"You're no Chosen One..." a man's voice echoes.

I wake up on what feels like a very cold concrete floor. It's pitch black in what feels like a warehouse, but I'm not so sure. I stand up, and it feels even colder. With every step I take, there seems to be an echo following my footsteps with perfect timing.

"I don't want to be the Chosen One..." I say in a weary sort-of tone. My throat feels tight as I choke trying to hold back tears. 

"You're no Chosen One..." the voice continues as it echoes all around me again.

I feel a swarm of even more coldness as the voice speaks to me from the darkness. "Could I be walking through fog?" I think to myself as I continue to walk forward with my arms outstretched in hopes that I will reach a wall. I can't see my arms frantically searching for something to hold, though I'm starting to wonder if I even want to know what's all around me.

"I'm so scared..." I say in a whisper. My voice is shaking, and I fear he can sense my weakness.

"You're...no...Chosen One..." the voice repeats.

My breathing feels heavy, my lips feel numb, and after walking in a straight line for what feels like hours I have still yet to find a wall. I feel even more cold, and the echoes of my footsteps are the only noise keeping me company other than the voice of the man who constantly can't help but remind me that-

"You're no Chosen One-"

"I KNOW." I yell as loud as I can. I stop in my tracks and ball my hands into a fist. "I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW." I continue to yell. I pound my fists into the sides of my thighs. I let out a scream full of helplessness and hopelessness - a scream full of pain and hurt - and I collapse onto my knees on the cold, concrete floor. I rest my palms on the floor only to feel the sting in my palms intensify from the cold, and the sting in my throat from yelling so loud.

The man begins to laugh hysterically. "Is he taunting me?" I question in my thoughts. His voice echoes in the emptiness of wherever I am, and I feel like I'm going insane. "STOP IT." I attempt to yell, but my voice cracks from the strain and pain. I shuffle myself into a balled-up position and cover my ears with my palms. I place my forehead against my knees, close my eyes tightly, and furrow my brows. I can feel each one of my hot and heavy breaths hitting my chest through my t-shirt. His laughter is getting louder. I can't hold it in any longer. I give up. I finally shed my first tear.

And then I wake up.

•••

I jolt awake. I sit up while using my arms like crutches. Breathing heavily and fast, I begin to start feeling lightheaded. "Just pace yourself like the psychologist told you to do." I thought to myself. I close my eyes and begin to focus on my breathing. 

For what feels like minutes of me trying to focus on steadying my breathing, it only takes me three minutes to officially calm myself down. My eyes begin to focus on my surroundings: it's dark, but the ever so small moonlight that evades my curtain's usage is the only thing lighting up my small bedroom. I begin to slowly start focusing on how my room looks to calm my mind:

My dark walnut colored desk at the end of my bed with my black desktop computer resting itself upon it. The small green light blinking at the bottom of the screen reminds me that yet again I have let my computer go into rest mode rather than shut it completely off. The color of my desk has this sort of contrast with my walls that have been painted blue. I loved the color blue. It was always such a soothing color in my opinion. 

My twin-sized bed frame shares the same dark walnut color as my desk, but my colored quilt blanket contrasts the room with its red, yellow, and white squares. It's a sentimental piece to me, and I can't leave it in a box to collect dust. It's something my conscious wouldn't dare let me do. Something that my conscious would let me do though is unknowingly grip the blanket so tight that the squares start to come apart at their seams. I let go of the blanket as I realize I am doing just that.

I place my hand on my forehead and shake my head. "The moon is still out..." I say out-loud, groggily. 

I turn to look at my VANIA alarm clock on my nightstand and wave my hand over the top of it. A light blue cone shines out of the top of the clock. I wince as it pops up. "I really need to turn down the brightness settings on this..." I thought to myself.

"It is...three thirty-three...A-M." The clock announces in a robotic female voice.

"Thank you, Vania." I say to the clock. The cone ceases back into the alarm clock. I turn to see 3:33 AM displayed in blue on the digital clock.

I breathe in deeply, and release it as a sigh. I uncover myself and throw my legs off the left side of the bed. I can feel the softness of my beige carpet under my feet. I take another moment to recollect myself, and then I stand up to make my way towards the window.

I open one side of the curtain with my hand and I gaze outside. The view of the city is incredible. New York City - who knew that it'd still be around in the year 3000? After everything it has been through, I'm surprised it's not blown up or underwater like Florida is. Though don't forget, the city is still absolutely horrible. I'd do anything to get away from here, though I feel like I'd miss the city lights and the cars honking and the personal hover cars zooming pass my window. I'd kill for a hover car, but only big businesses have those types of cars. I take a moment to admire the view I have of the city, and then I close my curtain back.

"Hey, Vania?" I say.

The blue cone spirals up and out of the alarm clock once again.

"Yes, Tristen?" She asks.

"Could I have a glass of water, please?" I ask.

"Of course." She responds.

The blue cone spirals down into the alarm clock, and once again spirals back up only to blind me by shining super bright. 

Vrrr vrrr...

I cover my eyes with my arm, and I move it away once it dims back down and the whirring noise starts to slow down. There in the middle of the blue cone is a glass of water. I grab the glass of water from the alarm clock and take a sip.

"Thank you, Vania." I say.

"Of course, Tristen." She replies. "A pleasure, like always." And then the cone spirals back down into the alarm clock.

I sit down at my desk and sip away at my glass of water. I start fidgeting with my fingers.

"Ah, shit." I say as I give up holding back my urge to turn on my computer.

I shake the mouse, and the screen turns on. Once again, I am blinded by brightness. I wince, but then get my eyes used to the brightness rather quickly so that I can get this research over and done with. I log in, and I open up my browser.

I hesitate. "Do I really want to know what they're saying?" I think to myself. I pause, staring at the cursor blinking away in the empty search box. I tap my fingers on the desk. I finally have the urge to type the letter "c".

The very first thing to pop-up as a search suggestion was "Chosen One updates". It was trending. I hesitate, but I click on the suggestion anyway. The first article's headline read just what I was afraid of: "The Chosen One Disappeared and Has Abandoned Us All". 

"Great." I thought to myself. I let out a huge sigh, and then I click on the article.

"When we went to meet with the Chosen One a couple of days ago, he completely shut down in front of the crowd and then left as if the people didn't matter to him anymore..."

"Great way to start off..." I mumbled under my breath as I continued to read the article.

"Nineteen year old Tristen Beasley has recently shown the city of New York his supernatural ability: his ability to heal someone with just the touch of his hands. Beasley reportedly has healed over 50 people since the public has caught wind of his abilities..."

"That's not factual." I muttered under my breath. "I've only healed maybe ten people." I continue in a sarcastic-sounding tone. I continue to scroll on the article.

"Since then, the media has been reporting on Beasley and giving him the fame he deserves after a bystander used his phone to film Beasley healing a victim of a drive-by shooting. When interviewed, the man says that he had absolutely no idea who Beasley was until he saw him on the news the next day. The man claims that his wounds healed up as if he hasn't even been shot, and any bullets that were lodged in his body were rejected as his wounds healed up. 'I even went to the doctor, and they told me I looked good as new.' The man claims. 'If I ever saw that dude again, I would thank him a thousand times for giving me the chance to continue to live my life.' The man tells us here at HOUND News..."

I couldn't help but smile. That man was only the fifth person I had healed, but the first major one that I had done. I wasn't even sure if my abilities could heal such injuries, so if I were to go down I was going to go down with a fight. I'm glad I was able to let him continue on with his life.

"After getting lots and lots of media coverage, citizens of New York City started to depend on Beasley for his healing. Since the news broke of Beasley's efforts, everyone assumed that it was okay to be careless and to let themselves get injured and even get into a close state of death in hopes that 'the Chosen One' would be around to help them. Because of this mindset, many individuals have been severely injured and put into the hospital, and some were unfortunately not as lucky..."

Of course, there's always a downside to being a well-known hero...

"I can't save everyone!" I said as I slammed my fist hard onto my desk. "I'm just one person..." I look down at my hands that now seem lifeless as they lay in my lap. I inspect them, trying to see if I can spot a difference when I bring out my healing ability and when it's hidden away. I can't seem to notice anything different. I take a deep breath in and continue to read the article.

"Many ranging ages 12-25 have been affected with this careless mindset, so please be on the lookout for any possible signs if you or a loved one might be going through this. You can't rely on the Chosen One. Especially not now."

"...And here we go..." I mumble under my breath.

"When Tristen Beasley was spotted leaving his home in New York City, we here at HOUND News decided to ask him some questions. Though we couldn't get any answers in because as soon as we started asking questions, citizens and other news networks started to surround Beasley as well. Beasley obviously looked overwhelmed with the sudden crowd, but what can you expect when you're the Chosen One?"

"Some decency and respect..." I thought to myself.

"All of a sudden, Beasley just stood silent and still. We all just stood there waiting for him, but he looked as still as a rock. Then Beasley let out this loud scream that left us all baffled and in shock. Beasley apologized to the crowd, and then proceeded to go back into his home. The crowd stood there silent and still in shock for a tad bit longer, and then we all decided to disperse. Since then, Beasley has not been seen leaving his home here in New York. Was that the Chosen One's last straw? Has he abandoned us? What will we do with this information of a Chosen One living among us, but won't do anything to save us? More to come when updates are available."

I scrolled back up to the top of the article because I was curious as to who the reporter was for this article.

"Paige Bentley..." I whispered to myself.

I looked her name up in the search engine. Her photos popped up immediately at the top of the results page. My eyes widened.

"Did you find the results you were looking for, Tristen?" VANIA asks.

I jump and let out a little shriek.

"Vania!" I say as I try to catch the breath that was scared out of me. "I don't recall...calling for you..."

"You didn't." She replies. "I got bored sitting around and waiting for you to do so."

I didn't even realize that my hand was grabbing my shirt where my heart was located. I slowed my breathing down before responding to VANIA.

"Geez..." I start. "Don't...ever do that again...please..."

"Noted." She states. "What did you find?"

I turned back to the computer and stare at her pictures. I pulled up the first photo of Paige and continue to stare at it.

"Paige Bentley..." I start. "she was one of the girls in my graduating class."

"Oh." VANIA says. "Was she a negative person to be around?"

"No, actually." I replied. "She was the exact opposite. She was so kind and sweet to everyone. Yearbook committee, prom coordinator, and class president. She was the perfect student..."

"Then why didn't you two become friends?" VANIA asked.

"Oh," I start. "I just didn't think that she'd like me. I was a total nerd back in high school. I'm nothing like how I am now."

"You're still a nerd, Tristen." VANIA states.

"...okay, you can go now, Vania." I say as I run my fingers through my dirty blonde hair. The strands fall right back onto my face and into my eyes. I brush them away, but they fall back into place. I can't help but sigh out of frustration. "I should probably get a haircut soon..." I think to myself.

I hear the cone retract into the alarm clock as I'm still staring at Paige's headshot. Her long, platinum blonde hair still going past her shoulder blades. The same style bangs still cover her forehead. Her brown eyes reflecting the light that was used in the studio to take this photo that I'm staring at, but I think the lights bring out the paleness of her skin more. It's weird to see a photo of her without her thick black glasses, but nonetheless she still looks so...pretty.

"She hasn't changed at all since freshman year..." I say under my breath.

I close the browser and properly turn off my computer for once. I go back and lay down on my bed, covering myself back up with my quilt. I look at the clock, now the numbers 4:05 AM glow blue. I sigh, and I close my eyes. I turn to lay on my left side so that my back is facing the wall that my bed is pushed against and attempt to fall asleep.

•••

BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...

I furrow my brows. My eyes still remained closed."I don't remember setting an alarm" I thought. I pull the quilt over my head, and then something smelled odd.

BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...

"A fire has been detected in your home. Please evacuate immediately. The fire department has already been called and are on the way." VANIA announces.

I open my eyes and sit up instantly causing myself to get dizzy. My room is filled with so much smoke. I guess it's true when they say that smoke rises because my room is on the second floor.

"A FIRE??" I yell in a panic.

"Please evacuate immediately." VANIA demands.

I throw the covers off of me and quickly slip on my black Vans and my black skinny jeans as I throw my blue hoodie over my gray shirt, leaving the zipper undone since I don't really have the time to perfect my outfit. I quickly open my room door and ran downstairs.

"MOM??" I yell out as I go down the stairs, but I don't hear a response. 

I start to panic, but as I reach the bottom of the staircase I start to see the flames from the kitchen start to spread to the living room where the staircase let out. I turn to run out of the front door, and I realize that the door is already wide open. "Maybe she got out already." I think to myself. I immediately sprint out of my front door as I hear the firetruck sirens getting closer, and then I hear a voice.

"Tristen!" A female voice yells out. It's my mother. I ran up to her and gave her a big hug.

"I'm so glad that you made it out." I start. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I assumed that the VANIA would wake you up." My mom said. "...that probably was a bad thing to assume."

"It's okay, mom." I said. "I'd prefer if you'd rather not rely on an AI to save my life though."

"Never ever again!" She says. She pulls me into another hug. "And I'm never attempting a new recipe without supervision." We both laugh, more out of relief than her attempt of a joke.

"THERE HE IS!" A voice screamed from the distance. I pulled away from my mom and looked in the direction where the voice came from when I saw a group of people running in my direction.

"Shit, mom. I gotta go!" I said in a panic and I ran in the opposite direction.

The media had still been waiting for me to come out of my house, and they decided to take advantage of this awful situation of my house being on fire to come and swarm me. "I'm never going to get the privacy and respect I deserve." I thought to myself as I was running down the street from said swarm.

•••

It seems that everyone can see a giant crowd of reporters and cameramen chasing me, yet instead of trying to lend me a hand they join in. As I'm running through the city, the crowd keeps getting larger and larger behind me. I've tried turning down alleyways and tight-spaces to try and juke them to get away from them, but they think one step ahead of me every time and keep catching back up to me. I'm starting to run out of breath. My lungs are aching and it's hard to breathe. I run down one last alleyway, about to fully give up when I realize that there in a giant fence at the end of it. I have absolutely no energy to climb that. 

I look down at my feet while trying to catch my breath and accept my defeat when I realize that the noise of the crowd has gone quiet. I turn to see a man standing in front of the crowd with his arms outstretched. The crowd looks frozen and like they're in a hypnotized state in a way. I collapse onto the floor and clutch my chest while trying to catch my breath still. 

I analyze the man standing with his back towards me: his clothes are dirty. All he's wearing is a purple hoodie that seems to be a bit big on him, a black t-shirt, ripped up black skinny jeans, and black Converse with the stereotypical white laces. His dark brown hair styled like mine - shaggy, but well-kept - and he seems like he's my height, which would be around 5'11". Is he homeless? Where was he, and why didn't I see him? And why did he help me?

"Get out of here while I have them under control!" The man demands.

"Wait, who are you?" I ask him while still breathing heavily and deeply.

"That's not important. Go while they can't follow." He replies strictly.

I stood up and decided to walk a bit closer to the man.

"I haven't even gotten the chance to thank you." I say.

"Now is not the time for that mushy bullshit. Just get out of here!" He demands once more.

"I...don't have anywhere to go..." I say as I look down. Remembering that my house was in flames before I was chased by this mob of the media brought my mood back down.

The man sighs irritably. "Fine." The man said agitated. "Head out of this alleyway and make a right. Keep going straight until you reach Abbens street. Once you do, make a left and then find the apartment building with the numbers 2504 on it. Put your hoodie over your head so that no one can see your face. I'll meet you there in 20 minutes." 

"Uhh..." I snap back into reality. "Okay, sure. Fine, I'll meet you there, sir." 

"Don't call me 'sir', please." The man says.

"Okay, thank you." I replied.

I pull my hoodie over my head, zip it up, and I walk passed the crowd. I could see their eyes still following me, but they couldn't move. I make my way out of the alley and I turn to look at the man once more. He looks young, and I can see now that his hoodie has a full moon design in the center with two crescent moons on either side facing the full moon. It was quite a nice design, but I wasn't there to compliment his clothes. I started to make my way to the building that the man gave me directions to.

•••

"This must be it." I say under my breath. A tall apartment building near the center of the city. I sit on the stairs in front of the building and wait for the man to come and meet me like he said he would.

"I wonder what he did to those people. Does he have powers like I do?" I thought to myself as I realize how dumb that question was to ask. Of course he has powers or else he wouldn't have been able to hold the crowd like that. Ten minutes later, the man arrives.

"Good. You're here." He spoke.

I stand up as he walks up to the door and opens it with his key fob. He holds the door open for me, and I slip through the open door into the building. We get into the elevator, and he presses the button for the sixth floor. To my surprise, the lobby and the elevator seems decent and well-kept. Once the elevator doors close, I couldn't help it.

"You still haven't told me your name." I say.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." He replies. "The name is-"