You have a secret superpower: the ability to appear and disappear at will. When and where will you use this new superpower? Tell us a story.
I remember when I was younger, I would often write stories about a boy who could either make himself go invisible, or, had the ability to fly. Sometimes even both.
I vaguely remember one of these stories I wrote, was about a boy. I remember that I wrote it for a creative / free writing assessment task. I still remember the day I wrote it. I was in my english class, full of dickheads. Somebody had thrown a small pot of glue at the fan on the ceiling, and it exploded, and lumpy, chunky translucent globs went flying all over the classroom. It was all over the walls, all over the floor, and all over the students. They, the bullies, thought it was hilarious, so they did it again. Then they followed up with a couple of bananas. When the teacher walked in, she was beside herself. She demanded to know who was responsible, but everybody was too afraid of the bullies to say anything, so the whole class received lunchtime detention for a whole week. That afternoon, after school, I went and told the teacher who was responsible. She said she would keep it anonymous.
She obviously didn’t understand what anonymous actually meant. She turned around and told them that I was the one who demonstrated the most confidence to stand up for my classmates, and that they should all thank me for getting them off lunchtime detention.
Although I wrote it about 13 years ago, and I don’t have an actual copy of it anywhere, I can still pretty much remember the foundation and structure of it. It went a little like this:
He was different to all the other boys in his school. He liked dancing. He liked reading. He loved art. And writing. And drama.
He didn’t like football. He wasn’t interested in getting into trouble. He wasn’t into sports, either. A lot of the time, he would fake an injury or an illness just to get out of P.E. (Phys. Ed.) class. Sometimes, he’d even forge his mum’s signature on a note, because he was that desperate to not be involved.
He didn’t like school that much. He had a very small, close circle of friends. A lot of the other kids would pick on him. Daily. Everyday he would be bullied. They would call him names. Constantly.
Every. Single. Day. Multiple times a day.
Sometimes he’d be thrown against a locker. Or have food thrown at him. Or he’d get his books knocked out of his hands. Sometimes the bullies would take his backpack and play keep-away and then throw it in the bin. A lot of the time his belongings ended up in the bin. Once they threw firecrackers at him. Once they threw a bomb bag at him, it landed on his backpack and exploded – some white substance went everywhere. It smelt like rotten egg and went solid like PVA glue. It ended up in his hair and he had to have it cut out.
He made complaints to his teachers, and they did nothing. He made complaints to his school principal, who also did nothing. A couple of teachers suggested that he was bringing it on himself. That he was causing it. One teacher told him he was just being ridiculous. Another teacher told him to stop acting like a child. One teacher actually stopped and sat down to listen to him, and as soon as they asked what was wrong, he broke down into tears in front of the teacher. They took him down to the Deputy Principal, and later that afternoon, all the bullies were called into his office.
Nothing happened to them. They were given a stern talking to, and basically told to never do it again.
The next day, they attacked.
They threw glue at him just before the school assembly started; threw water bombs at him just before he walked into class; filled his backpack with flour; stuck all the pages of a textbook together; cut a giant hole in the centre of a workbook; broke into his locker and threw the contents out onto the floor in the hallway. All of this happened in front of multiple teachers, who all turned a blind eye, and quickly looked the other way.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Sometimes he would wake up in the morning, and dread having to go to school, because he knew what would happen. Sometimes he’d find himself crying in the toilets. Sometimes, he’d feign an injury, just to go to sick bay and get sent home. He hated school. He was miserable. Sometimes, he would come home from school, fall onto the bed, and cry into his pillow until he fell asleep. Sometimes he would just refuse to go to school.
In his dreams he was strong, and he had magical powers. He could make himself invisible. In his dreams, he would stand up to his bullies. He would shout at them to stop, and confront them. He would be able to turn invisible, and then avoid their attacks. Initially, when he would retaliate, it started off simply by pushing them into each other, or knocking their heads together in cartoons. Sometimes he’d push them into puddles, or throw rubbish at them. The rest of the students would all see it happen. They’d all witness these bullies getting their just desserts. They would all cheer and he would be the hero.
As time passed, the dreams progressively more violent. He would turn invisible and start shoving them into walls, or picking them up and throwing them in giant rubbish bins and close the lids on them. Soon enough he was wielding weapons like metal bars, tree branches and bricks. Breaking noses, and arms; dislocating shoulders and smashing knee caps.
Soon enough his dreams stopped taking place in the school playground. He’d turn invisible and follow his tormentors home. Silently observing the interactions they had with their families. Trying to understand why they were full of so much hate towards him. Why were they constantly victimising him? The worse the bullies acted, the more deadly things were in his dreams. Sometimes he dreamt about turning invisible and harming himself, just so he could write their names in blood before he died. Sometimes he would be invisible and floating. Watching over them as they slept, smothering them with a pillow, or stabbing them when they were alone. Watching them die slowly, and painfully. Oh so painfully.
By the time he graduated high school, the dreams were all the same. They were all about death. Either his death, or the bullies death. And they always died violently. The last dream he had, was of one particular bully, the ring leader of the group. Again, he was invisible and floating, but he had developed super-human powers. He was now able to lift and move objects just using his mind. He didn’t understand how he could do it, he just knew that he could. He had a vision in his head. The Ring Leader had gotten into a car, and was on his way towards the school. It was the middle of the night, and there was nobody around.
As the ring leader drove up the hill, towards the school, He used his powers to drop a petrol tanker truck out of the sky, and drop it on the car. Crushing it instantly. He floated down to the ground, and became visible. He stood there waiting for somebody to come out to investigate what all the noise was, but nobody appeared. No other cars drove past. It was as though they were the only two people left. The petrol was gushing out of the truck and all over the car, pouring in through the shattered windscreen. The Ring Leader was screaming out for help. His eyes, blinded by blood from the cut on his forehead, he was trapped in the drivers seat.
He started laughing to himself. The Ring Leader heard the laughter and called out for help. He just kept walking closer and closer to the car. He crouched down to get right next to his ear and softly said ‘well, well, well… it would appear that you’ve gotten yourself into a spot of bother Mr Tinder*.’
‘OH GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!! GET ME OUTTA HERE!! I CAN’T SEE!!’
‘Well, see, there’s the problem. I could help you. I could easily make all of this stop, but you’ve been a very bad boy, Tinder. A VERY BAD BOY. And bad boys don’t deserve to be helped. They deserve everything you get.’
‘WHO ARE YOU? JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE!!’
‘Sorry, Tinder. That’s not going to happen. I’m going to stand here and enjoy watching you die. This is what you get. This is your karma. This is what happens when you spend years tearing somebody apart, destroying their spirit day after day, week after week, month after month, and think that it’s okay to do so. You are nothing but a vile excuse for a human being and you do not deserve to even BREATHE the same air as me. You have made my life a living hell every single day, but not anymore. I’m freeing myself from you. You’re nothing but a demon, and it’s time for you to go.’
And with that, he snapped his fingers and the car erupted into a giant fireball. At the flames engulfed the car, he heard nothing but screaming. He turned his back and walked away.