See an explanation of this post here.
Plains Adaptation(I know, I didn’t really incorporate this one. Just pretend he was raised in the Great Plains or something)
Michael Redding had a difficult childhood. Always the outcast, he never quite could fit in. As a young child, he kept to his toys but didn’t play with them the way the other children did. Instead, he was intrigued by their inner workings. He would dissect them, learn how they worked, and then put them together in new ways. This continued through high school and into college, the “toys” getting bigger with time. He gave birth to magnificent creations, machines like no one had ever seen before, but he kept them to himself. Michael was afraid that if he tried to step out into society, he would be shunned, just as he had when he was young.
That all changed the day he met Delilah. She had tried to start a conversation with him one day when they passed each other in the supermarket. Michael was terrified, stammering out some kind of excuse about having to go somewhere, and he all but ran away. She kept pursuing, though. She saw something inside of him. She saw that spark that no one else could see. The two eventually began dating, and, slowly but surely, Michael began to come out of his shell. Delilah was awestruck with his inventions, telling him time again that he needed to share them with the world. Finally, he opened up a shop, and his work quickly made headlines. Things had finally turned up for him. Soon after, the two were happily married. They lived well off the income from Michael’s work and even started talking about having kids, but, unfortunately for Michael, his happiness was not to last.
Just one year into their marriage, Delilah was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and within six months she had passed away. Michael descended into a new low, one which he had never been to before. He retreated back into his workshop, rarely seeing the light of day. His business ran into the ground. He lived in a state of complete loneliness and despair.
It was during this time that Michael was mindlessly working on a motor when, all of a sudden, some metal filings from his workbench began circling his hand. He quickly pulled his hand away, and the filings fell back onto the bench. When he reached out towards them again, he found that they shifted and swirled with his movements. He rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a larger magnet. This time plates and larger scraps of metal slid towards him. Michael had discovered something spectacular.
He spent years practicing the ability, creating various forms of weapons and armor. With time, he was able to control his powers with only his mind. For company, he made golems out of the scrap lying around the shop, but each one was merely an extension of himself, perpetuating his loneliness. Eventually, he developed a superconducting magnet that could be mounted to his back and maintain a field indefinitely. For better or worse, it was time to show the world what he had become…and what he could do.
A while back, I took part in a subreddit called /r/randomsuperpowers, in which you are given three random superpowers and must create a character to RP with and battle against other people. After working on a couple characters, I realized that what I really liked was using the powers as a writing prompt. My next couple of posts will be the backstories I wrote for that sub, hopefully followed by some new ones if I can find some good prompts.
Poster for the Ingress Resistance
I wanted to write you a poem
But I couldn’t find the words
No matter how hard I tried
Everything just felt wrong
I tried to describe you
But words are a disservice
For you are beyond words
It would be impossible to do you justice
My princess, my Khaleesi
When I shut my eyes, your face is all I see
When I cover my ears, your voice is all I hear
When I close my mouth, your lips are all I taste
And yet, you are indescribable
Time slows to a crawl
As my thoughts retreat back into my head
Zooming out from the moment
Like a mental Google Earth
I can see my house from here
I’m up in the clouds
I’m dancing with stars
Did you know you can’t see the Great Wall from space?
I’m leaving the solar system
Leaving the galaxy
Goodbye universe, I’ve found a new plane of reality
What’s that? Now I’m falling
Back to reality
Oh, here comes gravity
Hello stars, hello clouds
Oh look! There’s the Great Wall
Falling, falling, falling, falling
Wile E.’s got nothing on me
I crash into the ground, metaphorically, of course
I’m sorry, what were you saying?
“The music box has been compromised. I repeat, the music box is broken.” Samuel fell into his seat, contemplating the words coming over the radio. “So this is how it ends,” he thought to himself, “how fitting .” He crossed the room to his liquor cabinet and reached all the way to the back. “What better way to go than with fire in my stomach, too.” The whiskey was top-shelf single-barrel, only opened once. Until now, that is. The last time had been to celebrate a beginning, and this would be to mourn an end. “Or is it a celebration? Sometimes an end is just as important as a beginning. Sometimes an end is a beginning.” This was as far as he got.
The ropes began to leave rub marks on Paul’s wrists as a second man walked into the room, this one carrying a crowbar. “Torture me all you want, I’m not gonna talk,” Paul said.
The man smiled a bit. “Talk? All you’ve done since you got here is talk. Personally, I’d prefer it if you would shut up for once. Besides, torture is a terrible way to get information. The second you pull a man’s fingernail, he’s willing to say anything, true or false, that will make it stop. No, you’re going to deliver a message.”
"With a crowbar? How subtle."
Now the man was chuckling. “I have a piece of advice for you, something I learned a long time ago that I think you could really benefit from.” He paused for a moment, seeming almost pensive. “There was this girl at my high school. Her name was Daisy. Now, I was madly in love with Daisy. She was an artist, an athlete, an academic, everything I wanted in a woman. So you know what I did?”
Paul shook his head.
"I was subtle. An act of kindness, a slight inflection in my voice as I said hello, a quick glance in her direction when the radio played just the right song. And not once did she ever acknowledge my desire. So you know what I decided?"
Paul was really starting to question the point of this “talk”, but he shook his head anyway.
The man swung his crowbar into the back of Paul’s head with such force that the entire rear half of his skull fractured. The second swing caught Paul in the face, shattering the other half. By the time he was done swinging, nothing remained of Paul’s head but a bloody, beaten pulp.
"It’s about time you shut up."
If I could wear another’s skin
I probably wouldn’t look any different
Because science has shown
That bone structure is more important
When it comes to determining appearance
Just one more piece of evidence
That it’s what’s inside that counts
Or something like that
The beauty of tomorrow is that, until it becomes today, it is whatever I want it to be, bounded only by my imagination and the dreams I dream at night, but when morning comes, the illusion is gone, I see the dream for what it is, and I am left with naught but the starkness of reality.
It’s not that I can’t
So much as I just don’t want to
Dreams are too perfect
Too painful to wake up from
Sleep makes tomorrow come faster
Makes it a reality
When I’d rather it not be real
So I distract myself
In hopes that I can freeze time
And live in a moment of my own creation
A lucid dream
Without ever waking up