Miasma
"…And so Metroville is saved yet again by the Incredibles!"
The television set roared on about the latest conquer of the Incredible family. In the background, one could see the flames burst around a nearby building and then the video feed would turn to record one of the supers running into the building, no fear whatsoever in their actions. To many it would seem that the supers were amazing, heroic, someone to look up to and be expected to do the right thing. But that particular belief had no such applause form the two people staring back at the television set.
A married couple, old enough to understand the ways of the world, but not young enough to enjoy it. The woman was approximately a little less then five feet tall, her facial features drab and bleak. The wrinkles underneath her eyes lay flat and limp as they drooped downward while her mouth bent down into an untactful frown. Her hair was dyed an unnatural brown color, too warm and bright for her composition and it was tightly knotted into a bun at the back of her head. The man on the other hand was definitely taller, perhaps five feet eight, but he slouched often making he seem weak, feeble, and older then he was. His hair was starting to recede to the far reaches of his head, exposing it to the elements if it weren't for the rancid green cap he almost always wore. On the cap a simple blocky lettered 'Eat At Joes' stood out, its white thread tarnished and now looked like a dirt Grey color. Unlike his wife, he had relatively few wrinkles, but his skin looked parched and dry resembling a waterhole that had evaporated because of the heat from the sun.
Despite these differences, they also had many similarities. Both were lanky from their age, their youth had long since disappeared. Their attire was usually worn out with the occasional hole here and there, except on the rare occasion that they needed to go out. Then would they search the far reaches of their closets to look for pleasantly formal attire. But that was rare, and most likely their fresh clothes already had colonies of moths hampered within its reaches. But the most startling resemblance was their eyes. They were sharp, tactful, and had little warmth. Over the years they had grown cold and hard. The only thing that would have made them seem warm was the fact that they always wore their wedding bands, ever since the day they were wed.
Slowly, the lady lifted herself up from the couch that she had been sitting on. Her scowl showing her irritability with the news on the television. Her husband grabbed the remote as she headed toward the kitchen, changing the channel to something more desirable. It seemed that football was to be the choice today. He settled down into the crevice he created in the couch and slumped back against the side.
"Clarice," the man said, "Can you get me some popcorn?"
Clarice turned, her eyes having melted some of its hardness from her husband's remark, replied.
"Do you want microwave popcorn, or do you want it made over the stove?" She grabbed for a pot, already knowing the answer, but she had always given him the two choices.
Her husband gave no reply, already familiar with the routine.
Through the house, the simple pop-popping sound could be heard from the kitchen. The rest of the day continued in the same manner until it was evening and time for dinner. The pasta on the stove boiled endlessly, while Clarice chopped up some freshly bought vegetables from the market. Her husband sat at the table, reading the daily newspaper. They both stopped when they heard someone come down from the stairs.
As the creaks in the stairs became louder the couple knew that their…housemate had reached the end of the stairs and was now heading for the kitchen. The both stared toward the kitchen entrance as she came in. She was a normal sized girl, taller then Clarice by a few inches. Her hair was an ash brown color and it was unruly. It spread out around her creating a tangled mess. Her face was round, but also retained a small amount of oval shape making her dark brown eyes and plump lips seem larger. Her clothes were the only improvement compared to those of the married couple. They weren't old and torn and they added a bit of color to her skin which was a very light caramel color. She looked back at both of them and then quietly sat down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
It was Clarice that spoke the first word.
"Why haven't you brushed your hair?" She did not make any move towards acknowledging the new arrival in the kitchen.
"I was doing homework and reading for a while, so I think it just skipped my mind." She answered truthfully, but it sounded like she had done something worse.
"You will not eat at my table looking like that. Go and fix it."
The girl looked back at Clarice and then made her way up the stairs again. When she made it to her room, she entered and closed the door silently behind her. Her dresser was in the far corner of the room so she walked over and grabbed the brush that was placed on the top. Then she sulked into the bathroom that was connected to her room and stared at her self in the mirror. She was not happy at the person staring back at her. Then she proceeded to untangling her hair, wincing every time she encountered a knot in its tousled jungle. When she was done she stared back into the mirror. The occupant staring back at her no longer had a severely tangled hairdo, but instead had a thick mane of slightly curved straight hair that poofed out at the bottom.
She walked back to the dresser to place the brush, but then momentarily distracted herself as she looked up at a framed art project she did in the first grade. In the frame there was a regular sized piece of construction paper with the name 'Amelia' in jerky scribbled writing. It was made using a hot pink marker, which she also used to print out little hearts around her name. She remembered being so proud of it that she could hardly wait to show her parents her masterpiece. That specific memory would always haunt her.
The trees in front of the building sparkled with the newly acquired rain drops from the rain earlier. The sun was out and off in the distance if you squinted your eyes really hard, you could just barely make out the colors of a far away rainbow. The quiet atmosphere was soon broken up by the small cheers of first graders glad that the school day was over and that the weekend laid before them. The parents waited patiently as they watched the children swarm over, each with a brightly colored piece of paper to hold and show off. A little girl with her brown hair shinning in the sun ran over to her parents who smiled as she reached up to hug them. Happily, she showed them her paper, a light blue piece of construction paper with her name on it. She beamed happily as her parents smiled at each other and looked over her creation.
Then a week later they stopped smiling at her when they found out what she had become.
That was the last time she could remember her parents being happy with her. Now she was just a nuisance. A reminder of the little girl they had once had who was normal and who would have grown up being normal.
For the longest time when she first found out, she wondered why her parents didn't lover her anymore. She wondered why they looked at her like she was the plague rather then their own daughter? Then she got mad. Mad that because she knew she was different now and they treated her differently. But now she was sad because her parents couldn't accept the fact that she was different. She had long since accepted herself, and often times she wondered what would have happened if she had been normal. But despite this she was somewhat happy at how she turned out. Her life may not be happy, but she believed that she understood the negative side of the world a bit better then the average teenager and she believed that perhaps that made her a better person inside because she had a bit more mercy on behalf of her life then her parents did. It wasn't something to be terribly proud of, but it was something positive that came out of her situation.
As if to confirm her thoughts, Amelia stared at her hand and watched as soft green smoke came out of her pores. It didn't float onto the ground or to the ceiling, but instead ran over her skin as it engulfed her body. It covered her in a thin layer of smog, barely giving off a greenish hue. The layer floated around her like steam off of a hot dish, dissipating as it floated too far from her head. Amelia found herself feeling lighter as she started to levitate. She smiled, enjoying the fact that she can somewhat defy gravity in her current state. If only her miasma was as harmless as steam or smoke, then she wouldn't be afraid of hurting people.
