Power of Pain (Original Group Story)
5 teenagers. Trapped. All stuck in lives that they dislike. They all have one thing in common, they aren't normal. They have powers, unlike considerably normal people. Fate brings them together with one, mutual interest. Power. Domination. A way for their voices to be heard. A way to make their own decisions. An escape from their current life. A way out. Ultimate domination.
We sat next to each other by the tree. The grass felt a bit scratchy, as always. The sun shone through the leaves hanging on the long branches. Willow waved her hand over a blade of grass, and a gorgeous red rose grew. "Roses may be beautiful, but they do have thorns," I said. She turned toward me, a look of confusion in her eyes. "Well, of course they have thorns, but they're beautiful. Pure. Good," she said. I shook my head. We never seemed to agree on anything.
"Blades of grass don't have thorns. Have you ever considered a blade of grass to be just as good as a rose?" I said, raising my voice slightly. Her ignorance became aggravating at times. She laughed. "Don't sweat the small stuff, sister. All of this over a silly flower?" she said in her beautiful, slightly high-pitched voice. I waved my hand over the flower. It quickly wilted. The petals browned and fell off of the stem. "It's not about the flower," I said, standing up.
"A flower," I thought. "How could she think it was the flower? Did she really not notice what she is doing? Does she not see how blind she is?"
I walked across the large backyard. We live in "Unnamed." Unnamed, is what they call the area on the outskirts of Fidemville. It's technically a part of Fidemville.
I yanked open the back door. The white paint is peeling off of it. My mother was in the kitchen. She was a bit taller than me, which is pretty short. It is obvious that my sister attained her appearance from her. She has long, golden hair which extended to the center of her waist. Her eyes identical to my sister's. My sister seemed to merely be a younger version of her.
I walked upstairs to my room and glanced out the window. I looked at my sister, who was practicing her cheer routine. I hated feeling self-pity. Although it seems as if I'm jealous of her, I don't want what she has. She has people that adore her. Those people are cruel. She's athletic. That doesn't matter to me. She's traditionally beautiful. I'm fine with the way that I look. I want something else. I wanted my voice to be heard. This might sound insane, but everything else I say sounds so. I want power.