I woke up too early and it was a mistake. My body decides to contravene against the code of conduct and schedule. It's not like I could sleep anyways. I've felt deprived of energy almost every day. It was 3 am and school starts at 8:30, the lack of sleep was making my mood sour and angsty. Great.
Since when was the last time I got a proper shut-eye? The words "Well-rested" were not synonymous with these past few weeks of experience so far.
Rubbing my eyes with one hand, I begrudgingly got up from my bed, staggered a few steps forward because of my messily dispersed comic books, and then I was finally out of my room.
My lips had felt really parched and chapped as if I smothered sand seconds ago. I realized this because of how thirsty I was and my body was drenched a little in sweat. Maybe the room temperature went a little high without my notice.
With careful steps, I descended on the flight of stairs and my body was leaning against the wall for support in case my legs fail me and decide to make me lose balance.
A gruesome, dark, image flashed inside my head, reminding me of a possible outcome before I can say my famous last words. It was simply me rolling down on the stairs in a ragdoll physics manner like a goof and then hitting my head hard on the floor.
I let out a nervous chuckle. That wasn't a fun idea at all.
Thankfully, heaven, hell, and limbo decided to leave me be, and fate gave me a nice pat on the back as I make my final step and landed safely on the floor. It was a touchdown.
My eyes sweep across the living room and found the commonly unkempt small plates and other belongings like volumes of papers and books, candles, pens, mom's handbag and makeup supplies, and other things that I'm too drowsy to mention sitting on the coffee table.
It looked like a hurricane has passed through here without mercy.
I ignored the untidiness of my surroundings and headed straight to the kitchen, I didn't have the time or leisure to idle and space out. The weight on my heavy legs carried me there and my sleepy hands reached out to open the cupboard and snatch a small glass.
My eyes blink repetitively, still ingested by the somnolence from earlier, and the way I started seeing things was like how I used to turn the light switch on and off repeatedly.
I filled my glass from the faucet with a shaky arm and filled it to the brim. I wanted to make sure I was hydrated enough before I try to go sleep again.
I turned the faucet off and muteness took over the entire kitchen room with the occasional chirping from tiny crickets. Thin light beams coming from outside the window made me see the room partly, and I was thankful for it, however, the mood or the ambiance wasn't that all pleasing. It was rather empty. A twinge of sadness and grief pushed in my chest and it quickly felt like everything was hopeless.
Remember the incident?
My brain would rile and make fun of me occasionally to which I simply dismiss or shrug off in response. The unwanted thoughts were never always invited and they were usually insistent.
Of course, I can clearly remember what happened last year. Of course, it all had happened so suddenly, it felt like a dream to me. Of course, there was no way for me to forget it so easily like having homework.
Of course.
Fed up with the frustration brewing in my heart, I shook my head, let out a heavy sigh, and gripped the glass a little tight with one hand. I take one big gulp of water and looked outside the window: it was the backyard where pensive memories reside.
Pensive memories and an abrupt tumult of crashing and groaning at my backyard.
I jerked up my body as straight as a rod and almost choked on my water, resulting in me spitting it out and a fit of uncontrolled coughing.
"Crap." I cursed out unwillingly and looked to see that my shirt collar was now wet.
I saw movements in the shadows, a black shape rushing past my view and disappearing from the light. I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating from my lack of sleep. It was still 3 am after all. Hallucinations were said to be relatively normal at night and I didn't argue with that.
I swear it's not one of those chunky, trash bag pandas (raccoons) scurrying about in the backyard looking for treasure, except the said treasure was in the trashcan and they were feisty burglars.
Plus they were relatively small-sized gremlins and didn't groan.
I put my glass away and lean slightly forward to the window, squinting my eyes to see the view closer. The angle from my single point of view didn't help and I couldn't see the entire thing.
Temptation swathed over me like a puppeteer manipulating the strings of my actions. I didn't like that sort of temptation. I knew it had something with me getting involved in some sort of trouble. Icy chills skittered on my entire body, a shudder traced up to my backbone, my heart was stuttering and hammering at a rapid pace, and the pit of my stomach sunk below ten times deeper than a trench. The ringing in my ears was also blaring.
I was losing my composure, paranoia struck me like a whip, and a plethora of dreadful what-ifs played in my head.
What if someone was trying to barge inside?
What if I forgot to lock the doors?
What if someone gets hurt?
What if they hurt mom?
What if it was a felon attempting to pilfer our belongings and the act of larceny was nothing but games?
What if I was exaggerating things?
What if I don't do anything?
What if—
I finally blocked my thoughts out just for a moment. An excessive reaction wasn't... that nice.
Standing here and doing nothing wasn't gonna get me anywhere and despite the quandary and the weighing stress I was in, I still had a bit of true mettle in my adventurous spirit.
It was precarious—yes, it wasn't a circumstance you find in an ordinary course of events—but it was exhilarating.
I sucked in a bit of bravery and I knew there was no turning back. I can't be deterred so easily and besides, this town didn't always have something new in hand. It was boring here.
Moving to the rear door, I slowly and carefully twist the doorknob open with a slight tremble on my hand. My assumptions were right. It wasn't locked. I'm an oaf.
Nevertheless, I ignored the unnecessary things in mind as trepidation slowly rose and stepped out while I was crouching.
Sweeping on my left view, I saw a wide patch of grass, marred and blackened by what seems to be caused by fire...? It reached the road which passed through our sepia-colored fences where it used to stand like monoliths but parts of it were now wiped out seconds ago. It still had bits of diminutive flames dancing on wooden fence pickets.
My mind was trailing far away and my concentration was waving its goodbyes at me. I concluded this was the source of ruckus which kept me at the edge.
What happened here?
The backyard had a bit of discoloration here and there, dried grass and green grass fought in a war and milled about on the yard in a confused and messy manner.
Looking at my right, the dirt path looked concave, there were a few mini craters made and the soil had a distorted and sad shape like it was scowling at me. It was plowed, turned, and stirred against its own will and the place screamed for immediate help or assistance. The grass lawn looked like it was almost uprooted and flipped over.
Everything was such a mess. It made me wonder what caused all of this calamity.
Reaching my hand to my right cheek, I give it a little pinch to corroborate and fix my doubts of getting stuck in a vivid dream.
No drastic change in the environment. Everything remained the same. How am I supposed to explain this to mom?
Treating it as if it was a construction site, I cautiously make my way towards the broken chestnut fence and looked for supporting pieces of evidence while remaining more vigilant and antsy than before. I felt the sludgy, ticklish, cold grass with each barefooted step I proceeded. It gave a soft and mushy sound, reminding me of something like slime and it eased my senses a little.
I halted my movements outright, utterly stiff and rooted to the ground like a prisoner of this land. I was in my pj's and the merciless air decided to berate me for not wearing anything warm. Before I could get to the roadway, I peered in and spotted two silhouettes.
One had a lean build, their masculine features and shoulders were wide and bulky enough for me to take an easy guess of their gender although the man's distinctive looks were hard to perceive even if I had to squint my eyes and steady my gaze.
The place was buried in curtains of gathering darkness and shade, the houses and trees stood as a background in this canvas of conflict, the sky almost stripped of its color, and the faint illumination from these street lights refused to cooperate brightly— intended to ridicule me with contempt. The umbrageous figure closely wrapped his fingers around an item with a metallic sheen softly fending off against the lighting: a zippo lighter. The brass lid of the lighter had its mouth wide open, liberating a fleck of flames that swayed in the cold air almost nearly dying.
My view moved to the other silhouette and they had a more brawny or robust body compared to the other one, but they looked adversely affected or beaten up. Another man perhaps?
Still, I couldn't see his looks alone and they seem to be wearing masks.
With his right hand, he supported himself by grabbing hold of his left arm. It looks injured and he doesn't seem to carry anything in contrast to the other man. The two silhouettes continued to outstare against each other like they were in a contest of who gets caught up and controlled by diversion first.
They were clearly in a fight, a rampant confrontation of punches, kicks, and weapons causing an uproar.
Meanwhile, I let out a puff of cold smoke from my pursed lips as I stood there, watching both of them intently. I try corralling my thoughts back into a semblance of order, this wasn't the time for me to get myself preoccupied.
Do they seem to be wearing spandex suits? I've seen and surmised that they wore the guise of a superhero's attire because I've always seen it in the comics I've read and my mind does not waver in denial.
On the other side of my presumable idea, I could be wrong though.
Theoretically, there was a chance that they were dressing up as a character. I forgot the word... What was it again? Oh. Cosplay! But that supposition was crossed out and there was no way anyone had the right mind to do cosplay at 3 am.
Another was my vision making a fool out of me. My hallucinations have the impression to play tricks on me and juggle my sanity and rationality into a fiasco.
The latter part persuaded me but I knew well enough that this wasn't a dream and I didn't seem to start floating in the skies as Snoop Dogg did.
Are they real superheroes?
Realization sprinted in my veins and to my brain, dawning upon regrets as I see the two of them turn their heads and looked at me, perplexed and flabbergasted by my appearance. I said those four words aloud and unwittingly; I stood there gaping like an irredeemable loon.
Oops.
I shifted my movements uncomfortably, I could've sworn I heard one of them mutter a string of profane words. The momentary crunch of the grass I made under my feet, punctuated and filled in the gaps of silence in the atmosphere.
The response to this moment was very much surprising. Without haste and delay of time, an immediate action surged forward.
The lean guy executed a sweeping horizontal motion of his lighter like it was a blade swung with one hand. His movement was a swift force of announcement when it came to aggression and attack. Broad, violent flames danced and weaved in the air, a convex shape of an explosion that was heading towards the figure like a sun erupting a solar flare. It looked artistically surreal, pretty, and deadly.
The surrealism of the adjective "pretty deadly".
Sucking in a lungful of air, I stepped back out of terror and fell, sitting on the floor helplessly. This wasn't mundane. This was completely straight out of a comic book. Worry gnawed behind the back of my head, yet why was I fascinated and lured to stay? Maybe it wasn't something common to see and the idea of having abilities or powers was sweet. It was a color to my sight in this monochromatic mundane town.
Enticement is a confectionery. Sweet but harmful.
In response to this situation, the injured adversary tries to recover, joules of collected energy traveled in his body as he threw his body to the side and barely missed the projectiles of flames, motes of embers glued to his suit.
He tries to muster up his strength, his muscles collaborating from the flexion and extension of movements. The man purposely collides his right fist against the asphalt heavily, angry cracks were creeping and extending on the ground as a compact mass of the road was sundered. He raises one unscathed arm and commands the crushed large pieces of asphalt with superlative and imperial authority. The bituminous, great-sized rubbles mercilessly flew and drove straight towards the lean man, in fury and rage, and without any chances of stopping; it wasn't going to kill him but enough to damage and ruin his pacing and probably his face.
I knew well enough what these abilities were. It was an easy question-and-answer session right in front of my eyes.
"Earth manipulation against pyrokinesis," I muttered in a hushed and restrained voice. My geeky side awakened and sounded quite happy.
The fire guy (I gave him a dry nickname) was prepared and assessed the situation, evading the attack with a few side steps, a kick deflecting against the objects in the air, and then a duck making it almost look seamless if it weren't for one or two rubbles that hit him with a seemingly loud thud. It was a dangerous dance in the middle of an affray while bleeding with the stillness and loneliness of the frigid air.
It was empty before but the aforementioned emptiness was suddenly jolted by a brimming noise of ostensibly murderous intent.
All of the feeble street lights began to flicker on and off, a nudging reminder that the intensity was affecting the surroundings from their fight. It came straight out of a horror film except there were no blood-curdling screams or palpable fear but a vibe of the unlawful, premeditated killing of a person.
And then all things were ingested by the abruptness of the void...
The lights surrendered themselves and were a lost cause.
Nothingness was in eclipse yet an isolated, small, bead-shaped fire from the lighter crackled in the chilly night.
I flinched and felt stiff, locked in a sea of submerging anxiety. My vision was completely obscured yet my ears tell me that movements coming from the right side.
When the lights eventually came back on, they were both gone.
I blinked my eyes in disbelief and start searching for them, moving and sweeping my view from left to right. Where did they vanish off to—
I caught a glimpse of movements on the rooftops of a house in front of me. The brawny earth guy was trying to escape and the fire guy tailed on behind him, slowly rising like a predatory cat and mouse chase. My assumptions conjectured that their identities would be at risk with a spectating civilian like me around. It was better to take their fight somewhere else.
I dragged my feet and jogged to call them out. I wanted to say a few words.
But what am I going to say? I'm socially inept at times and I didn't want to sound stupid.
My mouth opened and closed repetitively, though my mind tells me it was best not to say anything and let it all happen. Stress and disturbance punch me in the gut, thinking what if the injured man was the good guy? But then again the moral line between what's good and what's evil was occasionally a designated blur so I didn't declare and labeled them with hero or villain roles.
I let out a tired sigh; the two figures gradually faded into dots from a far view. They seemed to be well equipped with knowledge when it came to flashy parkour running. Some superheroes or villains couldn't fly, jump high, or swing using spiderwebs so to compensate for that, others were willing to adapt and learn, getting from point A to B.
After a minute of waiting, they were gone. Silence and mundanity resumed taking their place, making it seem like the fight never happened in the first place. My memory was a penned novel, written and left to be read by people. Despite the scenery being erased like a word written from a pencil, the graphite blemish on paper will never be pristine.
I only know what happened here and I can't possibly tell anyone else.
And even if I do try, they'll call me a storyteller albeit a terrible one.
I squat down and trace my fingers on the cracked asphalt, fabricating and falsifying it as something caused by an earthquake. That fight was still unbelievable and looked like it was straight from a movie. The ruined road can be easily excused but not the demolished fences in our backyard. It will take a lot of time for a reasonable judgment to settle in.
I lift my head up to the sky and see a bit of light climbing up: the morning was approaching soon.
Still swarmed with disbelief, I turn around and make my way back home— physically and mentally fatigued from the homicidal exhibition when I almost lost my footing, tripping on a rock or something discoid.
I look down to see an ignited gemstone glaring at me from the ground, its colors were always set ablaze in hell. I didn't have a single clue what the gem was so I guessed it was amber or topaz.
It was a brooch. Why would he wear it along with his suit? It was impractical. It would fall off from moving.
I was bewildered while I steady my gaze at its opulence, smoothness, and excellence. My eyes drank its appearance, engrossing at the silver casing around the orange gem with its gleam. Even the light seemed to take interest with it, embracing the casing to cause a reflection.
"The fire guy owns this?" my question hung in the silent air. I pick it up carefully, my shaky hands almost dropping the jewelry clumsily. The fiery color instantly prompted a hunch of him owning it.
I could see minuscule texts etched on the silver casing of the accessory as my eyes strained with eager attention. I scrutinize and read it word by word.
C.C. Campaign City
Where is this place?