“What?” I jerked my head away and stared at the floor. But the floor seemed to warp and contort in the most unseemly of matters so i closed my eyes.
“We’ve been trying to figure you out for years.” My track friend commented.
“We didnt know why you saw us with such grandiose vision.” The artist commented.
“So… I worked with them. This idea of a blank exhibit on her gallery.” My sister nodded, “i have seen ypu since we were children make worlds and people and pictures with such subtley that no one noticed. When things got bad for us, you told me i can be anyone i want to be and now i can become anyone. Just like you said.”
“I was born with muscular dystrophy.” The track runner said, “i was able to run because you thought i would be the fastest one day. I always thought you were making fun of me or joking. Until… Until i crossed that finish line. And realized that you were right all along.”
“Im blind.” The artist sighed, “but you said i could see the beauty in everything and everyone. I see that in you, why cant i show you what i see?”
“Why wont you look at me when i am you?” My sister pleaded.
“Please open your eyes and look at the pictures again.” The track runner said, “look at them.”
I opened my eyes and saw nothing. Blank canvases upon white walls. In the room were other people staring hard at the plaques trying to understand why the paintings werent there.
Stepping up to the first one, i read the title aloud, “The race?”
I saw the image. It was a memory. In that memory, i had taken my friends walking canes and told him to chase me. In the image its me running away with a wild smile as my friend sat on the bench. The plaque described how it was related to the main piece at the start of the studio. How i had told him that if he had only stood with me, he could run. Be the fastest.
The other picture in the gallery were all prequels to the main studio. The other supers talking about crossing paths with a random child that told them what they thought they would do. My -blind- friend reluctant to paint until i shoved her paint brush into the pallet.
“I dont understand?” I shook my head watching each canvas bleed into a new image. Something not as foul or sad.
“There isnt a name for it.” My sister shook her head slowly, “its am extremely rare occurrence. Most people recorded to have this ability never live outside of the small world of their own making. Day to day life as normal, as expected. But tend to influence the fate of those around them by accident.”
“What do you mean?” I trembled.
“You have the power to change reality.” My artist friend said, “But your draw back is you are extremely suspectable to suggestion.”
“On some of my runs, i had figured out that your radius of influence is about 25 miles. Large enough for our small town.” He nodded, “Everytime i crossed that perimeter i could see your mind at work. I messaged your sister one day when i had noticed that things had not changed and were getting worse.”
“I dont know who you were listening to about all the bad things you think about yourself.” My sister said, “But i want you to realize how important you are to everyone you speak to. I want you to see what we see.”
“We want you to observe yourself in the same light and color that you see us.” My artist friend said.
“Imagine the difference you have made for others and strive for that within yourself.” The track runner said.
“Believe in yourself as much as you believe in us. We’re here for you.”
