My special superpower_The Square_"The air is still and I am a hunter..."_Psionic
Catalog Guide:
My special superpower
Everything was good, I recite. It wasn’t, but as I feel the gazes linger on my skin, piercing through my clothes, the humid air almost drowning me in heat, I knew I couldn’t faint. Not here, Not in front of all these people. I feel light-headed. “Asian.” They whisper, lips curving into small upside-down crescents, feet scampering away, like a mouse avoiding a cat, hands clutching at their possessions.I look down at my plain dress. My hair slides down like a black snake, spreading itself onto my white dress, yellowish brownish skin giving the typical Asian look, finished with thin, split eyes. ...
The Square
I am something of a mix between Anne Hathaway in the first half of The Devil Wears Prada and in all of Love and Other Drugs. Simply put, I’m a twenty-two year old millennial with only a smudged idea of what to do with life and no grand accomplishments to account for. On top of that, I carry around a medically diagnosed label of manic depression.As of three years, I see a psychiatrist twice a week and ingest copious amountswww.onedoor.cc of drugs that prevent me from falling into any type of deep end, literal or metaphorical. This also means that, as recommended by my doctor, I keep an interactive A3 paper p...
"The air is still and I am a hunter..."
The wind rustled quietly through the sleeping trees, bringing with it an air of ease and serenity. The moonlight barely penetrated the lofty branches above, leaving the ground dark and dingy. The wind traversed the soft ground, nimbly vaulting over decayed logs, dodging wildflowers and plants, clung to the barks of trees like children clung on to their guardians. All was well. But then the wind stumbled upon something unusual. It was a peculiar troupe of vines and grass, something the wind noticed was out of place. The whole thing was meshy and netted as if the vines had been forced together. ...
Psionic
Fragments of broken memories always played through Katherine’s head when she slept, and she could never figure out how to connect them. Perhaps they weren’t the shadows of real events, but of dreams. They were a mere illusion crafted by her subconscious to entertain her mind throughout the night.At least, this was what she told herself.Katherine’s parents passed away when she was little. She didn’t know how they died, and she didn’t want to. It was easier that way. She had lived with her adoptive mother, Molly, for as long as she could remember. Looking back, it was difficult to target specifi...