Lincoln

    Bread, cheese, ramen, yogurt, a pizza. These were to be the highlights of Lincoln's afternoon. He was nineteen and, as of six weeks ago, living on his own. Because of his bad planning, Lincoln was often running out of food and having to make short trips to the grocery store. Today, it was a Saturday and he did not have to work, so he decided to spend the better part of his afternoon walking to the store - his car was still being fixed - to get those groceries that he needed. It wouldn't be a complete waste of time for him though. It was a nice day to be walking outside, and if he hadn't left his apartment he knew he'd have ended up spending the afternoon indoors playing League of Legends.
    Around 12:30 on that Saturday, Lincoln was walking through a quiet suburban part of town. It was sometimes nice for him to get away and spend some time by himself, with only his own thoughts for company. He was enjoying this moment when he heard a voice behind him.
    "Some say the Thomasson Theorem oversimplifies the complex laws of mass and inertia." the voice said.
    Lincoln groaned. He had hoped that she wouldn't show up. He did not want to have to deal with her right now.
    The girl ran up beside Lincoln and walked beside him.
    "Hi, Lee." the girl said cheerily. The girl seemed to be about sixteen or seventeen and, Lincoln had to admit, was quite cute. Her name was Sage, and she was constantly irritating Lincoln. She'd always show up at the worst times, wanting to talk, wanting to share with Lincoln anything she had read on the internet. There were times when Lincoln enjoyed the company, but he often just wanted for her to leave him alone. Still, he tried to be somewhat nice about it.
    "My name is still Lincoln." he said, agitated. "It hasn't changed since the last time we talked."
    Sage ignored him. She had a habit of doing that.
    "So, whatcha doing?" she asked, as if she didn't already know.
    Lincoln sighed before saying "I'm walking to the store. I have a few things I need to pick up."
    Sage had noticed his sigh. "Are you upset?" she asked.
    "No." Lincoln looked straight ahead as he walked. Sage always knew when he was lying.
    "Is it me? Do you want me to leave?"
    "No. You're fine. You can stay."
    Sage ignored what he said. She knew he was lying anyway. "I'm sorry. I don't like having to hang around with you either. It's not like I have much of a choice." Sage stopped walking. Her eyes started to tear up.
    Lincoln stopped and turned to the girl. She was right. They were stuck together. Whether they liked each other or not, Sage could never go away. She could never have a life of her own, apart from Lincoln. They were two people entwined. Two personalities inhabiting the same mind.
    "I don't want to be upset with you." Lincoln said. He was often upset with her. Sometimes he'd get angry at her and demand for her to leave. She'd only end up crying though, and he'd end up feeling guilty. If they were going to be stuck with each other, he would much rather that they be on good terms.
    "Really." he said. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. And I know that you don't have a choice about being here. Let's try to get along."
    Sage nodded her head.
    "Good." Lincoln started to walk, and Sage did as well. "So, have you read anything interesting lately?"
    Without hesitating, Sage said "Titanic first played publicly on November 1st, 1997 at a Tokyo film festival."
    "I didn't know that." Lincoln said softly. An elderly man sat on the porch of a nearby house, enjoying the day. Lincoln spoke softly, as he did not want to appear strange in front of the man.
    Lincoln knew about the problem he had. He knew that he was the only one who could see Sage. He was the only one who could hear her and talk to her. He tried not to talk to her when other people were around though. He didn't want someone to see him holding a one way conversation with a girl who wasn't really there.
    Lincoln didn't know how to classify what he was slowly coming to believe was a mental illness. His symptoms didn't entirely match those of any illness he knew of. He didn't hear voices in his head and his own personality was never taken over by another. Sage was more of an imaginary friend than anything else. An imaginary friend that his brain thought was real, and that Lincoln had no control over. He couldn't even control when she appeared.
    "And did you know that the USSR used hen houses to detect incoming missiles?" Sage offered.
    Lincoln smiled. "I think you have that confused."
    "Maybe." she said.
    This was another thing Lincoln couldn't understand about Sage. She had a tendency to share pointless facts, things that she had read online. Even though she was just a part of Lincoln's imagination, she knew things that Lincoln did't know, things that he didn't remember learning. He couldn't figure out how that was possible; but then, Sage always had been an enigma.
    Lincoln, and therefore Sage as well, had just about reached the grocery store. He wondered if Sage would follow him inside, expecting to continue their conversation. In such a small store, in which everyone could easily overhear the others, it would be embarrassing to talk to her, since the others would think he was talking to himself - which, in a way, he was. Still, it'd be rude to ignore Sage.
    This issue did not come up though. When Lincoln looked to his side he saw that Sage was gone. As unexpectedly as she had appeared, she had disappeared. Lincoln felt briefly lonely, but he knew it wouldn't be more than a day or two before she returned, whether he liked it or not. Lincoln headed into the store, the bell ringing as he went in.
    I watched all this from about fifty meters back. I've been watching him, following him, for a few days now, writing down all I see. I wish I could reassure him. I wish I could tell him why he's different, that he wasn't intended to be like this. He was given a gift, but his mind couldn't handle it. He was supposed to have access to the world's information within his mind, but his mind couldn't comprehend that information, seeing it as foreign, an intruder in his brain. He fragmented off the part of his brain that was foreign, gave it a name, gave it a personality. He had to see the thoughts that did not belong to him as coming from someone else and that's why he sees Sage. But telling him that is not my purpose here. I cannot interfere.
    Lincoln is of no use to me. I have come to the conclusion that he cannot help me complete my goals. Moreover, because he has no control over his ability, I doubt that he will play much of a role at all in the conflict that is to come. I am somewhat grateful that he at least will be spared when it comes. But this conflict is still a long ways off.
    My observation of Lincoln is complete. I will move on now to the next candidate.

Joyce (4/4)

Continuation of part 3.

    I wish I could take it back. If I hadn't been in shock, if I hadn't been so scared for my life, if I hadn't suffering from not having enough blood running through my brain to reason properly, I never would have done it. Even now I can't go through a day without wishing that I didn't do what I did that day. But it's too late now.
    My eyes closed and my body fell limp. Kent might have thought that I died, right when I had finally accepted his offer, but I hadn't. I just needed all my strength to do this. With all I had left in me, which was practically nothing, a triggered my ability. My face tightened, my fists clenched, and within a few seconds relief swept over me. The great pain I had been feeling was gone. I felt so much lighter, now that the pain was lifted, but still very weak.
    Kent fell over onto his back. He cried out in pain. The lower part of his shirt was drenched in blood already. Now he had the bullet wound. Now he was suffering great blood loss. Now he was going to die. I immediately regretted my decision. But it was too late to go back.
    I mustered the strength to get up on my knees and I bent over Kent. I could see the pain in his eyes. I could hear it in his screaming.
    "What have I done?" I said to myself.
    "Don't take it back." he warned me. "Don't undo it. This is for the best."
    Kent screamed in pain. I couldn't stand to see him like this. Unfortunately, I wouldn't have to see him in pain much longer.
    "You're a good friend." Kent said, looking up at me. I realized that he was saying his goodbyes. He knew, as I did, that he would go quickly. He knew that he wouldn't make it as long as I had.
    "You're the best friend I ever had." I said. I smiled as warmly as I could and held tightly to his hand. Blood, mostly mine but also some of his, coated both his hand and mine.
    "Tell my family I love them."
    "I will."
    "Don't let them have any regrets. Don't let them think that they should've done something different. I loved them just the way they were."
    "I'll tell them." We were growing more urgent. I felt that his death would be just a few short heartbeats away.
    "And Joyce." Kent paused. He had something important to say.
    "Yes?"
    For the longest time, Kent didn't respond. I thought that he was gone, that I'd be left forever wondering what he had meant to say. But he finally spoke.
    "I always loved you."
    Tears welled up in my eyes. "I loved you too."
    "Goodbye Joyce." Kent paused and took in a deep breath – his last. "Make the world a better place." he said.
    I knew the moment that he was gone. I felt the life pass out of him. I felt his body fall limp. I like to think that his spirit passed on to some other place, but I don't know about such things. I stayed with Kent for more than an hour, sobbing as I lay in the pine needles. Finally, I thought I could walk back. I was so weak from all the blood I lost.
    I stumbled several times when walking through the forest. I don't know how I found the strength to pick myself back up and continue on each time I fell, but I did. It took me an hour to reach the highway. Once I did, I fell to the ground by the road. The next car to come along stopped and a young couple helped me. I whispered something about a hunting accident as they rushed me to the hospital, about my friend in the forest who had died.
    It was over.
    I had to rest for a few days, but I was fine. Knowing what had happened to Kent, I was not concerned in the slightest about myself. Kent was buried a few days later. I never could tell his family what happened. I've kept it a secret that it was my fault, that I was the idiot who managed to shoot herself. I could never tell anyone how valiantly Kent put himself in my place. How could I? What could I say? That I had been shot? That I used an ability of mine that I don't understand to transfer the wound to my best friend? No would have understood.

    "At least, no one until you." Joyce concluded her story with a sigh. "Well, that's how it happened, Jessica."
    Joyce and Jessica were sitting on a bench in a quiet little park. It had probably taken Joyce twenty minutes to tell her story. Her eyes were red. Her sleeves were wet from mopping up her tears.
    "I'm so sorry." Jessica said. "That was worse than I could have expected."
    Joyce just nodded.
    "Do you feel guilty? I mean, if that had happened to me, I'd feel like I should have been the one to die."
    "But I should have been the one to die!" Joyce nearly shouted. "I was going to die. It was my fault and I should have taken the punishment for it."
    "Joyce..."
    "You know what? It's okay. I'm better now. I'm doing what he asked."
    "What's that?"
    "I'm helping people. I'm saving them."
    "How?"
    "I'm getting better with my ability now. I can take on someone's injury, or disease, or pain, and really soften it so it isn't too terrible for me to endure."
    "You're using your ability? You're hurting yourself?"
    "I'm saving lives!" Joyce lowered her tone, not wanting to be overheard by the others at the park. "I'm doing what Kent wanted. I'm making it so that his death wasn't a waste."
    "It's not a waste. He sacrificed himself. You can't make up for that. You don't have to earn that."
    "It's the last thing he ever said to me. The last thing he asked me to do. I'm pretty sure he sure wanted me to help people."
    "But it's hurting you. I can see it in your face. You have scars on your body – scars that belong to other people. You look weak and sick."
    "Kent wanted me to do this."
    "Kent wanted to save you. Not for you to save others. Kent saved you. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to ruin your life trying to help others, just on account of his last words to you. He loved you, and he saved your life. Stop trying to earn it. You can continue to help people, but you need to be careful, and think first of your own safety."
    "I don't think I can stop now."
    "If you don't, you'll kill yourself. Please, just accept Kent's sacrifice, and move on."
    Joyce sat still for a moment. It did hurt her to help people the way she did. She'd lie on her bed at night, in agony from an affliction she had healed someone else of. She'd turn on music, turn it up loud, and hold a pillow over her face to cover up the sounds of her groans and screams. Her only comfort on those nights was that it would usually be gone in the morning, and that now someone else wouldn't have to go through it. Still, it hurt her so much. She did want to stop. But how could she live with herself, knowing that there were dying people out there that she could save? "Will you help me?" she finally asked.
    "Of course. It's why I came here. It's what I do." Jessica put her arm around Joyce's shoulder. "I'm here to help."
    Joyce sniffed and looked around the park. Glancing back at Jessica, Joyce smiled.
    "Thank you."

Joyce (3/4)

Continuation of part 2.

    It had occurred to me immediately upon being shot how I might save myself. I, after all, had an ability. I had a gift. I had quickly put it out of my mind, though, because even to save my own life, I could not do it. I had hoped that Kent wouldn't realize what it was. I knew that if he didn't realize it, he wouldn't hesitate to offer if it was needed to save me. I was asking for too much, hoping that Kent wouldn't remember what by ability was.
    Many of us have gifts. I’ve met three people now who can do amazing, superhuman things. I know you have a gift as well, Jessica. I had known about my own gift for a year or so. Kent somehow found out about it a few months later. My gift was that I had some control over pain, injury, and healing, both in myself and in others. I knew how to dull pain in someone, and could accelerate natural healing somewhat, but wounds, particularly bullet wounds, were something altogether different. Once I got a nasty cut and had attempted to completely remove the wound using my gift. It's hard to describe, but in order to heal the cut I had to draw from the health of someone else nearby. I hadn't meant to, but I ended up transferring the wound to a family member who was sitting in the next room over. A bullet wound would be much worse. I was getting better at using my ability, but beyond somewhat dampening the pain, which I had already been doing, the only other way I could help myself was to transfer the wound entirely to another person. I didn't know how or why this worked, but those were the facts. Unfortunately, Kent had realized this.
    "Do it." Kent looked sternly down at me.
    I pretended not to know what he was talking about. I hoped that I didn't – that he had something else in mind. "Do what?" I groaned from the pain.
    "Use your ability." he said. "Save yourself."
    "No." I wanted to shout it to him, to further get across my point. To further get across how wrong and unfair his suggestion was. Not unfair to me, but unfair to him. But I couldn't shout. I couldn't do much at all. As what little blood left in me did its best to drain out onto the pine needles, it was all I could do to just keep talking.
    "You have to." he said. Kent looked earnest, pleading.
    "Don't ask me to do that."
    "If you use your ability, you can save yourself. Give your injury to me."
    "If I do that, you'll die."
    "I suppose I could."
    "You will. There's no way you could survive this." I nodded toward my stomach. The wound really was a mess. I didn't know how I had survived so long.
    "So what?" His head was just inches above mine. A tear dropped from his face and fell onto my cheek. He hadn't stopped brushing my hair.
    "It'd be trading one life for another. I could never do that. It's genuinely kind of you, but I could never accept."
    Kent was determined to save me. He had found a way to do so – the only way he could. He was begging for me to use my ability, but I could not. Though my pain would cease and I'd be left with only a scar, I could not make that trade.
    "You're special." he pleaded. "You're not like anyone else. You're gifted. You can save lives." Kent paused to look down at my wound. It was a miracle that I hadn't already died of blood loss. It was probably only because of my ability. Still, my body was very weak and my pulse was faint. He continued, "You're gonna do so much good for the world. I can't let you die. I can't rob the world of your talent."
    "It's not your responsibility."
    "But I'm the only one around who can help. It has to be me."
    "You're valuable too." Kent just barely heard me; my voice had grown so weak that it was hardly a whisper.
    "Just do it, Joyce." He spoke softly. "It's okay. It's what's best."
    "No."
    "Let me save you."
    "I can't –"
    "Do it Joyce!" Kent sobbed as he pleaded for me to save myself. "Do it!"
    Words couldn't come to my mouth. I was weak. I wasn't in my right mind. I couldn't argue any longer. I just barely squeaked out my final decision.
    "Okay."

Continued in part 4.

Joyce (2/4)

Continuation of part 1.

    Bang
    That sound, that gun going off, exploded into my ears and resonated in my gut. I had never heard a gun go off from so close. I had been told that hearing a gunshot from so close could make a person go deaf, but I couldn't imagine it could possibly be quite this loud. The deer, unhurt, bounded away. Kent wasn't angry about missing the deer. He was confused. He didn't get a chance to pull the trigger – not all the way at least. His gun had never gone off. Whose gun, then, had fired?
    It was then that Kent looked over at me. I laid on the ground, clutching my stomach with both hands. Blood poured from the wound beneath my hands and effortlessly soaked through my shirt. Within seconds, a large puddle of blood formed on the ground around me, sinking into the pine needles on the forest bed. I was in such agonizing pain that I could barely breathe, let alone scream. I had broken bones before. I had gotten teeth pulled by a dentist who seriously underestimated the amount of anesthesia I'd need. I had felt pain before that I thought was unbearable and more than I could stand. But nothing I had felt before could come close to the terrible pain I felt at that moment.
    I had shot myself. I had been careless when cleaning out the gun. I didn't know how I did it, but I had managed to accidentally set it off when I had it pointed toward myself. The gun had gone off just seconds before Kent's would have.
    Kent knelt over me and started to cry. His face showed a strange mix of deep sadness and disbelief. For the longest time, he couldn't talk. Finally, he let out a weak sound that barely was a word.
    "No."
    Kent's voice came out slowly, sporadically. He never was much of a crier. When he was sad, he would take small, quick breaths and make little sounds and squeaks, but tears would never come. This happened now.
    "No, Joyce." Kent paused to take in three short breaths. "How'd it – I mean... You're shot?"
    I exhaled slowly and spoke. "I was cleaning it. It, it... It went off. I -"
    "It's okay Joyce. I'm sure you'll be fine." Kent's voice didn't sound very sure.
    "No." I said. "I'm losing too much blood." I could feel the blood falling out of me.
    "You don't know that. You're going to be okay."
    "I know. You know how I am. You know the gift I have." I did have a gift. An ability. I could do something that no other human could. Kent had found out about my ability a few months earlier. "It's part of my gift, knowing about my body. Knowing what I can and can't take. I have lost too much blood. I won't make it."
    "You have to make it. I, I can go run for help."
    "It's miles just back to your car." I winced from the pain. "I won't make it that long."
    "I can carry you back." Kent looked desperate.
    "Kent, it's no good."
    "Then I'll –"
    "No, Kent." I spoke sternly, though I was very weak from the pain. "You can't do anything. I wish you could but... there just isn't anything you can do. I'm not going to make it."
    Tears finally rolled down Kent's cheeks. He put one hand on my cheek and gently brushed my hair with the other. Despite the blood pouring from my abdomen, my face and hair had not yet become wet with blood. Kent would have to say goodbye now.
    "You were fine just a moment ago. How could this happen?"
    "It's okay." I spoke softly. I was the one who was moments from death, yet he was the one who couldn't accept the situation. Maybe he cared for me more deeply than I had thought.
    "It's not!" he yelled, obviously angry at the sudden, unfair incident. You can't die because of a stupid accident!"
    "There's nothing you can do."
    "There has to be." Kent looked resolute and determined.
    "There isn't."
    "No." he said, his eyes showing his terrible realization. "I know what it is. There is something I can do."

Continued in part 3.

Joyce (1/4)

    "Will you tell me what happened?"
    "Nothing happened." Joyce kept her eyes down, not looking up at her friend. She didn't like where the conversation was going.
    "Something bad happened to you." Jessica sat next to Joyce on the bench, trying her best to help. "Will you tell me what it is?"
    "I don't think I can. I hate to think about it."
    "It might help to talk about it. I might be able to help you."
    Joyce sighed and looked around the park in which she and her friend sat. "I don't know."
    "I'm your friend. You can tell me."
    "Okay." Joyce took in a breath. "I'll try not to cry."

    It happened in November, Joyce started to say, a couple years back. I was fifteen. My best friend, Kent, was sixteen. We were great friends, really. Some people we knew thought that we should be dating, him and I, but it wasn't like that between us. We were just good friends.
    Kent really liked to hunt. I didn't know how he could do it – how he could spend hours outside, in the cold, hoping to come across an animal so he could kill it. I was fine with the idea of killing animals for meat. I just didn't like being the one doing the killing. I only ever agreed to go hunting with him because he pleaded so much, and I knew I wasn't nearly good enough with a gun to actually shoot something. Actually, I did end up shoot something, but that happened much later.
    On the morning that we went hunting, Kent drove us out into the forest as far as his car could take us, and then he and I walked another mile or two into the woods. Kent had a place picked out where he thought we'd be more likely to find deer. We set down our stuff, got out our guns, and waited. I couldn't have known how boring it'd be. We got there at six in the morning, and would have to stay until around eleven. Kent was really nice when he said it, but he encouraged me not to talk, since it would scare away the deer. Just because it gave me something to do, I ended up eating my share of the breakfast we had brought more than an hour before Kent had planned to eat it. A couple hours later, I couldn't take it any longer. I set down my gun, sighed loudly to fully express my boredom, and told Kent that I was done, that I wanted to go back.
    "We're never gonna find one." I complained, "There might not be any deer in this forest at all."
    "There's deer out here." Kent assured me. "I've hunted here a dozen times before and I've seen them." Kent didn't turn to talk to me, but instead kept his eyes on the forest around us, searching for any sign of game. He could get very serious about his hunting.
    "Well I'm done." I set my gun down and threw back my head. I sighed again and said, "You can keep looking for these deer of yours if you want, but I don't see the point."
    "Okay." Kent looked briefly down at his watch, and then back at the trees surrounding us. He watched carefully for a deer among the bushes. "It'll be noon in twenty minutes. If we haven't caught anything by then, we'll go back."
    I shrugged. "Fine. You can have another twenty minutes if you want it, but I'm done." I started to unload my gun and put it away.
    "Here, let me do that for you." Kent set down his own gun and reached for mine.
    "I can do it." I said, "Remember, earlier you spent all that time showing me how to clean it out and put it away. There's no way that I sat through all that for nothing. I'll do it myself."
    "Okay, okay." Kent chuckled a little and then checked his tone. He didn't want to scare away the deer. "Just try to be careful."
    As I cleaned my gun, Kent finally spotted a deer. It was a doe and medium sized. It was a beautiful woody brown with white spots on its back. I quickly turned back to my work cleaning the gun. I did not want to see the deer get shot.
    Careful not to scare it away, Kent raised his gun and aimed at the deer. He waited a moment, as the deer slowly came closer and into an area free of bushes and branches. Then, when the doe was close and the shot was clear, he slowly pulled down on the trigger.

Continued in part 2.

Collin (2/2)

Continuation of part 1.

    After a few weeks of having his ability, Collin had made a mistake. It wasn't that he had been careless, just that he hadn't been careful enough. Someone had seen him use his ability, when he had thought that he was alone. This person quickly told a few friends online about what he had seen, even sharing a picture he had taken of Collin, who appeared to be standing on air a foot above the ground. It didn't take very long for people high up to take notice of the posts. Within days, Collin had twenty government agents standing outside his house, armed and ready to fight this unknown threat to the nation. They didn't know that he was just a scared boy. Somehow, although his house was surrounded, Collin had managed to slip onto the roof of the house, and from there, using his ability, he walked across air to the roof of his neighbor's house. Before he could get away, he was seen, and from there the chase had started.
    Thirty minutes after being spotted on the roof, the agents were searching in classrooms and bathrooms for the boy hiding among the gym vents. Collin feared that he couldn't hold himself up much longer. The adrenaline high that had kept him from collapsing earlier was wearing off and his hold on the field beneath him was weakening. This quickly became the least of his concerns, though, as an agent who had entered into the gym looked up and saw him. The man yelled for help and started shooting at Collin. Collin didn't know what was being fired at him, but they didn't seem to be bullets. The government agency that sent these men to acquire Collin surely wanted him brought in alive, so he guessed that they might be something like drugged darts. Regardless, Collin avoided the projectiles the best he could, maneuvering his 'flying carpet' along the ceiling of the gym, trying to hide behind the large vent tubing. Collin could take little more of this, so he got himself close to a grate along the side of a tube, yanked off the grate, and climbed inside.
    The vents were not made to support someone of Collin's weight, and creaked underneath him, though they were wide enough for Collin to comfortably fit inside. The men below him yelled and made plans as Collin crawled along the length of the pipe, occasionally turning. When he had attended the middle school, he had spent hours in the gym listening to boring people speak about drugs or internet safety during school assemblies. During these meetings, in his boredom, he had counted the bricks making up one wall of the gym and memorized the layout of the air vents in the ceiling. Now, climbing through the vents, he found this mental map of the ceiling very helpful, much more so than the information that had been given during the lectures. After turning twice, to the left and then to the right, the tubing turned straight up, leading to a large air conditioner situated on the roof of the school. The tired boy climbed straight up inside the vent, pushing his back against one side of the vent and trying to pull himself up with his hands and feet along the opposite side. He used his ability to make handholds and footholds, creating small stationary fields that he could grab ahold of. Just a few yards up, he reached the air conditioner on the roof. Using what strength he had left, he pushed through the machinery and grating, bursting out through the side of the far from new machine and climbed out onto the roof of the school.
    As he tumbled onto the roof, several men were just then reaching the roof through the staircase that led up to it. Collin would have no respite. He picked himself up again and started to run again, with the men right behind him. There was only so far he go, stuck on the roof of the building. The men backed him up against the side of the building, with their weapons trained on him. One had flanked to the left, and was ready to come in with handcuffs as soon as Collin surrendered. Collin didn't know what they had in store for him, but he would rather die than find out. Collin mouthed a quick prayer and took a deep breath, and then stepped backwards off the roof of the building.
    Collin had no plan. He though he might be able to place a field beneath him as he fell. He might tumble off it and fall to the ground unharmed. As he fell, though, he found himself disoriented and confused. He didn't know up from down and couldn't save himself if he tried. Whether he survived or was injured was not in his hands.
    Just before Collin hit the ground, he felt himself lifted slightly, as if something had grabbed ahold of him and was now setting him lightly on the ground. He ended up lying on the pavement on his back, entirely unharmed. Collin didn't understand what had happened, but couldn't take the time now to ponder it. He stood up and started to run again, as he had been doing for the past forty minutes. A teenage boy stood in front of him, his hands trained on Collin as if he had used the Force to move him. In a way, the boy had. This boy seemed to know what was going on. Collin wondered if he was working with the agents.
    "It's okay." the strange boy said. "I'm here to help you."
    "Who are you?" Collin asked.
    The stranger lifted himself briefly off the ground and then back down, demonstrating his own ability. "I'm like you. I have a gift."
    Collin looked quickly back at the school. The men were coming.
    "Come on." The boy grabbed Collin's hand and pulled him forward. "We need to get out of here."
    Collin hesitated but followed the boy. He had few other choices.
    Collin would be on the run now, hiding from his pursuers. It may be a long time before he could return home. However, he at least now knew that he wasn't alone. There were others out there like him, others who had been hidden, who had abilities like him. He had allies. He wasn't alone.

Collin (1/2)

    A boy, worried for his life, raced down the small streets of his hometown. Collin, who was seventeen, quickly glanced back behind him as he ran. The vehicles with the angry men were still following closely behind. Collin felt his legs could take no more of this constant running. He would have already collapsed several minutes earlier if it hadn't been for the adrenaline rushing through his body. He didn't know exactly what the men behind him planned to do with him, but he wasn't far off with his guess that it wouldn't be very pleasant for him. Collin didn't know it, but the men who were quickly gaining on him even had their doubts on whether he was a human.
    Ahead and to the right stood the middle school of the small town Collin grew up in. Collin couldn't keep running for much longer, especially since his pursuers were in cars much faster than he was. He planned to take them inside his former school, where they would have to follow on foot. Maybe then he could get away. It was the weekend, so there wouldn't be anyone in the school who might get caught up between Collin and his pursuers. Collin ran parallel to the school for a moment, looking for a way to get inside. The doors would be locked, but the wide cafeteria windows would work. Turning widely to the right, Collin headed straight for one of the large windows. As he reached it, he jumped, brought his legs up as high as he could, and sailed through the window. His shoes broke through the window, sending shards of glass flying in every direction. Within seconds, he would land on the cafeteria floor, on his back and on many pieces of glass, surely embedding many of them within his flesh. To prevent this, before he hit the ground he quickly engaged his ability.
    He had only known about his ability for three weeks. Three weeks ago, he had been simply walking down a hall in his house when he hit something that wasn't there, as if there was an invisible wall spanning the width of the hallway. After trying to push through - as well as pinching himself several times to see if he was asleep - Collin realized that the 'wall' was his creation, though not consciously. Something in him had disturbed the empty space in the hallway, making it impassable across a two dimensional plane. Now, Collin would just need to figure out how to remove this 'wall' and how to use his ability consciously. Within an hour, he had. Collin suddenly hoped that he wasn't asleep. The boy spent hours, then days, then weeks, playing around with his ability, learning what he could do and how he could do it better. He had little to compare his ability against, so he referred to it internally as 'force fields'. This description wasn't entirely off. He could solidify empty space, rendering an area physical and impassible. He could create walls, as he accidentally had before, or floors. If he stood on an artificial floor, he'd appear to hover, since what he was standing on wasn't visible. If he created several small floors in a row, each one a few feet apart, they would act as invisible stepping stones, and he could walk through air. With his ability, he could shield his body and create obstructions for opponents. He had avoided using his ability on the soccer field since it'd be cheating and reveal his ability publicly, but here, with his life on the line and his pursuers already aware of his capabilities, it was an appropriate use of his talent.
    As he sailed through the middle school's window, Collin created a forced floor beneath him. He landed as if on a padded mat, three inches above the ground and the shards of glass. Collin quickly stood up and continued to run across his artificial floor, disintegrating it once he stepped off it. Within seconds, the government men outside had burst into the school, battering down the doors or entering through the windows. Collin left the cafeteria and ran down a locker-lined hallway towards the gym. Thirty feet ahead of him, one of the agents came around a corner and started to run straight toward Collin. Collin continued to run forward as he quickly formed a small barrier in front of the agent's feet. As the man tumbled to the ground, Collin weaved around him. When Collin reached the end of the hall, he headed into the large gym, not wanting to be trapped in one of the small classrooms lining the walls of the hallway.
    Collin entered the gym. Thankfully, his pursuers had not yet reached it. The gym was large and had quite a tall ceiling. Running along the ceiling were large vent shafts several feet across. Collin thought the ceiling might be a good place to hide as those following him wouldn't be likely to look for him up in the rafters. Besides that, as the men surrounded the building and searched through the rooms, he was quickly running out of options. Cautiously, Collin crafted a small artificial floor beneath him. He sat down on it and lifted the field off the ground. As if he was sitting upon an invisible flying carpet, Collin lifted off the ground, and slowly up to the ceiling. He reached the ceiling just as two agents entered the gym. They quickly looked over the gym, but went into the locker rooms to search when they didn't see the boy at the expected eyelevel. Collin wondered how long he could stay up there, supported only by an easily disolved field, and hidden only by the hope that those following him wouldn't look up.

Continued in part 2.