Michael sits in his apartment and grows a strange fire from his palms. The flames are blue and crinkle like cellophane when he blows on them. He can keep the fire going fine and it can get bigger when he uses both hands, really big. He likes to hold it in his left hand and pass objects through it with his other hand. Nothing gets burnt, it’s not actually combusting. Everything comes back with a light dusting of dark blue powder on it.
Michael thinks about his one bedroom apartment shithole, rent three months overdue. It’s a huge complex and nobody’s come to bug him about the money yet. It might be that the landlord is away or dead, but it still makes him nervous. Too nervous to get a job because what if he was evicted and couldn’t get another place close enough to work?
Even though he’s sure he could impress a girl with it he’s afraid to show anyone his fire. He knows what happens to mutants, he sees it in the news everyday, beautiful women with angel wings on the tv are handcuffed and led into big black vans. Super strong men with purple skin and horns are taken down with tazers every day. Normal business man by day, crusader by night, tossed in the paddy wagon the next morning. Michael doesn’t think those people did anything beside being different. Except the big strong ones have to be careful not to hurt anyone or break buildings.
Michael gets sad thinking about all the other people with more obvious differences getting thrown into jail here and being put in front of a firing squad elsewhere. The scientists tell everyone they’re still human even with their hard shells or bent backwards spines, or too many limbs. We’re all still human, he thinks to himself.
He calms himself down, not wanting to make too much of a mess. The blue powder stains if its on a surface too long and he hates cleaning off the ceiling. He pulls back the fire entirely and wipes his hands on his naked chest and gets out of bed. He puts on his clothes, with keys and wallet still in them. He leaves his apartment and goes for a walk.
Michael thinks about his one bedroom apartment shithole, rent three months overdue. It’s a huge complex and nobody’s come to bug him about the money yet. It might be that the landlord is away or dead, but it still makes him nervous. Too nervous to get a job because what if he was evicted and couldn’t get another place close enough to work?
Even though he’s sure he could impress a girl with it he’s afraid to show anyone his fire. He knows what happens to mutants, he sees it in the news everyday, beautiful women with angel wings on the tv are handcuffed and led into big black vans. Super strong men with purple skin and horns are taken down with tazers every day. Normal business man by day, crusader by night, tossed in the paddy wagon the next morning. Michael doesn’t think those people did anything beside being different. Except the big strong ones have to be careful not to hurt anyone or break buildings.
Michael gets sad thinking about all the other people with more obvious differences getting thrown into jail here and being put in front of a firing squad elsewhere. The scientists tell everyone they’re still human even with their hard shells or bent backwards spines, or too many limbs. We’re all still human, he thinks to himself.
He calms himself down, not wanting to make too much of a mess. The blue powder stains if its on a surface too long and he hates cleaning off the ceiling. He pulls back the fire entirely and wipes his hands on his naked chest and gets out of bed. He puts on his clothes, with keys and wallet still in them. He leaves his apartment and goes for a walk.
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