1 Who knows? I'm not keeping track!

I have a suspicion that that world would equally intriguing as ours, even in the absence of quirks. I bet, with all the free time they accrue from not liquifying streetlights with acid saliva when they were kids, they deconstruct the planet Jupiter on a molecular level or something. 'Fiction' became a reality for my world in a big way. I wonder what our Sci-Fi is doing in their Earth bursting with bored Quirkless people. Living among mystery of silent, glittering space. I would give up my quirk for that any day. I am of the opinion that if we didn't have to engage with magical miscreants every Monday morning, we would be on Mars by now.

The hero Thirteen looks like an astronaut I guess. That's the closest I've ever observed to space travel. A voyage. An excursion. An expedition! I want an adventure, an experience that is mine alone! Suspended, scrutinizing the vast void of my own volition. Not just a worldwide popularity contest with extra steps. I am surrounded by wannabe hero students of varying quality, all clawing at each other to just exist in the vicinity; the rare opportunity to breathe the same air as the authentic young stars. Gross. Everything else is secondary the worship that being heroine anoints you with.

I find the burning balls of light, slowly peaking out of dusk to be more interesting.

I want to be different, being distinctly me. Everybody does. Not the mass-produced 'unique' that you get drenched in growing up. No. Extraordinary on my own terms. Somehow, I surmise being a hero is similar to a shortcut to 'extraordinary'. I feel like it's a cop-out when it comes to aspirations. Doesn't it discourage contentment for being good at what you do? Social validation comes when you associate with the contemporary deities.

I'm getting judgmental again. They're just doing their job. Sorry. It's just...

Who hasn't seen the grief of a person 'stuck' in an ordinary job? Hairdresser? How lowly. Unless dressing up a hero for self-promotion; what a privilege! Chef? Unless you're making lunch boxes for FatGum, I don't want to hear about it! Fashion designer? Oh! Like someone who concocts hero costumes! Inventors. You must respect people growing the world from the ground up. Nah. Sounds like new support gadgets to me!

Sigh. I mean, the earth would stop rotating if All Might told it to. It frustrates me. It really does. All the small, beautiful things that go unseen because the glamorous sensations are so blinding. I can only fantasize about living in a simpler world, not ruled by stupid mutant genetics or whatever. I'm sitting on my window ledge, overlooking a beach transformed into a dumping ground, beholding themed mini-fridges and gossip magazines, plastered to death with images of rows of eerie and perfect white teeth. I wonder if I will ever see the twilight not obscured by, well, trash. Then again. Humans could also manufacture other ways to divide themselves. Groan.

My butt hurts. My legs are numb and it's getting frigid out here. At least I know I won't die if I fall off my roof! I think? Geez, I'm pleased no one can hear my thoughts. I annoy myself with my meanderings. Tell me, myself. How long have I been zoned out up here?

Who knows? I'm not keeping track!

Very valid point, me. I can't argue with that.