League - Chapter 0
When someone asks about the burns, he smiles and laughs. He says it's a story for another day. He doesn't talk about it again.
When she runs circles around the fastest boys in her school, everyone wants to know how. She puffs up her chest and says it's her superpower. Everyone laughs, no one believes.
When the kid he cares for asks him why the lines on his arms and shoulders look like lightning, his smile falls. He lies through his teeth, tells her a tale so outrageous even she knows it's fake. She doesn't ask again.
When the nanny wonders aloud how she always manages to keep people away from them, she lifts her hands and shows him. She doesn't know the rules yet. He screams.
When his friend asks, amazed, how he always manages to convince the teacher to let them do what they want with a word, he can't say it. He tells him, disgust bubbling in his chest and rising in his throat, that he doesn't know. His friend doesn't care.
When the nanny tries to seperate her from her twin in desperation, she cries. With a touch, she raises her hand and copies her twin. He calls their mother in horror.
When his boyfriend demands an explanation, distressed, holding up his mask, he bites his tongue. He listens to him yell, crying, guilt and shame crawling under his skin, until tears form in his eyes. His boyfriend wipes them away and says it'll be okay one day.
When people try to dumb things down to her level, she snaps. She tears them apart with her words, dragging them screaming up to her level to spit in their faces and prove them wrong. She's young, not stupid.
When the librarian asks why he stops to talk to the birds like they're people, he stops. He stumbles out a false explanation,stumbling so much anyone can tell it's bull, but anything is better than the truth. She doesn't push.
When her employees questions timidly why she chooses to work down here with them, she grins. She says she knows they're strong, but she doesn't want someone to hurt themselves. They stare in awe when she lifts more than they ever could and carries on.
When his principal questions, again, why and how he dumped more than a bucket's worth of water over the heads of his classmates. He tells the why and not the how, knowing they'd never believe him if he told, knowing his actions are justified. He gets detention anyway.
When her friends ask how she always knows what's going to happen, she smiles. Shrugs, calls it a hunch, maybe a hint of magic. She laughs about it until the day she sees what her baby brother becomes.
When his fellow interns want to know how the hell he gets from place to place so fast when no one ever sees him, he stares. He says he's the oldest of sixteen, he has his ways, they think he's lying. He shows them the picture in his locker to shut them up.
When her children ask why they are the way they are, she tells them a story no matter how old they are. She says once they were broken, and she gave a part of her soul to them to fix their own, and from there she brought them up as her own. They never can tell how much is true.
When the air drags from their lungs for too long, the students want to know how he could breathe. His pencil snaps in his hand, and he stares at the shards stuck in his palm in place of an answer. No one asks again.
When his roommate asks why he's never bothered by the cold, he makes the mistake of touching his skin. His roommate recoils, frost at his fingertips, and he finds he couldn't care less. His roommate doesn't speak again.
When his mentor huffs a laugh, pointing out there's always flowers in his hair, he runs his fingers through his hair in embarrassment. His fingers catch on petals and stems, but he has no explanation. The truth is never an option.
There are rules for a reason.
No one must know what they hide under careful words.
(Opinions?)