I'm Richard Bone. Yes, Dick Bone. Haha. I'm just about to turn 16, which is the age at which you lose the ability to develop a superpower. If you don't have one by then, it's over for you. My hopes and dreams of being a superhero are entirely dependent on the approximately 6% chance (according to statistics) of Unlocking a power.

Looking back, my terrible luck in most other things might accumulate and give me payback some day, but today...

"AHH! MY PHONE!" *sploosh*

Is clearly not that day. Lamenting the loss of yet another phone, I'm painfully stumbling home on a Friday, on the eighth of July after having pissed off a classmate, leading to my very important and carefully-made essay which counts for a ridiculous percentage of the grade being set on fire. I got beat up too, but that's expected at this point, really. My chances of actually getting a passing grade are now nonexistent and I will have to repeat 11th Grade English next year (I live in Canada).

Despite this absolutely terrible day, I still try to maintain some positive thinking: I'm not 16 yet; powers seem to Unlock easier in high-stress situations, which I am very much in right now; miracles and gods were proven to be real a few years ago, so prayer doesn't seem entirely useless; and my girlfriend is hot-- HA, as if! Nah, I don't trust people enough to ask for the time of day, let alone believe anyone could ever be interested in me.

Enough self-pity, though. Grounding yourself is useful, but overdoing it leads to low self-confidence, which leads to naively falling for any random idiot who says "Hi" to you, and that's how toxic relationships form. I don't want that, do I?

...God, my gut hurts.

The person who inflicted this rainbow of bruises and small cuts upon me is a certain Caleb Dunham, captain of the only sports team that matters in our school: Boxing. Being big, buff and good-looking, he seems to think that he's the epitome of talent and power, that he'll never need to study, and to be honest, I can understand that. With his ridiculous strength, he wouldn't need to get serious to beat the snot out of quite literally anyone in this whole town.

Oh and did I mention that he can breathe fire? 'Cuz he can do that. He's enrolled in the Young Justice Program, which trains superheroes-to-be in, well, heroics I guess. He's quite literally all I want to be and I'm not jealous of him I swear.

I mean, I work out too, just a lot less frequently, without equipment, at home because I don't like people. I don't have a power, but once again I have like three days to get one, no worries, man!

Finally reaching home, a small one-story house that looks exactly like every other house around here, I walk inside and don't even get to take off my shoes before my mom is on me, half worrying and half angry.

"Why did I get a call saying you got beat up in school? Oh no, you look awful! I bet it's way worse under your shirt as well. What did you do to get someone angry enough to pound you like this? Is this your fault? Please don't tell me you deserved it!"

"Calm down, mom, please! Don't touch me, it hurts! Look, I didn't deserve to get beat up, okay? It was Caleb who got angry at me for not doing his work for him. Ugh... I swear, the school's bribing people to ignore his rampant bullying. I worked really hard to stay off his radar, you know? The only way he's not off the hero program is if his misbehaving is being silenced."

As I was saying this, she was hurrying me to take my backpack and shirt off.

"Oh God, this is awful. Are you sure your ribs aren't broken or something?"

She's justified in worrying. It's hard to find a spot where my too-pale ginger skin isn't either a dark pink or some other shade of hurt. Even I didn't think it would look this bad.

"Wow, he got me good."

"How did you even get home like this, Ricky? Hold on, I'm grabbing some stuff from the bathroom, go sit in the kitchen."

After almost an entire hour of minutious treatment, my mother finally let me go. I'll try to put this incident behind me now. Only one more exam to take on Wednesday. That means I have Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday without having to go outside for anything that isn't a chore, like taking out the trash. Then, the sweet sweet relief of summer break. That also means if I don't get a power, the next time I show up to school I'll do so as a confirmed Powerless.

A few hours later, after dinner, I go to my room to play some Space Finagler. It's a generic space trading simulation and its name is awful, but it really resonates with my sense of humor for some reason. However, my luck seems to not be finished with me quite yet. This game isn't really that hard; you just need to stay ahead of the competition. A series of bad price changes and bad RNG sends me into debt, but I manage to make it. What really seals my fate, though, is three pirate encounters in a single trip. Just like that, my entire month of effort put into this game is ruined in ten minutes.

I get real mad. I'm not proud of it, believe me. I burst out of my chair, completely ignoring the flares of pain coming from my beaten chest and head, and yell "GODDAMNIT!" at the top of my lungs. A rant is already formed and about to come out, but then, as I stand in the middle of my bedroom, my body decides to give up. I collapse and choke on my words.

An incredibly intense pushing, pulling, tearing sensation assaults my arms. I feel it, something wants to get out. It's like an instinct I never had, and also ludicrously agonizing. Like going to hell and back, and then into hell again. It's so intense, I struggle to decide what to do. I can hardly think and my body won't move. So I almost subconsciously latch on to the source of the pain and try to get rid of that instead.

You want out? GET OUT!

And out it comes. Out, it... Is that me? Is that me, passed out and naked?

"Huuh..." and with a weak exclamation of surprise and confusion, I too pass out.