—————— Michael ——————
My blessed life, a life gifted with privilege and the power to make dreams come true. The life given to me by a mother barely keeping it together, and the poster boy of a father for the quote "No great genius has ever existed without a touch of madness." Oh yes to say life is strange, would be an understatement, when you're the son of a world-famous specialist doctor who was also a physiatrist, a neuroscientist, and a bioengineer. Everyone talked about how he's was going to become a mad scientist. They were right of course after all "the thing about smart people is they seem crazy to dumb people." Right after mom died, he gave in to their idea of him, he went mad trying to resurrect the dead. No child should have to go through that. Soon went full-blown crazy believing in things such as magic and rituals. He'd used to say that I was his magic, in the same way, a parent might call their child perfect or a drop sun of sunshine of course. But I've always thought that I had the ability to...make wishes come true, well mostly stop the rain from this time to this time, make sure my taxes go through to give us more money than we should. I've even made people sick or redirected flights. Even changed the date of events, you know nothing too big. But those were all explainable, I realized soon while in foster care that wasn't the case. I can't... I couldn't bring my parents back to me, I haven't been adopted by a good family, nothing is going my way. All those events were coincidences nothing more. Don't get me wrong I've been adopted, after all my dad had some money saved up in my name. This must be the third foster care I've lived with. Due to the inexperience most of the families had with well-killing kids or trying to gain access to money that isn't theirs, they typically ended up in jail or having to put me back in foster care. The only thing I can't explain is the uncanny clairvoyance I seem to have. My latest theory is based on the studies of rem sleep and your sleeping brain can use your memories to make a prediction about the day. I guess I'm just lucky. I still can't believe Anna Had me bring in that armoire. It's not bad it's just kind of creepy, I joked that it might be possessed because I know she believes in ghosts. It also makes weird noises and has thirteen old small candles that were hidden in it. I wonder what other secrets it might hold. Now today my teacher, Miss Amos, got us writing letters in a journal to an imaginary friend. So, assuming I know you... I miss you, a lot, I want you here, I could use some friends that stay longer than a month or two. Boy if you could see Miss Amos, she looks like she's in her mid-thirties if it weren't for her graying hair, she's actually fifty-five years young, I don't mind the age gap if she doesn't...
"Michael Albens!" Miss Amos called for me noticing me having a bit too much fun in the corner, laughing to myself while reading my college essay. First name and everything, "Do you think this is funny? Your career and life are on the line and you're throwing it away... Michael are you okay, are you-"
I quickly cut her off, "On the contrary Miss Amos, it's all compliments for you." I winked at her. The words had struck a chord and I couldn't afford to follow that line of conversation.
"Michael I'm Serious, do you want to go to college, you don't have to become a doctor like your father, but I want to see you try."
I sighed before giving her a handwritten letter, "I will... try I mean, I'm just waiting for a calling, potential is worthless if there is no drive to push its limits."
She gave me a half-hearted smile, "Remember, you will never be alone, you have friends, you just need to open your eyes."
I regained my former smile, "You bet'ch ya Miss A." I walked away from her through her office door, into the hall, wading through the other children. I looked back and noticed her face turn red with embarrassment, it wasn't inappropriate, but a genuine thank you letter. Have fun with that, I have class. I winked at her as I left the room with the crowd of teens and other kids. I moved on to my next class...
———System———
In middle school, his grades and intelligence were far beyond the scope of a public school, thus leading him to a forceful entry into the school of the "Elite." To him, they were nothing more than spoiled dullards with a platinum spoon in their mouths. Once he had arrived at his class the whispers started rolling about, his least favorite part of the day, "Rat boy is back. You'd think him coming here would fix his piss poor fashion sense."
He merely smirked and sat himself down setting his ratty coat down and throwing his feet over his desk. "You'd think spoiled rich kids with daddy's check-in their mouth and shit in their ears would adjust their dimwitted intelligence. Ah, I forgot how truly ignorant you all are. My apologies, I should've anticipated just how deprived of basic intelligence you all really are." The young man looked in the direction of the voice. Unfortunately for him, it was the biggest condescending douche of all. He never really bothered to learn his name but he would never forget a face, and that was the face of someone who enjoyed bullying those with lesser status and money, in other words not someone worth befriending.
However before the upperclassman could respond, the instructor arrived, and class went underway. To sum up the class... it was comprised of indirect shots to the young man and a few direct ones from the instructor as Michael retaliated with not insults, but results, taking control of the class with his overwhelming and annoying intelligence. Lunch was none the easier either, being tripped up while having to be the laughing stock never did sit well with him but today was a special case. As he walked with his lunch tray the bratty kids from class had stopped him and eyed him down, "I didn't know trash could eat the same food as we." he embellished the statement with an exaggerated look of hurt and confusion.
The small posse forcibly laughed along with the voice, as if laughing at a bad joke out of courtesy. "Today is an important day. I'd rather not enable your ego by having myself be the target of your malice." Michael had just begun to move forward when his tray was smacked down to his shoes. Typically he would just keep walking but not today, not on this stressful of a day. Today... he breaks. "Clean it up."
The now laughing posse had frozen quiet from his demand. "In case I stuttered-"
Michael drove his foot into the stomach of the voice dragging his hair down to the floor so he'd be at eye height with his feet. "Clean my shoes you piece of shit."
Now the thing about spoiled kids is that they've never truly fought themselves, so this situation was new to him, but not to Michael. Of course, they were still saved by a school administrator. Having been pulled away from the voice before the violent Michael could curb stomp him. Being kicked out due to his outburst he'd made his way home. He connected his phone to his Neural Link with odd happiness. At least for once, he could live with today. His phone played classical music directly into his mind but it changed as he turned the corner now two blocks from his home. But... before he made it home he was stopped by a man, he recognized the man's scent, the same scent as his Father but it was changed, the same unorthodox shaking, the same sweating forehead. What he did not notice however was the weapon he'd been carrying. Nor did he notice the shots he'd fired into his stomach. A loud thud smacked itself against the pavement. An alluring red spilled itself on the ground. Sharp, Cold, why am I so tired, what's happening? He thought... Thought? I can hear them now? Something was wrong, this person shouldn't be here, Michael shouldn't be dying, and I shouldn't be able to hear him. All Michael could feel was a sense of dread and hate consume him as the red continued spilling. No, I can't die, I just Discovered magic, how can I fix this, I have to fix it, I don't want to die yet. His thoughts became frantic and panicked, no matter how much one witnessed death, they could never truly prepare themselves for the end, In his reality that would be Oblivion. Fear filled my veins as he cried for having never truly experienced life. "I don't want to die yet... God, help me..." he might have thought, I couldn't be sure but there was no answer, only me to hear his cries. A life spent in cowardice, fear, atonement for his father's abandonment, killing every part of what made him himself in order to provide for his mother. A life submitting to those with less ability in order to keep living the same monotonous life.
The dread he felt was not due to death, but simply due to not having lived, and the hate he felt was from not having loved, not having a purpose. "I'm fine with being trash. Something I told myself repeatedly. I said it so many times, lied to myself so many times. Only to end up here. Bullshit. I'm done being trash. I'm done submitting to those who use their advantages to oppress. I'm done lying to myself. I'm Michael Albens. I'm going to live." A heartfelt speech was given before closing his eyes and unknowingly bidding this world adieu.
You will not die yet my new little helper.