Saturday, October 04, 2008

"Never Special," Costume Concerns, pt. 1, 399 words

First things first.

I need something to wear.

I hate how stereotypical it makes me feel to even think that, but this is something bigger than trying to dress up for a date. We’re talking about my first real action as a… a hero. I need a costume, a good one. Something like Kali Yuga’s co-opted Victorian menswear, or Amaza’s armored white singlesuit, only… not. Something different, something distinctively Amanda Park…

I need a name, too. Shit. The more I think about it, the more issues pile on. Should I come up with a catchphrase? Something witty to say? What if he knows my secret weakness?

No, scrap that. I don’t even know my secret weakness, if I have one. I’m not sure if a human with the “standard set,” as it’s come to be called, has any special weakness, a vulnerability that overcomes their powers.

And damn it all but I still can’t figure out what to wear! It’s midnight, I need to be up in six and a half hours to get ready for work, and I know I won’t be able to sleep until I solve this problem. But it’s like when you realize you went a day too long to wash your laundry, and now everything you can find that’s clean has some ugly stain or embarrassing hole. There are just so many clothes sitting or hanging there, and yet not a single one of them will work. I find myself searching again and again as if it’ll change things, but the fact is, I have absolutely nothing I can use for a costume unless I want to go as The Office Temp.

I punch my palm in frustration, a habit I had to develop quickly over the past two weeks lest I put holes in my walls from all the stress of these changes, worse than puberty and my first period for making me feel like my body is a completely alien thing. My fist thudding into my palm feels the same as it always has, making me almost able to forget that I’ve changed.

That’s just an illusion, though, my own body having become hardy enough to endure the consequences of inhuman strength. Invulnerability’s almost a side-effect of that kind of thing; they go hand in hand like a chicken-and-egg problem. Otherwise I’d be tearing myself apart with the forces I can exert.

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