It all began on a fatefull day when I asked my mother to get me a glass of water, and a Demon summoned a glass-full of nitroglycerine into my room, along with a matchbox, of course. And, as the young child of eight that I was, I just had to set the whole house into flames. And ever since, I haven't asked anybody for a thing. Haden't. I guess I was traumatized, for good reason. My family survived, and I had an otherwise very happy childhood.

My mother was a professional pianist who played in an orchestra I could never remember the name of, something about a Casper? My father played the trumpet in the same orchestra, but after their romance took off, I guess it got kinda unethical, so he hopped off to work solo. It went very well. My younger sister wants to be a pianist like her mother and plays the trumpet as a hobby on the side, and altough I've tried to convince her numerous time she is way better at playing the trumpet than the piano, she just wont have it. My brother is becoming an engineer, against the wishes of his family, and me, well, I'm studying social science. Hooray.

I moved out when I was seventeen, and I am currently living in a small apartment. I study most of my time, but I also work as a pianist part-time at a jazz-bar down the street.

But that isn't really that interesting, is it? No, the reason I'm saying this is because of the first event I described. See, after the Golden era, characterized by the "super-heroes" and the "super-villains", also called the "super-era" by those wierd kids who think there's some big hidden underground organization kidnapping EOPs or something, the Silver-era took hold. This era was all about the goverments owning there "super-heroes" and making them into teams. It became like the olympics, but these sports-men could blow away a city with a sneeze and had to shave using the power of a million dying suns, so it was much more interesting. We were this close to having another world war, just to see whether the red man or the starry guy would win in a fight.

Eventually, the goverments realized that having mortal gods walking this plane would be pretty bad, so the strongest, smartest and bravest "super-heroes", or, as we call them now, EOPs, as in Extra-Ordinary People, because acronyms make things more official, decided that the best way to do this was to either cure them, or kill them. People like the Hunk, who had been blasted to hell by a nuke or something, and all of his wierd side-kicks like the Bread-Hunk, They-Hunk, B-Aomb and the such were given a cure, while people like Sober-Dude who were literal illegal aliens were either sent back into space or just outright killed if they were too much of threat.

And so, we are in the Bronze era. Kids who show even the slightest hint of having some sort of super-natural power, well, dissappear. Thankfully, I was so traumatized by my first summoning that I never did it again, to the great dissappointment of the demon, who really wanted to mess up my childhood. Sick bastard. But what about the very strongest and smartest, what happened to them, you ask? That is a very good question. There are a couple of theories, but the most likely one is that they all took a vow that if one of them used their powers, the other would kill them.

Really, it's all for the better. Sure, people like Big-Dude could probably help build really big stuff really fast, but do I have to remind you of what happened in 1969, when Big-Dude fought the Metal-Dude and the entire state of Arizona was just leveled to the ground? No man should hold that power, if you ask me.

And then, we get back to me. If no man should have such power, why do I get to have a SP and not have to, well, dissappear without a trace? Well, first of all, nobody knows about it, and second of all, I never use it! Almost. And why should I use it, for that matter?? Sure, it sounds cool and all, being able to summon things just by asking for it, but, well, it's not that simple.

Let me demonstrate.

I pull myself out of my meaningless thoughts and bring my attention back to the matter on hand. My pasta. Ive got a pot full of spaghetti and water, enough to last me the whole week if I eat it carefully, but...

I turn my attention to the shelf beside me. My little kitchen, consisting of a stove, a micro-wave oven and nothing else beside a scrawny table and a stool my parents had left for me, flashed by. The litte shelf had three things on it, a small can containing pepper, another containing sugar, and a third... not containing any salt. The pasta was boiling. My father was a good cook, and he had tought me to make sure the pasta-water was as salty as the sea. Salt-less pasta was a disgrace to his good name.

Might as well.

"Hey, dude, gimme some salt," I say out loud so he'll be sure to hear me. The demon, that is. His name was actually something super-long and super-complicated, but saying it kinda summons him to the mortal plane, which I once accidentaly did, only to know I did it accidentaly when I sneezed, which is when he told me his name. He was very amused, tough. Anyhow, so I just call him Tim or "dude". It's just plain easier.

As my thoughts trailed off, I found my eyes sliding back to the wooden counter beside my stove, where a small, glass container now sat, as if it had always been there. I pick it up and check the description. "Potassium Sodium Cyanide," it said in big red letters, along with even bigger, redder letter saying "DANGER". Harr, harr. Very funny. See, this is what he does. He never gives me anything that I want. In fact, he usually gives me something that is downright the opposite of what I want. All depending on the situation, of course.

It might seem like a stupid thing to do, but I've decided to put rules on it. I can't confirm the rules, becuase I could potentially level the city, or worse, cause the end of the world, but it sets me at ease to know he can't just summon the Devil Himself because I slipped on a banana-peel or something. You never know.

First up, he only summons something if I ask for it. Otherwise, he doesn't really do much of, well, anything. Second, what he summons is actually entirely based off of what I ask for, and - or want. Like if I ask for a pinch of salt, he isn't gonna summon a gamma-bomb to explode my arse or anything, no, he'll just summon a pinch of cyanide. A pinch being the point of interesting.

I haven't tried it, but if I tried summoning like a billion dollars, I think he might give me something of equivalant worth. Like a building. On top of me.

Anything to annoy me.

I don't know much else, but I've got a theory I really can't confirm, which is that I don't think he is actually summoning anything, I think it's more of a specialized, instant teleportation. Or something. Maybe. I'm not sure.

I grab the cyanide off the counter and pop off the lid, taking a whiff. It might be seen as rather dangerous, but cyanide isn't airborne. I think. My life is a guessing-spree gone wrong. Yup. Smells like almonds alright. I put the lid back on and sigh as I drag my feet through my little apartment to the bathroom. I open up the mirror and stuff the cyanide into it. You never know.

All and all, it isn't a bad existance. But it is a risky one. Anyhow, off to school. Collage. Whatever.