Taylor Alt!Power Brockton Bay

[Kat_]

{Test bip, italics, bold, ¹²³}

£ - Foundations 1.1

⁂1.1

(January 2nd, 2011)

It was snowing as we drove home. Dad had wanted to take me ice skating at a lake he used to visit with his family when he was my age. I'd been reluctant at first, but really we hadn't done anything together in a while, so I'd agreed. It had actually been rather fun.

We hadn't gotten snow on Christmas last week, but it had been going for most of the day at this point, and was projected to keep going all night. Luckily Dad's old pickup still had a functioning heater, despite having been made back in the stone ages.

I'd tossed my jacket into the back along with the hat I'd been using to keep my ears warm. The radio was playing some sort of jazz. Dad and I were both faintly smiling.

It was nice.

I'd have to go back to school in a few days, but in moments like these, that hardly felt like it mattered. Things hadn't even been that bad lately. The trio had finally gotten bored. People had started treating me somewhat normally. I maybe even had a friend?

She was more of a vaguely positive acquaintance, but it was more than I'd had before.

I glanced over at Dad. Truthfully, I'd really missed spending time with him. "Hey, Dad?" I prompted his attention. Neither of us had found the energy for it until now, not the energy to enjoy it at least. First it was after Mom died, he'd taken longer than me to… y'know, become a functioning human being again. I'd spent a lot of time with the Barneses during that time. Then it had been me after the bullying had started.

Dad looked at me for a moment, just long enough to take in my expression without neglecting the road. "Yes?"

"We should do this more often. Or, not necessarily this specifically, but like, family stuff. The two of us."

He smiled, though only at me for half a second. He'd always taken road safety very seriously, as far as I could really remember. I moved my eyes off his face, drifting my sight back to the mild snow buildup outside.

I saw a light on the road ahead of us. Two lights, head lights. The car was just a shitty shade of grey, blending in too much. Oh well, that's what the lights were for.

The car swerved for no dependable reason. Dad's breath hitched. He hit the breaks, jerking the wheel clockwise. My breath hitched. We had been going fifty something I think. In a blink the car passed to our left.

"Jesus Christ!" my father yelled. I didn't have time to agree with that before I noticed that we had just sailed off the road.

The car bumped against the dirt. Dad began trying to course correct all too late. We rolled. My eyes closed in the same moment I brought my arms up. The first crash of the roll triggered the airbags. Mine pushed at my arms, making them smack into my face. I couldn't count the tumbles after that. More than three, less than seven.

The car abruptly halting was far from a mercy. My gut churned violently. It felt like my skull was splitting open, and the heart beat screaming in my ears was the hammer that cracked it. I gasped for air.

It had all been shockingly loud. Even the car alarm had been contributing for a second there, though it seemed to have been crushed at some point.

I tried to get my bearings. The air bag was deflating. Cold air was coming in from somewhere. I noticed that I was mostly upside-down, a bit diagonal. It was dark. There was coughing to my left.

"Dad!" I remembered. He should've been slightly above me with the angle I assumed the car was at, judging from the direction gravity was pulling.

Dad's breathing sounded strained. He grunted, or maybe groaned, I couldn't tell. "Taylor. Please tell me you're okay. Please." he said.

"I'm fine- mostly fine, I think."

He inhaled a hiss. "Good. Good. Okay." He sounded injured, more than me at least. "There's probably glass on the floor. Don't unbuckle. Shimmy up and around the waist belt so you can get down feet first."

I did as he instructed, using my hands to push off of my headrest and my legs to get a little grip on the glovebox. I was shaking with fear, but I moved my body up and through the hip part of the seatbelt. Once I had my stomach on it, my weight had pulled it down, and I'd rotated enough to push the rest of the way in one motion. My eyes were yet to have adjusted, so I stumbled some as I reached the floor, and the seatbelt had caught on my nose briefly.

It was all rather uncomfortable, but I'd done it, my shoes were crunching glass and my back was leaning on the edge of the glovebox.

"I did that, now what?" I asked, my brain not at all in a state to be making well thought out decisions.

Dad, thankfully, had a plan. "Get out of the car, wave down someone on the road, get them to call nine-one-one." He paused for breath. "I think my leg is broken." No. "It'll be best if I stay here, wait for the fire department to cut me out, or something."

My neck felt tight as my eyes misted up further. "Okay, I- I can do that." With one hand balancing me, I used the other to feel out the door handle. It didn't budge. I checked if it was locked. It was, so I unlocked it.

Still nothing. I reared back and slammed my meager weight against it. The door popped open. I'd probably have bruises there by tomorrow morning.

It wasn't especially bright outside. The snow helped, but we were miles out from even the farthest edges of Brockton Bay, so light pollution was minimal. Better than in the car, I told myself. "I'm out. I'll get help. Love you Dad." I informed him.

"I love you too, Taylor." he said, voice inflected with pain. "I'm so proud of you. I know this must be taking a lot of bravery."

I sniffled. "Yeah," Right, right, okay, I'd done the hard part. Peeling my eyes off the dark hole that was the interior of my dad's truck, I looked up at the road, and the minor — very minor — incline we'd tumbled down. Dad's side had impacted a tree. The tree had broken, but it still partially held up the car.

I took a few steps back, crossing my arms to tuck my hands into the armpits of my jumper. It had been less than two minutes and I was already getting cold. Part of me wanted to go back into the car and grab my coat, but I didn't know when the next car would pass through. It wasn't worth the risk of delay. I'd have to tolerate it for now.

I began to trek the dozen and a half or so metres up towards the road, glancing back after I was most of the way there. It was then that I noticed, "Hey Dad!" I shouted. "I think the car is smoking!" I took off my cracked glasses, being glad in this moment that I was far-sighted and not the inverse.

There was a pause. "It's probably just the battery! I'm getting plenty of air with the door open, I'll be fine!"

That was good to hear. I was pretty sure battery smoke was acidic, but that wouldn't affect him if it wasn't flowing in his direction.

I spent a minute shouting things like, "Help!" and, "Is anyone out there!" just in case there was a small house hidden nearby that I'd somehow failed to notice.

After that, I'd stopped wasting my breath. The next minute passes in silence, just the wind and the trees. Dread and anxiety pooled in my gut, in between periodic glances at the smoking wreckage my dad was trapped in.

I was peering out at the road, constantly checking both directions for any signs of life, when a deafening clap of thunder slammed into my ears. Instinctually, I slapped my hand up to cover them, but the sound had already passed.

Turning around, I froze in terror. I couldn't believe it. No. Please no. The truck couldn't have exploded. But it had. Right in front of me, I saw the flames spilling out of it.

I ran over, stumbling on the snow covered dirt as I approached. "Dad!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. The fire roared back, loud and crackling. I wished I could say that my dad had somehow escaped, but I knew he was in there, I heard his screams.

Falling to my knees, I knelt on the frosted earth. "No," I whispered, tears burning at my eyes. "Please please please-" I wasn't begging anyone. I hadn't worshipped a god since I was in elementary school.

I just…

"He's all I have." I bequeathed the indifferent universe.

Nothing happened, nobody came. I knelt, stunned with horror till the fires were reduced to embers. I almost wanted to give up, to curl up into a ball and let the cold take me.

He was dead. One good thing had happened in my life and now the last person I could count on had burned to death before my very eyes.

At least I'd never seen Mom after the accident. Dad's silhouette would be haunting my nightmares.

They'd want me to live, wouldn't they? That's what I'd always told myself. Mom wouldn't want me to drop out of school. Mom would be disappointed if I chose to finally punch Emma in her worthless fucking face. Mom this, Mom that.

Well, now Dad was dead too. He probably wouldn't want me to die, right?

But why? Why put in the effort, why suffer the cost of pushing through if I might not make it anyways?

I breathed in. "No, come on, we have stuff to do." I said as I stood. I'd-I'd be strong for them, death could be considered later.

My pants were wet now. My hands were freezing. My coat had been in the car. My flammable coat had been in the car, as had anything else I could potentially use.

I tucked my hands back into my armpits, gave one final look back, then started walking. Nothing happened. I walked away from the scene of my father's gruesome demise, and the night kept snowing, the wind kept blowing, the Earth kept spinning… I kept walking.

Sobs shook my skinny frame. My hair tangled further as I was buffeted by yet another gust of frigid air. I kept walking.

I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, fifty kilometres north of Brockton, on some backwater townway, at a time of year right when everyone had already arrived home after the holidays, the trough to that peak of travel. Nobody drove by. Nobody would drive by. I kept walking.

I was dehydrated, the dry winter air sucking up more of my body's water with every breath. I'd been planning on drinking when we got home. Now there wasn't even a 'we' to arrive home with. But I kept walking.

Even as my ears were tingling and my toes were numb, because I couldn't stop. If I stopped I would die, and my parents wouldn't have wanted that. This was no different from any day of school, if I just stuck with it, I'd reach the end eventually. There was only a finite distance between me and the nearest occupied residency. I think my tears had enough salt content that they weren't freezing. It was hard to tell. And I kept walking.

My legs burned from exertion as much as they blistered under the continuous and overwhelming onslaught of bitter cold winds. Normally I would've passed at least one small country home or farmer's estate by now, but I guess I must've been unlucky. So I kept walking.

It was all the same, trees trees trees, nothing more, nothing else, except maybe a bush or two. This went on for miles. I was shivering violently. A while back, I'd tucked my arms fully into my sweater, even holding the collar up over my mouth to recycle the heat of my breath. That had helped marginally. Helped me keep walking.

My nose had started bleeding. That only lasted for ten minutes as I awkwardly applied pressure. It wasn't that interesting. Just another blip. Fifteen minutes after that — maybe, it was hard to track time — a car had driven by. I hadn't acted fast enough. I watched their rear lights fade into the night. Then kept walking.

I wasn't moving mindlessly. If that had been the case, I would've collapsed after the first two hours. Bitter spite fuelled my every action. Pure hatred burned away the gnawing pain that had filled my gut. I'd been hungry by the time Dad and I had started driving home, and I'd been moving and shivering since. My body didn't have fat reserves, I was too skinny. Nausea joined the vicious cocktail of random shit I was ignoring. Of random shit that I had to ignore, because if I didn't then I wouldn't be able to keep walking.

Finally, I saw a light in the distance. Not a car light, but rather a window one. It was half a mile away, maybe less, but it was there. I literally collapsed in relief.

Fully collapsed, onto the ground. More bruises for tomorrow morning. Because I would see tomorrow morning, because I would get on my feet and walk for fifteen more minutes. I flailed lightly against the ground, willing my legs back under me with the passion of a thousand suns. It took so much just to stand, and yet stand I did.

I took two shaky steps before I stumbled. I couldn't even feel the cold, nor most of my body. I couldn't balance now that my rhythm was broken. I hit the ground again.

I tried to stand. 'Tried' in this case implying my failure to do so. There was no final push after reaching sight of the end, no burst of energy, I'd used that up already. Yet I kept trying, even as each attempt grew worse than the last.

Over the next few minutes, I made it a good five metres from where I'd initially stumbled. I'd been truly delirious for quite a while by that point, and my failure brought no clarity with it, only more burning tar to the foggy landscape of my consciousness. Everything that had been building up in my heart, held in by sheer willpower in the face of adversity, at last exploded. There was no controlled release, no using it as motivation. I'd given up all hope, content to spend my final moments burning my spirit as my blood turned to ice.

At the singularity of it all, I stopped existing. And in a far off place and in a far off time, two crystal yarn balls made of snakes twisted through impossible space. Then I was myself again, bitter and defeated, though somehow less delirious than before. I could feel the cold once more, could see the snow falling above me.

I wanted to go home.

It took me far too long to realise that I was now staring at the ceiling fan of my living room.

The air was warm.

I wiggled my toes.

"Could've sworn that those froze off." I mumbled to myself regarding the degree of my frostbite. Extracting my arms from where I'd had them bundled, I felt at my face. It wasn't half as cold as I'd expected.

I sat up, erecting my torso from my formerly sprawled position. I felt light headed, hungry, thirsty, exhausted. There was a glass of water on the floor beside me, it hadn't been there before. I'd decided that I wanted it there, then it was.

After drinking it down in several greedy gulps, I dismissed the empty glass, and watched as it slid out of three dimensional space in the blink of an eye. Either this was some sort of near-death hallucination, or the afterlife had a lot more in terms of physical afflictions than I'd been expecting.

I stood, looked around, then sat on the couch. Holding out my hand, I intended to summon a burrito, and I did. My mind had sorted through every possible burrito and found one that approximately fit my desired outcome.

"Weird." I banished the burrito, then resummoned a slightly different one, then the same one, then a stack of exactly identical ones. Looking at them had me thinking about my glasses. I was dead, why did I still need glasses? Whatever. I called them up, and… this was my spare pair. No clue how I knew that, I just did. Duplicating them, I put the first pair on my face, then observed the second.

My spares were used less often, so their hinges were a tad tighter, less worn out. But why not my main pair? That question had my head spiralling around, sorting through uncountable- nope it was little more than two hundred and sixty thousand sets of existing prescription glasses- How did I know that!?

I dropped the second pair of spares in favour of massaging my temples as I stared at the ceiling. Because, just, "What the fuck?" I glanced at the burritos, willing all but one of them away. I started eating that one as I thought.

Why that limit? The answer that sprung to mind was that those were how many there were. I had that many templates to choose because those were the templates, which didn't help at all. I approached it from a different angle. What did they have in common? They spanned the whole range of size, shape, colour, and age. I knew those when I thought about them, somehow.

It was then that I settled upon my answer, location. I could see their relative locations to one another. All of them were located near each other, not super close, but they didn't stretch too far either. Picking one set of glasses at random, I checked if I knew any other things around it.

A shirt, white and buttoned. Below that there was a belt, trousers, boxers, a wallet, a stool, shoes, hardwood floors. It was the outline of a person, noticeable now that I was filtering by location and not type of object. Summoning the wallet, I looked inside, finding a driver's license. It looked real. When I finished my burrito, the oil on my hands felt real. It didn't just go away once I didn't want it there, nor could I banish it.

Well duh, it wasn't an object I'd made. As for what constituted an object, who knows!

I shifted my attention back to the driver's license, hoping that it had some secret to it that would help with my rapidly thinning sanity. "Clinton, David George, 3042 North Fishmonger Avenue, Brockton Bay. Well shit." I checked if I had a building with that address. I did, of course I did. So I brought it here, reaching out with my hand as if I could touch it.

The wall and ceiling in front of me exploded outwards as a suburban home much like my own came into existence midair. The explosion froze as I held it there, all the bits and bobs floating in suspension. Frigid air and ice cold winds penetrated into the living room.

I stood, eyes wide as the building spun at my direction. Calling forth a random set of stairs — also telekinetically suspended in the air — I walked up towards the David bloke's house. The door opened, and I entered the foyer. Sure enough, there were pictures scattered about of Mr. Clinton and what I assumed was his family.

Leaving the way I came in, the building disassembled itself from existence behind me. Stood atop my hovering stairs to nowhere, I looked out at the landscape, at the snow, at the trees, and at the one tiny window that glowed in the distance.

My eyelid twitched.



.