CH #5 - The Meaning of Difference

Sitting on the bleachers of an abandoned sports court, sheltered from the not at all intense sun, the most recently formed trio talked about what was important. Ryan had been asking himself this question for some time now, and felt the time was right to talk about it.

"Have you always had these skills?" He asked, genuinely curious about the other people who were like him. "I can practically do this for as long as I can remember."

Cast, who was eating a chicken wing, placed the meat on the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth before answering.

"About that... That thing you just said left me with a doubt..."

This time, Lira completed. The girl wiped the corners of her mouth deftly with a napkin, in stark opposition to the boy.

"Cast and I are different from you. We're not born that way. Thinking about it just made things more problematic." She said, directing her typical serious look at Ryan.

"You're not like me? So how…?" Ryan asked, even more confused.

Cast put down the lunch tray and, still chewing, answered the question.

"It was really weird. I just remember that one day, a few weeks ago, we both woke up with a terrible flu... Text chatting, we found out that we had the same symptoms. I remember almost dying that day... I couldn't breathe and the headache was like a drill inside my skull! It was a godforsaken pulsating noise that wouldn't stop! Not to mention the 113°F fever! "

"113°F of fever?! In some cases, that's more than enough to kill someone!" Ryan asked him, almost jumping from the stands.

"We're saying, man! But that wasn't the weirdest thing by far! When we woke up the other day, we were just fine, like nothing happened! And after that, we found out about these crazy things we can do."

Cast brought his two hands together, and when he opened them again, a butterfly with red wings emerged. The animal flew for a few meters, naturally behaving like one of its kind. However, after a few seconds, the insect simply disappeared, becoming "TV static" in midair and disintegrating.

"That's the same thing that happened when I punched that fake Cast from before…" Ryan remembered the time he'd been beaten by the Cravache boy.

"This is my power. I can create illusions." He said, making no mystery out of it.

"Illusions?" Ryan questioned him. "So, all of that..."

He was intrigued by what he saw. Ryan couldn't help but keep asking.

"Yes! None of that, the subway station and the lights, were real. Somehow I manage to manipulate people's perception and make them see, hear and feel things that aren't there, or distort things that are already there."

Cast looked at Lira's lunch, which she apparently brought from home.

"Ack! How disgusting, Cast...! "

Immediately, the rice balls turned into large worms and the diced meat took the form of a bunch of cockroaches. The change was immediately undone by him, given Lira's notable dissatisfaction.

"My bad… My bad, alright? I just wanted to show him." Cast tried to calm Lira down, who was threatening to punch him.

"Then use your lunch to do this…! Because of you, I can never eat rice and meat again, Cast! Are you happy?! I can throw all of this into your empty head!" She complained, still disgusted by the food.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I can turn this into pizza – and even more, make it taste like pizza - if you want!" Cast laughed a little to lighten the mood at the meeting. "Well then... That's all I can say, after all, that's all I know."

The explanations so far have been satisfactory, however, they have only raised further doubts. Ryan looked up at the blue sky that was visible through the huge hole in the ceiling, thinking about everything he'd heard. Cast and Lira were different cases, unlike him. They, in turn, acquired the abilities in a mysterious way.

He couldn't help but think about it. If these powers are somehow acquirable, how many other people like that are out there in the planet? Or rather, what kind of people like that exist?

The very thought of that was able to make the boy's bones tremble...

"Aren't you forgetting anything?"

Ryan's deep thought was interrupted by Lira's voice. Cast patted his face, remembering something.

"Oh, sure. Look Ryan, we already knew you would accept - and we would brainwash you through sheer emotional trauma and Stockholm Syndrome into taking the deal if you didn't - so we took the liberty of editing school records and changing your class. Now you are with us."

Ryan reacted with surprise. How much did they know?!

"What do you mean 'already knew'?! And how did you manage to change the documents?!" He questioned, seriously considering jumping through the wall to escape.

"Look, no one in this school is suicidal enough to challenge us, except a select few, and if they are, they're going to lose eight inches in height. You can only cooperate or cooperate; is that clear? Plus, if we have superpowers, we can do anything."

Cast's confidence in saying that was surprising, the sign that he wasn't bluffing.

"Anyway, relax. When class starts, pack your things and head to the History class, as you'll be taking the same ones as us." He completed it.

And so, after that strange conversation, the newest group at school continued, now talking about more mundane things common to everyone. However, it was certain that the weight of the discovery was still there, clinging to the backs of the three. What is behind the so-called "superpowers" ​​and, more importantly, what is the future of this trio?

"You know, I'm surprised to be talking to whoever nearly tortured me to the point of dislocating my jaw…" Ryan said, realizing he was on surprisingly good terms with these two.

"It's the magic of friendship – from now on, we're inseparable, just like anime trios." Cast replied. "… Or are you going to tell me that you've never seen a show where the guy who gets hit ends up becoming friends with the protagonists?"

"Essentially, he called you a supporting character." Said Lira, putting herself in the dialogue.

"Well…" Ryan swallowed his saliva.

Given what was shown there, he may not have more than a supporting role in the group, anyway.

"In any case, we will dominate this school. Everyone in this ruined place will be buying us candy in no time!" Cast waved his fork, scattering it across the bleachers. "We will be the heroes here. No bullying or anything like that."

Ryan sensed a noble character beneath Cast's overly vain impression. Knowing he was thinking about something besides having fun with his powers was, in a way, a little comforting.

However, Lira was becoming much more mysterious, and even unreadable. Her cold, rigid demeanor didn't say much, and the girl's reserved way of being hid her intentions.

If he could touch her just a little...

"Pervert." She dismissed him with a single look.

"…That wasn't what I meant by 'touch'…" Ryan withdrew his hand, feeling defeated.

***

It was the end of the day. The alarm had already gone off a few seconds ago, and the vast majority of the room had left by then. Only she and a few others were left.

In the corner of the room, the girl began hurriedly organizing her things. It was not an ordinary rush, but full of a unique kind of apprehension. She didn't want to stay there another minute.

Her fingers trembled, arranging the pencils and pens inside the small green case that had been a gift from her mother. This feeling – the desire to escape – only increased with time, forcing her to speed up the process. Her fingers trembled and threatened to drop the things she was trying to keep.

The heart accelerated. That wasn't a good sign. She had to get out of there and fast. The girl could no longer stay in that classroom or the school in its entirety. She shouldn't allow herself to be alone there.

The reason for this? Only one, represented in the form of a certain group.

Right in front, seated in the chairs in the first row of the room, were some other students from the place. That should be normal, but for her it would be anything but regular. She didn't want to be alone with those people, in the same environment.

Taking a quick breath, she hurriedly tried to put away what was left of things, zipping her backpack and starting to walk away, keeping the object full of books and notebooks close to her body.

As she approached the group, the apprehension seemed to peak. She did everything she already knew, and repeated that phrase she always thought about when necessary.

"Just don't look at them… Don't look at them…" She repeated to herself mentally.

Luckily, she managed to get out of the classroom, but that doesn't mean she was free from that moment on. She still had to survive the long way to the exit, to cross all the corridors that became immense given her short stature.

That was the daily saga the girl had to do to avoid her demons, to escape all sources of her troubles. Her steps became more hurried, afraid of what might be in every corner in the end of each hallway, or in the shadow past any door.

The corridors were already almost empty and some presented themselves as totally devoid of people.

It was a little until the end of the torment. She went through a corridor on the right. One more long straight line and she would be in the main part of the place, where she wouldn't be followed, where no one could harm her. Just one more hallway and-

"Oops...! Look what we have here!"

She froze in place, unable to react. It hadn't been this time, again, unfortunately...

She bumped into one of those people; the same people she so wanted to avoid along the way. Everything would be perfect if she hadn't made the mistake of running into these people after all.

Two boys, two girls. A heterogeneous group, but with looks that revealed the same motive and intention. Quickly, they walked towards her, intimidating her with their immense stature. They were all invincible giants to the little girl.

"Look guys! Look who came to say 'Hey!'" One of the girls, who had part of her braided blond hair shaven, approached her holding the little girl's shoulder. She was much taller and stronger, and there was no hope to escape.

That was not a show of friendship – far from it – the girl already had in mind that what would happen was not meant to be pleasant on any level, after all, she was already more familiar than anyone ever should with all that reality.

"Oh, but if it isn't Phoebe, our smartest little friend!" One of the guys approached. He also had blond hair. "What about that thing? You did our homework, didn't you?"

She knew what to do if she didn't want to be more intimidated. Phoebe quickly dropped to her knees, opening her backpack. Inside, she pulled out a specific set of sheets of paper that should have been in a notebook. Gathering them with her small, slender hands, she presented the pages to the group, shakily.

"Here… It's the math homework answers…" She tried to speak, avoiding direct eye contact.

Abruptly and violently, the sheets of paper were snatched from her hands, which scared the girl a lot. Within seconds, one of those horrible people analyzed what was delivered, smiling a little at the end.

"That's our Phoebe for you...!" He said, putting everything in his own backpack. "I knew we could count on you! Next week, we have a geography article on plate tectonics that we need to show... You're going to do this for your friends, aren't you? Don't tell us you're so selfish not to do a small favor!"

They threatened her, each of that group closing in, pointing their faces at her. She must always obey – that was it, or other things would happen – things far worse than just words.

…While she took a moment to respond, they immediately put more pressure on the little girl.

"Isn't that right, Phoebe? Won't you do this for us?"

... ... ...

Cornered. She felt chained to those people, who had always been the cause of her suffering. Everything most terrible that happened in the girl's life was due to all these people, who always treated her so badly.

"Hey guys! Look what I found!" The second girl was heard, as well as a distinct sound that Phoebe knew all too well.

In an almost instinctive reaction, the young woman's gaze was led to observe, expanding to infinity as she realized what, precisely, they had taken out of the backpack placed on the floor.

"What is this? Is it a sketchbook?" The stalker began flipping through the pages. "Wow, Phoebe... What a shitty art you make! Guys, come see how this crap is so poorly done it hurts my eyes!"

In a few seconds, everyone gathered there, and immediately began to laugh, commenting heavily on things she never showed anyone, and that were her only occupation in the free time she had, where she finally managed to forget about all the bad things.

Now that's over. They appropriated even that, infecting every last space where she could have the slightest sense of being at peace.

"Are you the one who draws these things?! Well, I'm not an art critic, but... "

A sound – a tear. Phoebe's sketchbook was ripped in half with a single display of brute force.

"… You should stop! You only know how to draw shit anyway!" The bully girl said, scattering all the white sheets in the wind.

That could only be a joke. All that laughter, that torment, and that pain that always created its twisted ways to reach her. All this could only be a big joke, where she was the agent causing the fun, however distorted it was.

Talks against bullying? Annual student awareness events? Posters scattered around the school and people pretending to care about the problem?

And what about the damn "two heroes" who everyone talks so much about, stating they fight the delinquents at school and that so much help other students deal with bullying, but who surprisingly never show up when she is the one in need of help?

None of those things ever did her any favors. Phoebe's life never changed with any of this.

She felt anger – a specific kind of hate that burned inside. Anger at everything, anger at everyone for all the things they did to her and contributed, directly or indirectly, to her situation.

Her anger was the same for both those delinquents and for those who, even if not involved, watched without doing anything about it or trying to intervene. All were equally rotten inside and out in the young woman's view.

And she, every day, felt an increasing desire to get revenge, to end it all, to punish those who had caused her so much harm.

Beating, cutting, kicking, and making them bleed and scream and beg… After each day, that desire grew stronger. She wanted to make them suffer so much for all that was done.

The only problem...

… Was that she was too weak.

She just ran. It didn't matter where, as there was no defined destination. Looking down, it was hard to see any impediments in the way. However, she just kept running. Elderlog was not a place with busy streets, which minimized the risk of being run over, although on this occasion it might even be desirable for her.

Without stopping, she ran. Her legs got tired, her lungs threatened not to hold on, but nothing was more important than keeping running.

People always tortured her, always mistreated her so much...

Beside a mound of woods, she was finally forced to stop by tripping over a small rock. Her body hit the asphalt floor, and only the pain of arms and legs rubbing against the coarse surface was felt.

"Ouch..." She got up with difficulty.

The fall hurt her lower arms, and now red blood rushed to remind her once more of her weakness. The small red plastic-wrapped pocket mirror she carried shattered in the fall, becoming no more but disjointed reflective pieces in the middle of the road.

She took the biggest piece in her hand. Her right cheek was also cut.

Her own image was the girl's greatest fear, enemy and curse. Unfortunately, Phoebe was for a fact not like the other girls… But what was it that set them apart?

She's not pretty.

The reflection reminded her of everything. The eyes were an ugly color – the color of forest dirt. Why can't they be blue like the sea or green like the young leaves of spring, or maybe even clear and enticing, sweet as amber honey? Her body was small and undeveloped, lacking the ripe, alluring curves of other girls. Her curly red hair, very frizzy and voluminous, combined with the freckles on her cheeks and many deep acne scars, only made her look worse in other people's eyes.

She would give anything to be pretty; to be like the other girls – desirable and popular – happy.

Unfortunately, reality had no room for impossible dreams. Phoebe got to her feet, whimpering. Time to go home, like every day.

She was the class joke. People isolated her – or at least that's what happened they weren't directly bullying the little girl. They stole her things, broke the new colorful pens she brought every week, wrote offensive words and tore pages from her new notebooks. Being smart and at the same time vulnerable, they always tried to take advantage of it, pressing for homework answers.

Phoebe's life was one no one should live.

As she prepared to leave, a gale started. The strong wind stirred the leaves of the deciduous trees in the forest, being strong enough to lift some dry leaves. A piece of paper was caught in the flow of wind and thrown right in her face.

What bad luck. Today was not her day. Phoebe uneasily removed the paper that had stuck to her face, noting that it was a perfectly sealed envelope.

"Huh…? What is it?"

An all-white envelope, one the size of a standard letter. It did not have any type of writing or indication, either an address or even a name.

What would be in there? Curiosity made Phoebe forget about everything for a while. She wouldn't do anything wrong opening it as it had no identification, so it shouldn't be a bad thing, right?

Out of curiosity, she opened the folded paper, and as she did so, she came across–

"Ah...!"

She threw it to the ground, wiping her face. Inside the envelope was only dust – a white dust similar to flour or yeast. Whatever it was, it was blown by the wind against her face, messing the girl up completely.

But what would that be? Was the world itself playing a terrible trick on her? Now her face was completely smeared with that powder. She took most of it out of her body, crying heavily.

How great... Now she was away from home and her bike had been left at school.

... ... ...

When she finally managed to arrive, it was already late at afternoon. The sound of the door opening caused a stir in the person inside.

"Phoebe…! Where have you been, my daughter?!" The apprehensive woman, her mother, asked.

A second of silence was exchanged between them. She immediately noticed the marks her daughter was trying to hide.

"What happened to you?! Why are you so hurt?"

"I… fell off my bike on the way back… I'm fine." She said, struggling like never before.

She clearly didn't accept the answer.

"Phoebe... Whatever happened... You can talk to me... I-"

She interrupted her mother's speech.

"I'm fine mom... I already said I'm fine..."

Quickly, the girl climbed the stairs, not giving her mother a chance to respond.

She opened the bedroom door, then promptly locked it. Phoebe didn't bother turning on the lights and simply fell into bed. The orange street glow, like the shade of her hair, shone dimly through the glass window, veiling the tears that flooded her eyes.

Why was the world so unfair to her? What in the world had she done to deserve that? Not knowing the answer, Phoebe could only cry herself to sleep.

If only she had the means to change... If she had the power to turn the page, maybe a new life wouldn't be so far away in dreams.

... ... ...

She stood up with a start, noticing the discomfort taking even more of her body with each passing second. As she looked at the bedroom clock, the bluish lights showed the time.

00:17. It was super early morning. That meant she slept for at least about five hours.

She touched her chest, and felt her heart pound, which was odd, since she didn't remember having any nightmares. Her breathing was also heavy and labored, requiring an inordinate effort to draw in the least amount of air.

But that wasn't the worst. Phoebe felt like she was in a boiling pot, submerged in hot water on all sides. Her skin felt the rage of burning flames, and the air escaping her lungs was so hot it seemed to cook her nostrils.

The headache was throbbing, as if several meteors collided with her forehead at the same time, every second.

It was as if, at last, she was ready to die.