Chapter 1: Destruction

Seven devils all around me

Seven devils in my house

See they were there before I woke up this morning

I'll be dead before the day is done

Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine

Every day was like a nightmare and every night I witnessed it over and over again. I couldn't escape it, no matter what I did. Books and writing down what happened were, unfortunately, no help, and my psychiatrist was worried about my mental stability.

You shouldn't be like this, Lauren, I told myself. You're stronger than this. You're special. You have abilities. Use them.

There was something very wrong with me. My post-traumatic stress disorder was growing worse by the hour. I was falling apart, shattering like a mirror after being hit with a bullet. There was no one there to piece me back together; to pick up every single shard and carefully place it back onto the once normal background. But that's not all that was wrong – I had these abilities. I had become abnormal, a freak of nature.

My psychiatrist, Dr. Turnstall, or Nancy as she preferred to be called, figured that my frequent panic attacks were caused by the flashbacks of the crash, but she was wrong. The flashbacks did happen, true, but they weren't the problem – my powers were. I was constantly afraid. I had no control over them. Things happened that I couldn't explain. Fires flaring up into sky with no extra kindling, completely inland pools becoming sloshing seas, wind speeds picking up and sweeping trees away for no apparent reason…these powers were the reason I would freak out. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want to see anyone to see me any differently than they did before the crash.

I thought all these things as I sat huddled in a corner of a snug café in Seattle. I cautiously surveyed my surroundings for any triggers before taking a sip of my vanilla chai latte. I had to be on constant alert for anything that could set off my emotions. My emotions seemed to be the base for these powers. I had to be guarded against anything that may excite or irritate me…or anything that could cause me extreme emotion.

I recognized the song that played near me, then realized my cell phone was ringing. I flipped it open and answered.

"Hello?"

"Lauren, it's me," said the voice. "I know it's your time off, but I really need someone on this new article. Do you think you could go into downtown Seattle and cover the piece about the protests going on about minimum wage? I had Joy Elliot on the case, but she called in with bronchitis this morning."

It was my editor in chief for the Seattle Times newspaper, Mr. George Lewis.

"No problem, Mr. Lewis," I replied, not thinking before I really thought about it. "On my way. What angle would you like covered?"

"Whatever angle you think is best, Lauren. I trust your judgement."

You shouldn't, I thought. I may have superpowers. My sanity may be slipping away. You really want to trust my judgement now?

"Thanks, Mr. Lewis," I said cheerfully.

"Great! You're a lifesaver! Thank you so much," Mr. Lewis cried.

"No problem," I muttered as he hung up.

I sighed. That was stupid decision, but I had to live with it. I stuck with my decisions, and if I had made this decision, then I would stick with it like glue. I used to be much more sure of my decisions. But that was before I had these powers. Before I could go about my day and not worry about denting someone's car bumper or making some water jump out of someone's glass. That had happened several times, actually. I was in a different café yesterday and this redheaded woman had a glass of water on the table next to mine. I had just read a text from my mother and I suddenly became sad. I threw my hand up in distress and somehow, the water in the woman's cup splashed over the edge. I rushed out of there as quickly as I could.

I gathered my things, checking to see if I had a pen and a notepad in my purse (of course I did) and picked up my vanilla chai.

I exited the café and walked over to the bus. I didn't trust myself with a car anymore. I was afraid I would melt my engine or blow up my gasoline tank. I had started taking the bus as soon as I had accidentally imprinted my grip onto the handle of a silver spoon at Christmas dinner. I had been squeezing the life out of it during dessert when my Aunt Carol decided to harp on my sister, Karen, who was attending UCLA and majoring in film. Apparently, my powers were too strong for the poor, pathetic spoon as it almost bent in half.

I stepped onto the bus, showed the driver my pass, and brought out another notepad and pencil that I kept in my bag. However, this notebook was not for work, it was for my own writings. At the time, I had been writing my own novel. I had taken in the idea for it around freshman year of college, but hadn't started really developing it until a year later. But now I was almost finished. I was in the middle of writing one of the very last chapters before the accident. Thank goodness it hadn't burned along with most of my other belongings…

The bus came to a screeching halt at my stop and I quickly exited before I could do any damage with my stupid abilities.

I walked down a few blocks and turned a corner, skyscrapers and office buildings brushing up against the cloudy sky. I glanced up at one to see a banner draped across several windows. RAISE MINIMUM WAGE NOW it said. Clever, I know.

I jotted a note down in my reporter notebook about the sign and kept on walking. I turned another corner to see the street crammed with people. There were giant posters, signs being held up above the protesters' heads, and colorful banners, all advertising the same thing: the raise of the minimum wage here in Seattle.

The protest was peaceful. Nobody was breaking into the Fifth Avenue Theater or any of the shops surrounding it. Sometimes, somebody would begin to chant and most others would join in. I could see various different uniforms on the demonstrators, most fast food.

I scanned the crowd, palms clammy. I usually didn't get nervous when interviewing people for newspaper articles, but after the crash, I would get a touch of anxiety.

I strode up to a young woman, maybe around seventeen years old.

"Hi there," I greeted, smile most likely a bit strained. "My name's Lauren Peters and I'm a reporter with the Seattle Times. I was wondering if I could conduct a short interview with you?"

I flashed my press badge out of my bag and she nodded.

"Sure, why not?"

"Great." I held up my notepad and pen. "So what's your name and your age?"

"Katrina Pearson and I'm eighteen," the girl replied.

I jotted it down. "And you work for Jack in the Box?"

"That's right."

"And do you live here in Seattle alone?

"I do. I'm a student at the Seattle Art Institute and I took a job at Jack in the Box to help pay for school," Katrina explained. "I live in a dorm close by."

"So why do you think the minimum wage here in Seattle should be raised?" I urged.

"I think it's unfair," Katrina said firmly. "A lot of my fellow workers are also college students struggling to pay for school. We work hard and deal with some people who really aren't easy to deal with. And, you know, as a college student, that makes it even harder."

I simply nodded and wrote down what she said as accurately as I could. "One more question. How much do you think minimum wage should be raised?"

"I think we should be getting at least eleven dollars an hour."

I wrote that down and gave a small smile. "Thank you. I really appreciate – "

"Hey, we don't need any press here, lady!"

I frowned as a man about the same age as me pushed his way through the crowd to stand beside Katrina. He too wore a Jack in the Box t-shirt and, unlike Katrina, clutched a sign with another slogan that supported raising minimum wage.

"She's just asking me a few questions, Mark," Katrina defended. "It's nothing bad."

"Well, we don't want you here," Mark challenged me. "We're trying to have a peaceful protest and we don't need stupid reporters bogging us down with pathetic questions! All you're going to do is make us look like freaking idiots!"

"I'm here to receive information about your opinions about the minimum wage. I'm not here to make you seem like fools. It wouldn't really be reporting if I did, now, is it? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go interview others in the crowd," I replied tartly. I turned back to Katrina. "Thank you for you cooperation. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Katrina grinned.

I stood tall and straight as I walked past Mark, not daring to make any sort of eye contact. Usually, I would have, but I couldn't risk it. I was afraid of what my emotion would do to my powers.

Suddenly, I felt a yank on my bag and I was thrown backwards to face Mark. My anger spiked and my blood boiled.

"Let go of my purse," I spit.

"Not until you promise to leave all of us here alone," Mark growled.

"I am simply doing my job as a reporter, Mark. I was assigned this article and I need several more interviews. Let. Me. Go," I demanded as calmly as I could.

"Mark, stop that!" cried Katrina, pulling on his arm. "Just let it go! It's her job!"

At this point, our scuffle had caught the attention of several other protesters as well as a policeman.

"Not cool, dude!"

"Man, really?"

"Hey, let go of her!"

Mark simply did as they said, but shoved my bag against me in the process, causing me to fall over onto the pavement. The contents of my purse spilled out onto the sidewalk. There was a sharp pain in my left arm, right where I had had the compound fracture.

The policemen yelled at Mark to back off and knelt down next to me.

"Are you alright, miss?" he wondered.

I gasped, memories flooding back in a stream of horror.

Heat radiated off the ground and what was left of the plane around me. The sound of sirens echoed from a distant somewhere, but it was hard to tell how close they really were.

I cried out in pain as I attempted to move my left arm. I struggled to moved my head down to look at the damage done, but once I had, I wish I hadn't. Blood coated my forearm, so much so, I couldn't tell what had happened to it. It felt broken, too, but I wasn't a doctor, so how could I know?

I suddenly felt quite ill, and leaned over the side of my seat and vomited onto the ground.

After emptying my stomach of its contents, I glanced down to see the seatbelt cutting into my abdomen. I reached over with my right hand and undid the belt, painfully peeling it from my belly.

I stayed in the seat, afraid to test out my balance. But I did look down at my legs to see my jean leg on fire. I felt no burn, just a slightly warm sensation. I patted it out with my good hand, blaming shock for the lack of agony.

"Miss! MISS! STAY THERE! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

My vision cleared and I found myself still on the ground, hyperventilating. I stared up at the people surrounding me, their faces all the same terrified expression. I looked at them questionably, then saw what they were so afraid of: me.

As I carefully got to my feet, I saw a ring of fire surrounding me. Some protesters several rows behind were putting out their burning sign. My eyes widened as I felt my hands grow very warm. I recognized the feeling instantly.

It can't be true, I thought. Please don't let it be true…

I kept my gaze fixed on the theater poster on the side of one of the buildings as I lifted my hands up to my face. I could barely breathe as my eyes focused on them.

My hands were on fire.

People around me screamed. Some yelled that I was a freak. Others just simply yelled in surprise.

"What ARE you?!" Mark screeched.

I lowered my hands and my eyes flooded with tears.

"A monster," I whispered, not audible to the ears around me.

Grief, guilt, fear, and chaos hit me hard in the chest. I crumpled to my knees on the concrete. Everything I had been telling myself was true. I was a freak of nature, a mistake. That plane crash did something to me, something that I hoped could be reversed.

But that glimmer of hope flickered out as soon as I began to sob. The ground shook and rain started to pelt Seattle with a terrifying force.

People shouted and began to run. Some fell to the ground due to the earthquake. Somehow, I knew that it was me that was causing it, but I didn't know how to stop it.

I huddled against my knees as raindrops the size of pebbles pounded against my back, soaking my pea coat and knock-off Ugg boots.

The fire around me continued to crackle and spark. The pavement around me cracked and crumbled. The parking meter beside me began to twist like a pretzel, as did many of the others on the street.

Panic began to flood my system, rushing through my veins and arteries; pumping my heart faster and faster, filling my hands with a strange tingling I couldn't explain.

My breathing sped up. I felt faint, yet filled with power. I hyperventilated again, trying to calm myself down. But the panic took over me.

I let out a fresh stream of tears and yelled. "NOOOO!"

Rain came down as waterfalls, fires caught on all the way up my arms and spread further around me, thunderous booms told me that the pavement around me cracked even more, wind began to blow as if a hurricane was moving in, and cars began to shake and shudder.

I glanced up just in time to see a car down the street explode. The screams and shrieks of others filled the air, but they were muffled by the pouring of the rain.

"Hey! Hey, Lauren!"

I stared up at a redheaded woman who was just outside my circle of flames. Her red hair was plastered to the sides of her face and her black hoodie was soggy. The fire seemed to die down a bit the moment I laid eyes on her. I recognized her from somewhere...the café yesterday! It was her water that I controlled. She seemed to know that it was me that was causing all of this destruction, yet she showed no fear.

"You need to get away!" I told her. "You aren't safe here near me!"

"You need to calm down! You'll only cause more damage if you don't!" she replied.

I wanted to believe that calming myself down would put an end to the chaos around us, but I couldn't.

"I can't control this!" I countered. "I have no idea if it will work!"

"Just try it!" the woman yelled. "It can't hurt to try!"

She fell as another tremor rushed through the earth, causing her to stumble.

I closed my eyes in the midst of the pandemonium and thought of my family.

Remember what it was like before the accident, I told myself. Think of Christmas as a child. Think of the one where mom and dad surprised us with a trip to Disneyland over spring break! Remember the joy you felt. Remember Karen's shouts of elation and Matt and Trevor bouncing around the living room, hugging mom and dad and saying 'thank you, thank you, thank you!' Remember Milly the golden retriever licking everyone, understanding that this was a time to celebrate and have fun. Remember…

I felt the warmth fade away on my body. The ground stopped quaking and I could no longer feel water drumming into my back. The wind gentled to a soft breeze that carried the scent of saltwater into the streets of Seattle.

I felt the release of all these different emotions and let myself relax.

Suddenly, it was silent all around me.

I snapped open my eyes to see nothing but wreckage. Signs were broken, ink smeared across the once well-designed paper. Cracks in the pavement extended well beyond just this street. They snaked their way around the corner and most likely up the steep hills. The cars seemed to be in fine shape, except the one at the end that had exploded. The parking meters were an absolute mess. Most were bent into strange shapes and some were melted in different places.

I sighed in relief and put a hand to my forehead. I did it. That woman was right.

I glanced up above me to see the redhead standing right beside me, just inside the scorch marks on the blackened sidewalk.

"Nice job, kid. You've got some serious mojo," she said to me, a slight smirk playing around her lips.

I said nothing as she offered a hand to me, which I graciously accepted, standing quickly.

"Have I hurt anyone?" I asked quickly, the thought flying into my mind.

"Calm down, alright? We don't want another wave of this power. Let me worry about that, okay?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Who are you?"

"Name's Natasha Romanoff," she replied. "I'm with an organization that helps people like you."

I let out a dark chuckle. "You mean freaks?"

Natasha shook her head. "No, people who are special. There's nothing freakish about you, Lauren. You've just got a touch of abnormality, that's all."

I simply blinked, not caring to counteract her statement. "What kind of company is this?"

"It's called S.H.I.E.L.D. and that's all I can tell you right now. But trust me when I say that I – we can help you control these abilities. And when you do, you can go back to living your black and white, normal life. What do you say?"

I smoothed back my blonde bangs and considered her offer for a moment.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Natasha whipped out a badge that resembled one that the FBI used. I stared at the emblem. I'd definitely seen this emblem before…but where?

"Believe me now, Ace?" she chuckled. "You've seen that symbol before, I can tell."

I nodded. "I'll go with you."

"Then we'd better go before the cops show up. Coulson will take care of it, I'm sure," Natasha grinned. "Come on."

And so I followed her.

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Elemental – the Untold Story! If you want to read more about Lauren and find out more about her powers, please, please, please review and follow! If nobody wants more, then I don't want to continue the story. :)