the good things."

It's such a joy to hear her smirk again.

"You're you! You're-you're Sylvia! Superman's got nothing on you. You're passionate, you're strong. Hell, this is the second time I saw you cry!"

Her claws unstuck when she came into view.

Looking broken but whole with her scratched lips, puffed eyes and a conquering smile.

"You can be everything. Anything you want to be. You're you and that's the best superpower a person can have. Nobody else has that and no one ever will!"

"What-what about Dad's promise?"

"You can and you will! He wants you to be happy. Anything you do, he would want you to be happy. I want you to be too."

It wasn't the champagne moment, when fireworks go off and you are instantly dancing with happiness.

In real life, all you need is a start, a push and the Universe will scheme to get you there.

"Okay, now?"

"Okay, Jack."

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This short story/prompt was written under '600' or a bit over word count.

Therefore, details, descriptions and other blank spaces in the plot or the dialogue have to be understood by the active intuition of the reader.

Enjoy!