iii

~*~

Your eyes finally peel open to an unlighted room and a hard bed. You fidget, scared and alone. Breathing rapidly increasing, you clutch at a scratchy green blanket tossed on you, and start to hyperventilate. Where are you? Why are you here? Who are you?

“Shush, Thief,” a voice cooes. It's Mizzy. Relief washes over you. You remember. “You're going to have to speak to us now.”

Your name is Thief. You are probably fifteen years old. You are not normal. And you have some questions to answer.

They are gathered in a circle. You were sleeping on the top bunk of a double bed, that has been shoved into a corner behind piles of papers and books. Mizzy is right next to you, rubbing your quaking shoulders. Cole and Jaxx are both giving you looks of distant curiosity, while Tio and Let (you're calling Julliet, Let now, because you can) are both analyzing every inch of your body. You shrink back, burying you body into Mizzy's welcoming one.

“We won't hurt you,” Jaxx deadpans.

You don't look up, just breathing in the fabric of Mizzy's t-shirt.

“We're not cops, we're not old adults. We just want to help,” Let says calmly.

“You won't call me a demon?” you ask, echoing the word that fisherman used.

“Promise,” Cole says earnestly, crossing an invisible X over his heart. You gulp, clutching the shirt again but slowly raising your head. You inhale deeply, ignoring the excruciating pain radiating off your palm, and beginning.

“I control light with my hands. Bending it, shaping it, and moving it where I want.” You take another deep breath, waiting for one of them to call you something awful. “Light is energy, it is like a flow of air. It can go in directions. Sometimes, like a fan can make it go fast and more, I do same thing. It hurts, though. I don't have much memory, but for some reason, I know that I am bad at controlling the light. It lingers on my skin and burns it. Only the left one.” You hold up the scarred injured one for presentation.

“We'll need to fix that,” Cole said, moving towards his second drawer and getting out a roll of white bandages. He approaches the bottom of the bunk bed, swinging one leg up and pushing himself up next to you. He delicately takes your hand, unravelling the bandages and wrapping it up so I could no longer see the deep gashes that stung down to my bones.

“She's like a superhero,” Tio says, grinning like mad.

“Super....hero?” Your voice is hollow, just having been woken up from such a deep rest. Tio's smile falters, and he leaps up.

“You don't know about superheroes?” he asks, seeming actually revolted by the idea. He gallops to another desk, this one an oak brown with no actual drawers but just piles underneath. He skims through them, tugging out one of them and showing effort on his face to pull them out. Tucking the papers under his chin, he stumbles back to the bunk bed, heaving them up on the opposite side of Cole. Leaning over, you examine the top one. It has a glossy flimsy cover, showing a man in a brave pose, jutting his chin out as a cape flutters behind him in the breeze. A woman showing a lot of skin is hanging off of his leg, as a pale monster in the background cackles deviously. Flipping through the rest of the stack, the others are pretty much similar, except for the costume the brave man decides to put on. They all have bold printed letters on the top, proclaiming the name of whoever the man is. “They are the cape crusaders, those who save humanity with powers unknown to mortals!” He whips his arms out, mocking the courageous poses on the pictures. “Battling the evil, they bring hope to the average citizen and inspire justice in an otherwise desolate world! Superheroes embody the good in all of us, the people we strive to be, the people who are more than people! Those comic books are telling of the legends!”

A pause. Everyone is starring at Tio, who's eyes dart around as he quickly sits down in a desk chair. You finger through the first few pages of the top book. These comic books were slightly ridiculous, these 'superheroes' as Tio called them were all muscly men and women who were put in situations of being tied above a boiling vat of acid or their loved ones dangling into an ocean of sharks. They save the day with some new trick that no one had thought of, and suddenly, everything is okay. Everyone cheers.

“Is this society's views?” You ask quietly, setting down the comic book. No one speaks. “Does the big strong hero swoop in and save us? Why can't you save yourselves? What's the difference between you and me besides a fancy trick?” You push away the stack of comics. “I am sorry, maybe it is the memory loss, but this makes me angry.” You don't sound angry. You sound rather calm. But there is a spark in your eye, and you know it. “Do you all sit around and wait for these superheroes to rush in and make the world better? Have you thought about saving yourselves? Why do I supposedly have to clean up the mess?”

Based on the rather silent response from the others, you realize you asked a very good question.

This doesn't comfort you one bit.

Everyone squirms in their place, picking at imaginary strands on their clothing and twisting their hair. You purse your lips, embaressed slightly at your outburst. Mizzy squeezes my shoulder, and you push her away. “I am not a child,” you snap. Mizzy bites her lower lip, and you soften. “I am so sorry,” you say earnestly. “I did not mean to be rude. I was just annoyed at the book.”

“It's quite alright,” Let says in soft tones, standing up and taking the comic books off the bed, putting them back underneath the desk. “I don't know what Tio was thinking,” she says acerbically, throwing a glare in Tio's direction, who shrinks back.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Guess I got carried away.”

You watch as everyone sits in silence. Slowly, you grasp onto the bunk bed ladder, tossing the blankets aide, and making your way down the rungs. Swinging your legs, ypu land with a small thud on the carpet flooring, shoving your hands in your sweatshirt. Your clothes are dirty by now, along with your hair. It feels greasy and hangs on your shoulders in an unpleasant manner. You push aside your side bangs, wiping off your brow. You cautiously step and walk around the apartment, as if in a museum. The five watch your movements with interest. Jaxx coughs loudly and obnoxiously everytime you near something you're probably not supposed to touch, like a certain drawer or bag. Other than that, nobody says anything, and it's slightly eerie, like in a haunted house. You hesitantly finger the knob on the second drawer of Cole's desk, where he had supplied medical items almost instantly. But as soon as you begin to to tug on it, Jaxx coughs again, almost choking he's gasping so loudly. Slightly disappointed, you pull your hand away and move along. The room is rather small in size, but they seem to use every inch of it in good use. Many of it are cabinets, dressers, and drawers packed to the brim with novels, handbooks and applications. You're being nosy, and you know it, but right now, you really do not want to think about superheroes and powers and saving worlds, which seems to be a major theme in all of those comics.

After about ten minutes, you turn back to the others, who are still watching you. You shiver once, shrinking back into the sweatshirt. “So, what now?” you ask. “Do I leave?” You seem to have overstayed your welcome, what with passing out and poking about constantly.

They exchange glances with each other, and all nod once at the other's expressions. Then they turn to you.

“We would be heartless b******s if we'd let a fifteen year old amnesiac go out on the streets,” Cole said evenly, pushing up his glasses and shaking his ehad.

“Besides, you're a ratty little kid with nowhere to go,” Jaxx said. “Which is how we all started out.”

Mizzy rushed over to you and wrapped her arms around you in a huge bear hug. “I'm so glad you're staying, Thief,” she whispers. You look around the room again. Again, you didn't even agree to what they were saying, but you were fine with that. These were five people who took you in and didn't call you something negative when you didn't know what to do. Besides, this was an unfamiliar world, and you were getting swallowed up by it. Maybe you didn't have to brave this alone.

“Thank you,” you say back, burying yourself into Mizzy. You mean it, you really do.

Author's Note

Unedited, first rough draft, done for nanowrimo.

Reviews

[roarke]

I'm always amazed at how you handle characters. To add so many and then develop them in a month..... wow, nothing short of "superhero"..... do you do autographs?