A New Skill:

He tried again. And again. And yet again. One more try. But it was hard. It wasn’t like flying. It wasn’t like punching a wall down. Or like deflecting bullets. This was hard. He was never top of his class, but his superpowers were always usable. He managed. He kept up in flying class. He got by just fine during martial practice, and even came in third when they had their exams in building-demolition. When they were tested for skin-density and -strength, his skin turned out to be thicker than many others’. But thinner than many others’. He was never best at anything, but he never really struggled either. He never really stood out. Statistically speaking, he made next to no difference; he never dragged the bar down, nor did he push it up. Statistically, he was almost invisible. Ironically, the skill he struggled with now was just that; becoming invisible. He hated the irony. He tried again. He pushed himself further and harder with each new try. By now everyone else in his class had mastered it, he was sure of it. Some of the students whose performance and achievements had previously dragged the average down, had mastered it already. Yet, he struggled. That was a new feeling he wasn’t comfortable with. If he started to fall behind, he would be noticed. People would start to have an opinion on him. View him a certain way. He didn’t want that. He wanted to be invisible. Both figuratively and literally. Ever since he realised he would never be best at anything, he wanted to blend in. If he couldn’t stand out as the best, he didn’t want to stand out at all. He tried again. He did different things with his body for each try. One of the reasons why learning new skills at a superhero academy was hard, had to do with the fact that each individual felt it differently in their cells. Which meant, describing how to actually do an action, was difficult. Sure, the lecturers could explain how the cells were meant to react, and how the body would function during the different actions. And sure, classmates could describe how they felt, and what they did with their bodies, but that wasn’t always helpful. Some skills came natural to some. Many of his jock-classmates found super-speed to be an easily achieved skill. His only friend, and roommate, was a gamer, and had been playing first person shooter games since childhood, and he learned the skill of super-recon in dangerous situations so fast he set a new record for the academy. One classmate whose parents worked as a nurse and a shrink, found the skills of healing and telepathy easily learnt. His dad had been a car-salesman, and his mother a lawyer. He had inherited nothing more than a charming smile and an awareness of right and wrong. He wasn’t more capable of element-manipulation or mind-blast just because of his genetics or upbringing. His personality clearly didn’t help either, as other students’ personalities had helped them gaining skills fast. When he first started at the superhero academy, he figured this skill would come easy, given how reticent he had been in regular school for years. He now realised that this wasn’t in his blood after all. It would drag both his average as well as the class’ average down. He would get a talking to. Perhaps he would get a tutor to teach him invisibility. He cursed out loud by the thought. If he got a tutor, he would be so embarrassed, maybe he’d turn invisible. He tried again. This time he tried twisting his body. At another attempt, he clenched his fist and curved his body. He tried again, extending his body while looking up this time. Nothing. Well, not quite nothing; he was still visible, so there was still something. He wanted to be nothing. Or to appear as nothing, at least. He stood in his dorm, hoping no one would come in, and catch him practice. He looked over at his friend’s knife collection on the wall. They resembled the close-combat knives in the games his friend played. He got annoyed at how his friend was able to incorporate his lifestyle into learning new superhero skills. Angrily, he looked away from the stupid, non-super knives. He tried shutting off his visibility again. He advanced one foot. He felt his body react. His cells started shifting. His fingers had turned into claws. He was still visible. He tried again, grunting hard. The colour of his skin changed into slightly green. Still visible. He tried again, throwing his head back. His spine shifted. Visible and ready to climb a tall building. He tried again, pushing his chest out. Gills formed on his neck. He screamed as he let go of the clench he had been holding for the past couple of minutes. Or days for that matter. He felt exhausted. He felt like a failure. His chest leaped out and back in. He was so tired. He moaned. Why was this so hard? He clenched his jaw. Then his body. He was ready to try again. He took a deep breath. His shoulders rolled up and back. He felt his body extending, becoming elastic. Then he froze, and his skin turned diamond hard. It felt as if he froze time. If he did, then next year’s class; time-manipulation, should be easy. He couldn’t hear anything. He shut out everything around him. The only sounds he could hear came from inside of him. He heard his heartbeat slowing down. His blood no longer flowing, but dripping through the veins. His pulse drumming in his limbs, creating a hollow beat. Cells colliding. Shifting. Splitting. Uniting. He was no longer standing; he was in the air. But he wasn’t flying, he recognised what flying felt like, and this wasn’t it. He hovered. It felt as if he was being pushed up from the ground, as if the ground repelled the iron in his body. Maybe he would manage magnetic-manipulation or telekinesis well next year. He felt something tighten around his heart. He felt as if he was on fire. As if he was about to explode. Or maybe implode. He had to release. There was just one problem: He wasn’t sure what he’d release. What would happen when he let go? Would he become invisible? Would he erupt and bury the academy in lava? What if he made the world invisible, only to remain visible himself? He was scared. The dorms were built to handle attacks from students not in control of their powers yet, but what if he released something the academy wasn’t prepared for? He had read all about superhero history, how certain superheroes had revolutionised the field with new skills not previously known. What if he was one of them? What if in his struggle to achieve one of the basic, first year-taught skills, he had forced his cells to reveal an unknown ability? Or an ability only the greater superheroes was known to possess? What if he released forbidden powers? Certain skills and abilities were associated with supervillains only, and if any superhero-student showed signs of possessing these skills, they would be removed from the academy to be studied and trained by specialists, in order to avoid the students becoming supervillains rather than superheroes. What if he really was a supervillain, not a superhero? His parents had died tragically, and their death had never been fully investigated or concluded. What if he was about to release a dangerous explosion of supressed feelings regarding their demise? What if the aftermath of the blow would lay waste to the entire continent? What if... His heart started to beat faster. It hurt. It sped up, beyond regular speed. He was scared. What if he had pushed his body too far? Created a momentum too powerful to be sustained by the protective walls of the dorm? The pressure in his body started to choke him. He had to let go. He had to find out what form the build-up would take. He had to know if he would be successful in making himself invisible, or if he would end up killing his only friend, and every other student at the academy. A single tear ran from his eye, down one of his cheeks. Or was it blood? He had to let go. He let go. 

To his surprise, he didn’t slam into the ground. There was no explosion. No sound. It was like gravity re-booted underneath him slowly, and he descended to the ground, landing in a fetal position. It felt underwhelming. He sat up straight. For a second, he was afraid to look down – to look at himself. Realising he would fail if he didn’t become invisible soon, he had to raise his hands to his gaze. What he saw would be a game-changer. Not only were his hands visible; they were radiant, glowing bright neon yellow. He had developed the ability to shine in the dark. He had failed. Two things happened next: Firstly, he realised he had missed the chance to one day be part of a superhero league. Only the most prominent superheroes ever could. Secondly, someone pushed down the door handle. He couldn’t let anyone know about his lack of abilities. Not only did he not wish the world to know about his lack of invisibility skills; he also wanted to hide the fact that he did not possess the capability to explode a building if needed, or to lay waste to cities when in anguish. He grabbed one of the knives on the wall. As he heard the other individual enter the room, he turned, and threw the knife in a horizontal hand-movement, hitting his target right in its beating heart. His friend fell to the floor with a facial expression displaying utter shock. He didn’t see that coming, he thought. His friend died by the time he hit the tiles. Funny; knife-throwing was a human skill. And yet, it was the quickest skill he had ever learnt – and the only skill he had ever excelled in.