Capes are such useless accessories. I mean, come on. What’s the point of an extra piece of material that trails along behind you as you run? It gets caught on things when you try and move. Worse yet, it’s worse than long hair in a fight. Whoever you’re going against can grab it and use it to get you right where they want you. Besides, if it’s windy, a bright red tail doesn’t exactly scream “stealth” when you are trying to work the element of surprise to your advantage. No, I’ve always been more of a bomber or motorcycle jacket kid myself. My bomber jacket is a beat up old black thing that I “inherited” from my dad a few years ago. He never wore it anyway, so it’s not like he’s going to miss it. Now it not only serves as my utility belt, but also as a way to display my qualifications. Altogether, the jacket has eight pockets in which I can store the tools I need for everyday use; pepper spray, pocket knife, gloves, small roll of duct tape. You know, the essentials for crime fighting.
I may not be Batman in terms of gadgets, but that’s alright. They already call me Superman, why have another impossibly high standard to live up to. Clark Asher Gables is the full name, but I can’t stand the first. To most, I’m just Asher. Superman is just the unfortunate name that I was given when someone went digging through their Grandpa’s old movies. I never wanted such a major role; I was just hoping to be the catalyst to shove our world in the right direction. I never wanted to end up on stage in front of a hundred kids looking for advice.
The theatre lights were making me sweat, but I had to look cool and calm. Somewhere out there was my hopefully-more-than-a-friend, best friend, and I couldn’t have her thinking that public speaking bothered me. After all, I was always the jokester, the class clown. If I couldn’t handle a little attention now, I didn’t deserve my title. My throat had gone completely dry when I tried to speak and it took three tries for me to work up enough momentum for the words to actually come spilling out. “Listen up everyone, time for the evening announcements.” The words were familiar to me by now, after repeating them every night for the past month, but each night varied slightly and no matter what, that nervousness that clamped on like a steel vice to my lungs, never went away. Almost all voices quieted in the darkness of the theatre. The melting light beating down on me sort of served as a two way mirror; the audience could see me, but all I saw was darkness. I had to make it look like I could see them, though, and make each person think I was connecting with them individually. On top of that, I had to somehow do it without squinting.
“Tonight on first stag will be Bradley Harely, Jessica Carr, and Orson Morin. Second is Camille Borde, Cornell Sartre, and Archer Thayer. First starts at 22:00 and second at 0:300, as always,” I tried to keep my voice even and authoritative, but I did not want to be their leader. I did not want to be the one researching military tactics for safety. It kept us fairly organized, though, and gave us time to plan our moves. Next was reading off who was in charge of food preparation and who was on nursery duty. With all the little kids that kept getting dropped off, we had to eventually give them their own room. Normally, the kid in charge was either one of our older members, or whose skills helped them keep everyone under control. Luckily for me, I just had to come in to tell them bedtime stories.
After I had read through a few news reports and asked some of the task forces to meet with me before bed, I cleared my throat once more. “Ari? Take out the stage lights, it’s story time.” Cheers broke out from the younger kids while the older ones only smiled. My tales were the only time I really felt comfortable talking to everyone at once. When the lights were off and only the soft glow of scattered nightlights lit the once beautiful theatre, was I able to relax. I hopped down the steps and wove through the children filled sleeping bags as I spun my tale.
Once the story was done, I had to go back to the role of fearless leader and meet with the different teams that kept us running. One for food collection, one for public relations, and one for education. We were running a mini city here and all three were vital to it. Normally those meetings took me an hour each before I was released. I always stumbled into the bathroom, more asleep than awake, to take care of my pre-bed routine. Brush teeth, wash face, change out the gauze on my eye. As I pulled up my eye patch to do just that, that same coldness in the pit of my stomach settled in. The riot was a month ago, I shouldn’t have felt that cold fear every time I looked at myself in the mirror.
The morning had started out normal enough. In a state of half sleep, I had crawled out of bed and gotten dressed in my school uniform. Despite all the arguments against uniforms, they made my life easier. No need to worry about what was clean and what matched, just throw on the same thing every day and you were good to go. By my sophomore year of high school, I could button up the shirt and put the tie into place without even using my eyes. Though, that order of dress always left getting out of the bedroom as a bit of a hazard. Clothing and junk piles, neatly organized, I might add, hid my floor from view. It was organized chaos in motion. My dresser, where my glasses rested, was right by the door, on the opposite side of the room from my bed. Leave it to me to induce a little more action in my day by refusing to change my glasses’ landing spot. The move from bed to closet to dresser and drawer was perfectly choreographed at this point. Bed, up, closet, right, weave around the pile of electronics, step over last night’s homework that you didn’t do, bump your knee on the corner of the desk, pause for cursing, then continue to the dresser. There was a permanent bruise on my knee from that desk and I swore it moved overnight so no matter where I stepped, it was bound to be there. Once I had my glasses in place, it was practically too easy to see.
I limped into the kitchen in my usual fashion, happy as always to see two halves of toasted bagel with cream cheese waiting for me. A vacuum was envious of my food picking up skills. That was, until I felt a tap on my head. The chewing police, a.k.a, my older sister, was there to scold me. “Try chewing that, dummy. Mom’ll kill me if you die on my watch. Now, where is the other magic twin?”
If looks could kill, she would have been on the ground. “You promised to stop calling us that. It’s not magic, it’s a serious condition. Thank you very much.” My words probably lost some of their impact since they were said through a mouthful of bagel, but whatever. She got the point. “As for Alana, last time I saw her she was in her bed. Knowing her, she’s already been up for an hour and went for a jog.” I reached for my glass of orange juice and started chugging that when the kid in question waltzed in, hair still wet from her shower.
“Not jogging today. Jogging is on Wednesdays, today is Thursday. Tae Kwon Do.” Supposedly we’re twins, but I really don’t see it. Except for the hair, we couldn’t be more different. Where I’m all about the adventure and comedy, Alanna is a hardcore athlete in every sense of the word. Beyond that, she actually does her homework. What a freak. Not that she’s smarter than me. That’s a point she tries to argue all the time which I quickly refute with the I.Q. test. Same number. Completely. She just applies herself.
As we started to fight about some stupid thing, as was tradition, our older sister was picking up her car keys. “Well come on, freaks, I’ve got to get you to school before I’m late,” Eliza announced in a bored voice. In exchange for living in the house while she spent a semester in community college and working to pay for real college, she was our taxi service. Anywhere we needed to go, within reason, it was her job to get us there.
In the silence of the morning drive to school, I decided to deal with the issue of the names Eliza kept calling us. “Liz, you really need to stop calling us special and freaks. What if someone hears? You know the danger we’re in!” A sad smile came over Eliza’s face as she nodded. Everyone knew, even if you wanted to pretend you didn’t. There were news stories every night about a store being vandalized for employing our kind. Even saying the word mutant was going to get you the kind of attention that you didn’t want.
Eliza pulled into the middle school parking lot and turned to look at us with a sort of pity filled smile. “It’s kind of hard having two little siblings who have powers. It’s my own way of dealing with it and you know I would never let it slip outside of the house. Protecting you two is one of my responsibilities as the older sibling. Now get, you have class to go to.”
Despite our obvious aversions to each other, Alana and I stuck together like glue at school. When you have such a huge secret, there is some comfort in having someone else in on it with you. We were a matching set despite how much we would try and prove otherwise. As Alana and I were digging through our shared locker, we heard a familiar voice from behind us. “Allo twins.” My heart always sped up at that sound. Her voice beautiful melodic voice that constantly seemed to be singing no matter what was being said. At least, to me it was. Alana said that I was probably just going crazy and needed to get my ears checked. She obviously didn’t understand true love. A smile on my face as if my only purpose in life was seeing her, I turned to greet Lil.
Lillian Anne Smith had moved to our city two years ago with her three brothers and military employed father. Everything about her screamed military as a result. Her clothing was always perfectly pressed, her hair neatly combed, and her homework done in handwriting so flawless that I swore she was part computer. If given the chance, though, she would ditch all this to go run around in the woods and get dirty. Our morning conversations normally were pretty limited by the first period bell at a quarter till eight.
For the past few months, Lil had been teaching me self defense to help limit the number of fights I got in trouble for. The school’s policy on fights was pretty clear; you throw even an elbow and you’re suspended. That’s why aversion was the best method. This month alone I had slipped my way free of five fights. I didn’t get so lucky today. As I walked down the math hallway, I was intercepted by a pair of rough hands grabbing me and pinning me up against the lockers. I tried not to let a single sound out of my mouth as I focused on the face of the giant meathead holding me.
I was in trouble, big time. ”You think this is funny, Superman?” The school’s star quarterback had a bit of an attitude when it came to his hair. It was his prized possession, the perfect target for a counter attack. I had to bite my lip not to start cracking up, but that didn’t stop a smile from falling across my face. The teen’s hair was green. Neon green, in fact. I had to mix a couple different colors to get it just that bright, but now, seeing the final product, I knew my efforts had been worth it.
Somehow, I managed a nonchalant expression and shrugged. “You should be thanking me. With hair so bright, no one is going to be looking at that jelly bowl you call a stomach.” Technically, Brock had drawn first blood when he stole my favorite hat. Looking back on it now, though, I should have learned to hold my tongue. Brock’s response to my brilliant wit was a quick punch to the face. Brock and his gang of goons walked away laughing as I sat on the ground, watching birds fly around my head like a cartoon cat.
The late bell rang louder than normal in my ears, warning me to get moving. I slowly pulled myself to my feet and gathered my backpack before heading to class. The teacher said nothing as I tried to slide into my seat as stealthy as possible. I pressed my now throbbing cheek to the cold fake wood of my desktop and listened as my teacher explained trigonometry. After passing math and English in silence, it was time for lunch. My trio always sat in the same spot in the courtyard, no matter what the weather. Rain nor sleet nor snow could persuade us to give up our little sanctuary underneath the weeping willow. Right now the trusty branches were keeping our precious spot free of the light snow that covered the ground outside.
The weathered trunk was perfectly shaped for my back. I could sit there for the whole hour of lunch and never have to shift positions. With Alana on my right and Lil on my left, we could all relax a bit and dig into our lunches. “Hey Superman.” My head snapped up as all three of us looked up at the intruders. No one ever bothered us here. Ever. Leave it to Brock to ruin perfection. I could see Lil tensing up beside me, as if expecting a fight, but I made sure to keep everything about me calm as I finished my sandwich.
“What do you want, lettuce head?”
Now here I need to take a moment to clear up a common misconception. Cracking your knuckles does not make you look tough. Oh wow, you can make some weird noise with the fluid buildup in your joints? Terrifying. No, what makes you scary is a crazy look in your eyes and two hundred pounds of muscle to back it up. “We are tired of you mutants stinking up our school!”
Don’t say, Ash, keep your mouth shut. Don’t say it don’t say it. “Spell mutants.” Crap, time to run. But there was no way out. Their little spot was chosen for its isolation, not for its strategic standing. The last thing I clearly remember is telling Lil and Alana to run.
When I woke up it was pitch black. Everything seemed to hurt, from my toenails to my hair, but it seemed to really radiate out from my left eye. Unwilling to open my eyes to see where I was, I tried to talk but all I heard was a scratchy and quiet voice ask, “What happened?” To my horror, I realized it was me.
“I think you need a few more lessons before we try that again,” I heard Lil beside me speak with hollow sounding teasing.
My first concern was my sister and Lil. “Are you two okay?”
There were fingers around my right hand, squeezing them tightly as if to reassure me. As I braced myself for the worst, Alana spoke up. “We’re both fine, Clark.”
That name alone was enough to tell me to panic. Alarms started going off in my head, telling everyone that this was officially the time to freak out. My eyes popped open…at least, I thought they had. All I could see was blackness and there was a roughness against his eyelids. “What’s covering my eyes?”
Both girls took a deep breath as if steadying themselves. It seemed like they were going to ignore my question and just let the silence stretch when finally Lil spoke. Her voice was shaky and for the first time I realized that it sounded like she had been crying. “In the fight…One of the jocks pulled a knife. Alana and I tried to get to you in time, but by the time we fought through all of the people, you were on the ground, out cold… There, there was so much blood, Ash, we couldn’t tell what happened until we got you home. Your mom cleaned you up, but she is debating whether or not to take you to the hospital.”
In a voice that sounded so much calmer than I felt, I asked, “Just tell me the damage.”
“You won’t be able to see out of your left eye anymore. Brock slashed you across the face. By the end of the brawl, police had to be called. Apparently there are more mutants at our school than we thought. It’s been all over the news; they are saying it’s worse than a school shooting. None of the mutants injured were checked into hospitals. All were taken home by the police, but I don’t think it was to deny them care, but to prevent what might have happened in the hospitals. If it makes you feel any better, you took down four of the guys before you earned your first cut. But…no one is pressing charges against Brock. Everyone is too afraid to. His parents were on camera saying how proud they were and threatening to sue the school if they suspend him.” By this point, I was only half listening. The other half of my attention was turned to the internal soundtrack of shock and despair that was running through my mind.
Goodbye depth perception. Oh stop being so depressing. I just lost my eye! At least you still have your other one. A lot of good that’s going to do me! You can still see people and colors, get over it. My little mental soap opera ended as I sat up and pushed half of the cloth bandage up; freeing my good eye. Though my vision was a little blurry without my glasses, I could still tell that both my sister and my best friend looked drained. Both were in pairs of Alana’s pjs and their hair was wet as if they had taken showers recently. How much blood had they been covered in? My expression was grave as I looked them over in silence. Finally, I said simply, “This is not right.”
The feeling of a pair of strong arms around my waist brought me back to my reflection. Lil’s chin rested on my shoulder as her head rested against my mind. “Dreamweaver, you’ve been in here for an hour. Your sister finally sent me in to collect you. We got worried you drowned in the toilet or something.” Her smile was soft, but the teasing was just what I needed to step out of my memories. It helped keep me rooted. I matched her smile with one of my own and nodded.
“Are all the kids asleep, or do I have to do another round of stories?” I asked as we turned to leave.
“Hannah is having a nightmare that you might want to go fix before we have to do another load of wash.” With a quick kiss on the cheek, she was gone, off to her own sleeping bag. Normally the three of us were the last asleep, excluding those on sentry duty. Almost every night I go out on sweeper duty. Meaning, I go out and walk the streets with one or two others and look for mutants in trouble. Our medical department here is pretty well stocked and the stuff we can’t handle ourselves we save for the doctor who visits us every other day.
As I climbed the ladder up to my bedroom high in the catwalks, I tried to put together a game plan for Hannah. Ever since her parents dropped her off at the theatre, she kept having nightmares about them abandoning her. Sometimes she would wake up screaming, sometimes it was just bedwetting. The only solution was to gently remind her why her parents had dropped her off. Like most of the kids here, Hannah’s parents were seeking a safe house for her. They even gave her a backpack full of cash and food to make sure she was well cared for. They were all expecting such huge things from me.
My feet dangled over the edge of the catwalks as I looked out over the kids sleeping below me. This is why I loved this spot so much. Besides its security, I could keep an eye on all the people I needed to. After the riot at school, a haven for my kind had been my dream and with some under the table donations from major corporations who could not support us publicly, I was able to buy this old theatre. Sure, its paint is faded and the seats are all gone from the house section, but with our little tech genius supplying us with everything we need, its fertile ground for change.