The Boy With Too Much Power

Sci-Fi short story that I wrote for the Teen Arts Festival. Again, nothing special, just my attempt to actually post writing on this website.

The Boy With Too Much Power

Insanity. Selfishness. Sin.

            I want power.

            “Fly!”

            S**t!

            And just like that, the bars had already been open for a whole two beats, and I stumbled out to a late start. Upwards and ahead I could see Jack, steadily slowing his pace to allow me to catch up before we passed through the barrier. I was sure they’d notice the delay.

            I prepared my pitch as the barrier drew nearer. Our voices rang out as soon as we passed through, producing and unpleasant (and unintended) diminished, dissident sound. Was it me? Of course it was me. My entire body was shaking from my unsteady, off-beat wings and my pitch was sharp and I screwed up the first and most important harmony of the whole test and we were already turning into the first formation and my emotions wouldn’t let me fix myself and-

            And I needed to calm down. I breathed in, slowed the tempo of my wings to match the beat, and tuned my harmony to Jack’s melody.

            Or at least I tried.

            I twisted around until I was facing the sky. Jack looked down into my eyes, and I moved in the same direction as he did as we began circling each other. This, in my opinion, was one of the hardest formations to pull off. Thankfully, Jack’s brilliant blue eyes calmed me down immensely, and I was able to redeem myself for the few measures that I had to endure this motion.

            Then we broke off to lead into the next one, and I remembered.

            My emotions flashed abruptly within me and raised Hell. My wings above me were shaking. We were back to back now, and I was flapping on the beat instead of on the off-beat, which is what I was really supposed to be doing. There was the terrible shrill, scraping sound of clashing metal, and for a split second there was and uncomfortable and empty numbness. Only when my muscles were violently spasming and every bone in my torso was shaking uncontrollably did I realize that I was on the ground.

            Then nothing.

           

            “Look, I do think that using music as fuel for machinery is an intelligent, innovative idea. The problem I have with it is the fact that their age minimum is way too low. This work is clearly too much for teenagers.”

            “Well I’m sure there’s a reason why the Masters thought they were capable. This accident could have happened to anyone.”

            I regained consciousness just as two unfamiliar voices were chatting away. Doctors, I assume? I wouldn’t know. I still hadn’t the strength in me to open my eyes.

            “They picked us because we’re musicians. Bell theorized using music as an energy source because he could feel it resonating through his body. We were chosen because we have the ability to feel the same thing. …Anne! You’re awake! Are you okay?”

            My eyes had been open since the first word out of Jack’s mouth in reply to the strangers’ conversation. I peered over at him, timid to see his condition, afraid to see what I had done to him.

            Why? This is power. Influence. The worse his condition, the better.

            That isn’t true.

            You know it is.

            Shut up.

            But it was so. She was right. I smiled.

           His condition was terrible. He had a giant bruise on his face, starting from his nose and stretching toward his right eye, his left arm was raised in a cast, and his wings, the metal wings that I crafted for him in my pre-musician days, were broken and bent in every angle. I didn’t even want to imagine the wounds that his hospital gown was concealing.

           It wasn’t just his physical condition that was poor, either. His facial features suggested that he was an emotional mess. He looked at me with this painful, terrifically true concern in his eyes, and here I was, very nearly laughing at him.

            “I did this to you.” My words came out before I was even sure of which way I meant them.

            “Don’t blame yourself, Anne. It was accident.” Apparently he had heard grief and sympathy and self-loathing. I couldn’t help but to wonder, though: how much of an accident was it, really?

            I couldn’t answer him. I looked up to see who was talking before, but we were alone in our healing space. I looked back at him. I had to try to sort out my feelings, but functioning was more difficult than it had ever been. When my eyes rested on him I felt some painfully difficult mix of regret, sorrow, betrayal, anger, amusement, and pride. I slipped and let out something in between a sob and a chuckle.

            “What’s wrong?” he asked me softly, genuinely concerned.

            “What’s wrong,” I answered on a whim, “is that I gave you your wings. I worked hard, I spent so much time, all of which was devoted to you, and you give wings to another girl!”

            He put on an expression of genuine confusion. “I never gave anyone wings. I don’t know how to make them.”

            “You’re too literal,” I answered bitterly. I sniffled. He didn’t feel guilty enough to even admit it. My pain means nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.

            A doctor walked in just in time to take him away. Apparently he needed further surgery. That was okay with me. I couldn’t deal with him just yet. I wasn’t ready.

            “I’m sorry if that hurt you,” he called out as he was being taken away, “but what I do with others has nothing to do with you.” And then he was gone.

            Whatever. I never wanted to be his partner anyway. I didn’t have to be a musician. I was perfectly content with my role as a blacksmith. I never said I would be any good at it. That was the Masters’ mistake.

            You say all of this, but you always dreamed of flying. You jumped at the chance to take the job. One of the main reasons you did so is because your partner would be the guy that you spent all your time fantasizing about. It’s not all bad though. You got revenge. Just look at what you did to him.

            Just look at what I did to myself.

            You have power over him now. The nerves in his torso are probably damaged forever. His wings were directly attached to his bones! He’ll be incapacitated forever. That makes you a permanent part of him.

            It doesn’t matter. He’ll forever remain to be a permanent part of me.

Author's Note

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